The Lurking Season

by Kristopher Rufty

  Wendy unleashed an agonized scream. The sleeping babies in the Haunchy nursery awoke shrieking, their mewing wails resounded all around, blending with Wendy’s screams into one tormented chorus.

  Wendy started to choke on her own blood. She coughed some up, spattering her face and running down from the corners of her mouth.

  Brooke lowered the gun. “I’m sorry…”

  Wendy’s mouth moved. Squeaky moans tried to surface through the blood filling her throat, but they drowned in the depths. Soon after, Wendy’s arms dropped to the ground. Her head moved slowly from one side to the other and stayed there.

  Brooke noticed Wendy was no longer breathing.

  Then she started to cry.

  It didn’t last when she realized someone must have heard the shot. They would be coming and she couldn’t be here when they arrived. Seeing what had happened, they would really compensate for their grief through her torture.

  I’m sorry, Wendy. Hopefully you can now rest in peace.

  Not wanting to cross back through the nursery of horrors, she turned around and used the hole made by the boy’s body as her exit. Hunkering down, she stepped through, her feet coming down in the snow. She gave one last glance back at Wendy before she ran.

  She’d almost made it to the woods when she was tackled from behind.

  She landed on her stomach, her breasts smashing the ground. It felt as if they might have been knocked through her back. The weight of her unseen attacker crashed down on her. Together, they slid across the snow, causing her to drop the shotgun during the ordeal.

  Brooke recognized the feel of the person on her back, the disgusting touch of his skin. The familiar, nauseating heat of his breath as he panted like a horny dog in her ear.

  Piper!

  He said, “Got you, sweetheart…” But he pronounced it like “Gotsh yoush, sheetheartsh!”.

  There was a disgusting lapping sound as he breathed.

  Erin

  Instead of running, Erin walked silently through the maze of corn, dragging her hurt foot behind her. She wasn’t in any condition to do much else. Because of the chains, each step sounded like she had a pocketful of coins.

  The burns Heather had sustained from the spilling pot were so bad Erin assumed she was dead well before she’d checked on her. Her skin had turned into a gooey suit that made her look saturated in candle wax. Bits of bone could be seen through the flimsy conduits of her skin.

  The ground was hard and bumpy under Erin’s feet. It seemed as if there weren’t a sky, from the flagging stalks that blocked out the night above as she treaded through an abyss of dead vegetation. The stalks were completely sheathed in ice and looked as if they would shatter if hit hard enough. The snow had hardly touched the aisles between the rows of corn.

  The crash of the giant cauldron and Heather’s excruciating screams had brought the Haunchy horde to the shanty. Since Erin wasn’t familiar with her surroundings, she’d fled in an aimless direction that led her to a dirt road with little huts on each side. Some had dim light showing through makeshift windows, and others were dark and looked forsaken in their dilapidated glory. Next to the structures, Erin was like a giant monster storming Japan.

  Erin stumbled, staggered or tripped until she came to a crossroad. The dirt path continued ahead of her, with another track intersecting it. More shacks, set up like a residential street of bedraggled huts, went straight.

  Erin glanced behind her. In the distance but still coming, she saw the flickering flames of miniature torches.

  She chose the path that headed away from the scary community. Moving quickly, she followed the path to where it vanished into the cornfield.

  And probably even farther away from the car. They were supposed to meet there, and she doubted she would make it. Probably none of them would.

  Here she was, still walking, blind to all that was around her, deaf to any sounds that might be nearby. Being so deep in the field, the corn acted as a gag to all sounds except for her heartbeat which felt like a pounding hammer.

  The lower leaves of the stalks brushed her legs. Feeling like broad flags, it made them itch.

  Something scurried in front of her, whispering through the corn. Erin heard the soft tinkling sounds of little ice bits falling.

  She stopped walking. The rows up ahead swayed.

  The scampering repeated itself, this time from behind.

  They found me!

  Then noises jumped to the right and the left. Soon, it was all around.

  Boxing her in.

  “Oh shit…” she muttered.

  The stalks were knocked down around her, dropping like drawbridges as Haunchies ran out.

  Brooke

  Piper grabbed a handful of Brooke’s hair and tugged her head back. Brooke cried out as her back arched with her neck, forming a question mark with her body. Her breasts pushed against the nearly transparent gown, stretching the sheer fabric around her turgid nipples. They were about to pop out of the gown.

  She swung her elbow back. Instead of slamming him hard in the ribs, it barely brushed his arm. His grip remained strong and painful on her hair.

  “Yoush shotsh mesh…” He slurped. There was a quiet whistling sound as the wind traveled through the holes in his cheeks in an almost birdlike melody.

  Her eyes turned in their sockets. She could see the shotgun a few feet away, out of reach. It beckoned her like a carrot dangling from a string.

  “Now I’m really pishedsh offsh!”

  His elbow bashed the nape of her neck, sending a tingling current down her back. Her head shot down. Her nose pounded the hard ground through the snow’s powdery cushion and her eyes filled with tears.

  Piper seized her by the gown’s collar and pulled her. She heard it tear as he yanked. Though it wasn’t much for heat, it was better than nothing in this brutal cold. She thought he might be trying to roll her over, so she obliged and made it easier for him, to keep the gown as close to intact as possible.

  When she saw his mangled face, she let loose an earsplitting shriek that hurt her lungs.

  Flaps of skin hung around his mouth like a blooming flower. There was a small serrated hole in one cheek that spewed blood. The other cheek was a ruin of serrated flesh that flapped like torn plastic whenever his head moved. She could see his teeth through the gaping wound, broken and spiky from the bullet passing through.

  He lifted her slightly, only to slam her back down on the ground. Now her breasts did bounce free. Their springy weight pushed the gown down.

  Straddling her waist, Piper snatched her wrists and squeezed them hard enough to make crackling sounds. He saw the exposed slopes of her breasts and paused.

  “Thosesh suresh are prettysh…”

  Bloody drool hung from his bottom lip in a gooey string. It slowly stretched, lowering closer to her face where finally it broke and splattered on her nose. Wincing, she turned her head away as he leaned down close to her.

  He pushed her arms above her head and pinned them in the snow. She cringed as the cold shocked her skin. He pushed her wrists together and held them with one hand so he could use the other to grab a breast.

  “Minesh?”

  Brooke started to sob. When she didn’t answer, he squeezed the breast harder. It felt like he was trying to rip it off.

  “Yes!” she screamed.

  “I cansh have itsh?”

  “It’s yours it’s yours it’s yours!”

  “Mmmmmm…”

  He lowered his face to the clutched breast and licked her nipple. His tongue darted across its stiff point. Brooke screamed and cried as his blood-crusted lips began to suck.

  She looked up, seeing the top of his head twisting as his tongue worked. She gave him a quick inspection and saw the big handgun in the holster at his hip. She wanted the gun, but knew going for it was a bad idea. It wou
ld take her too long to work it free of its clip and pull it out.

  She felt his teeth nibbling…

  Crying out, she turned her head and saw the handle of his buck knife angling out. It looked as if it was about to fall from the sheath. Nothing was clamped around the hilt to hold it there, the clasp dangling to the side.

  Before she could act, Piper sat up, his hand fumbling with his belt.

  No!

  She kicked, banging his hips with the heels of the stolen shoes. The blows seemed to have no effect on him. He nudged his way close to her groin, spreading her thighs even more.

  He shoved his pants down his thighs. “One more timesh…and then I have to letsh yoush go…”

  He’s going to kill me!

  Of course he was. She’d really fucked him up. Why would he let her live after doing so much damage to him?

  His boxer shorts were pushed down next, freeing his penis. It fell out like a stiff arm, bobbing as the swollen head seemed to peer at her.

  He licked the fingertips of his free hand and put it between her legs.

  “I have toosh admit…I’m really going toosh missh yoush…”

  He shoved into her, hard and desperate. His jab reached deep into painful areas. She could tell he wanted the first penetration to make a point. It did. He was angry and humiliated. He would make a statement with this one.

  He proved her right when he released her wrists and put his hands around her throat and began choking her. There was no teasing tension of sex play here. He gripped her with such force it cut off her air right away.

  She swatted at his shoulders, his face. Nothing worked. He thrust slow and hard, slowly applying more pressure around her throat. It felt as if the building pressure in her brain was going to make her eyes pop out. Her tongue darted wildly, trying to shovel in air.

  He slammed her again, pushing her up, her back sliding in the snow.

  Her hands drew back, slapping at his hands. She felt a tacky coating on his fingers and remembered her first shot. His hand had been reaching out, the bullet punched through the fat of his palm.

  She dug a finger into the hole and wiggled it around the pulpy wound. Piper yelled, tried to keep his hands tight, but her constant prying made him let go. He pulled his hand to his stomach, holding it with the other.

  Brooke sucked in a gust of air. Her esophagus felt compressed, as if his hands were still there, which made getting the amount of air she wanted difficult. Her vision was splotchy and out of focus.

  She had to act fast. Her window of opportunity was a small one.

  Reaching up, her hands found the knife’s handle. She jerked it out with both hands, turned the blade so it faced up and rammed it into his stomach. She could tell it didn’t get him deep, but the result was what she wanted.

  He stumbled back, screaming, shifting his weight so she could pull her legs out from under him. Rolling over to her stomach, Brooke dragged herself away with her elbows.

  The shotgun wasn’t as far away now. She could grab it if she could just get there.

  Closer, she dug her elbows into the snow and pulled. It was just out of reach. She lifted her hand to grab it and felt a hand close around her ankle.

  “No!”

  Her hand slapped down.

  Then she was pulled back.

  And brought the shotgun with her.

  Smiling like a maniac, Brooke hugged the shotgun to her chest. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder and saw Piper was on all fours, the knife sticking out above his shrinking penis.

  One arm bent around the shotgun, she grabbed the pump with the hand of the other and jacked it. She heard the mechanics do their job and push a fresh shell into the pipe.

  Piper punched her in the kidney. Groaning, Brooke dropped onto her side. The pain in her lower back felt like an inflating ball pushing against her spine. It nauseated her, made her stomach twist like a rag.

  He gripped her hair again and yanked. She felt a clump tear away from her scalp, leaving a bald spot of fire in its place. Blood trickled down the back of her head.

  Brooke managed to get onto her back. She tried to bring the gun up, but Piper grabbed the barrel and held it there. She pushed against him, gritting her teeth so hard she could hear them grinding like old gears.

  He scuttled on his knees, getting back on top of her, with her back in the same position she had been in earlier. She noticed how his penis, shriveling moments ago, was starting to grow again. He was winning, dominating her once more, and his arousal was returning.

  She would not let him finish what he’d started.

  She let go of the gun long enough to grab the knife’s handle and push it deeper. His skin made juicy, ripping sounds as blood started to flow down his shirt, turning the khaki color black.

  Piper’s hands instinctively shot down to his stomach to protect himself.

  And freed up the shotgun so she could push the barrel under his chin.

  He realized what was going to happen right before Brooke squeezed the trigger. “Don’t…!”

  His head exploded into a crimson cloud of blood and white chunks of skull. The buckshot blasted a path through his head, flinging what was left of his face forward in sagging strips of flesh.

  Erin

  Erin stood centered in the small cabal of Haunchies.

  The hideous gnomes jabbed the air with their spears, slashed using their knives and snarled their moldering teeth.

  Might as well just let them get me.

  But even though she wanted to surrender, wanted it to end, her arms rose, prepared to fight. There weren’t that many, she could handle them.

  With no weapon at all?

  She looked at her fists. The chains dangled like tassels from the cuffs. She grabbed the tip and began winding the chain around a fist. She repeated this action on the other hand.

  Right. This is crazy.

  Crazy or not, she held her arms straight out as if about to give someone a bear hug. She rushed. The pack, caught by surprise at first, quickly reacted. Drawing their weapons, they ran at her, screaming.

  Erin shrieked back, her cries bellowing over the crowd’s. The circle broke apart as they lunged for Erin.

  As the miniature ensemble rained on Erin, dog-piling her to the ground, she felt her body being lit up with slices and stabs. She swung her arms blindly, throwing her chain-wrapped fists and hitting solid parts. Haunchies fell away, landed on their backs, rolled past the heap. The burning jabs desisted as the pile progressively broke away.

  She rose to her knees, her back stinging. Warm liquid streamed heavily down her back. She was cut pretty deep in more than one place. Reaching behind her back, she dabbed her fingers in the wetness, then looked at the thick droplets of blood on her fingers.

  A Haunchy came at her. She backhanded its skull, the chain knuckles shattering its jaw. Before it had landed on the ground, the stalks beside her rustled in a straight line, coming closer.

  Erin and her adversaries watched in confusion as the pounding of heavier footsteps approached. Erin cringed, her muscles going taut, expecting something sinister to leap out of the corn.

  And something did.

  A stampede of Haunchies.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” said Erin, her words choking in her throat. Her stomach felt as if it were rising into her chest.

  In the quick glimpse, Erin estimated thirty in the undulating cloud of miniscule horror. Hollering and yelping like a pack of wild animals coming in for the kill of the wounded prey.

  Erin rolled over, crawling until she felt as if she could stand up. When she was on her feet, her retreat started off lethargic and careful. Then she decided to stop trying to baby her hurt foot. It needed to get tough and help her, instead of working against her.

  Daring a glance over her shoulder, she screamed at what she saw.

  Th
e shrieking mass was right on her heels.

  Brooke

  She’d used Piper’s knife to cut an extra hole in the belt so it would tighten enough to keep the pants up. She’d taken them from him. Even with the shoes on, she was able to slip her legs through with no problems. She tugged the waist band. The pants felt okay.

  Walking through the woods, the gun belt aggravated her with its constant slipping. But it was worth the trouble just to have the handgun and extra ammunition clips. Was also easier than carrying it in her hands or trying to stuff the weapon in the coat she’d stolen from the station. She’d wanted his shirt, but it was coated in way too much blood for her to wear.

  What she wore was just fine. Though she was still cold, she wasn’t nearly as freezing as she had been. The clothes made all the difference.

  Everything she had on had belonged to somebody else.

  Brooke entered the main section of the village on achy legs. Her whole body was weak with agony, but she trekked on, walking along a tight track that bisected the strip of huts. A single torch was lit outside each small hut, throwing a wavering swath of orange light in her path. The snow came down, sizzling when flakes touched the flames, and carpeting the ground in white between them.

  She’d been through this area many times, usually escorted by Haunchy guards, or even Maggie. Normally there was a network of Haunchies traipsing back and forth. Busy with whatever scary projects they were working on. Tonight it was abandoned and void of all Haunchy traffic. Somehow the lack of activity was even more unsettling.

  Where the hell are they?

  She walked slowly, keeping the shotgun sighted for action as her eyes fervently moved this way and that. Expecting any moment for something to shuffle or some kind of scuttling noise to come from the dark sectors near the shacks, she heard nothing but the faint howls of a wind she couldn’t feel somewhere in the distance.