by Greg Curtis
Door number three proved to be very different from all that had gone before, and yet he almost wished it hadn’t. For there in the room through the tiny fibre-optic cable he saw a traditional Victorian lounge complete with reclining chair and fire place. But the creature that sat in that chair was like no Victorian gentleman he could have ever imagined.
It was evil, pure malice in the flesh. He could see nothing of it except the back of its head over the top of the recliner, and he knew it was evil. It also wasn’t human. People just didn’t have hair that spiked like bone in all directions, nor bald skin between the spikes that oozed black oil. Nor did they smell like something long since deceased. It took all of his self-control not to scream and run at the sight. Infinitely carefully he pulled the cable out of the slot. He didn’t want to see any more of that monstrosity, ever.
Doors four and five were like the original ones, silent and black as the grave, but at least he saw no occupants. Silent and black were preferable.
The sixth door proved to be the one he had hoped for. Through it he could here the moans of the prisoners, even though he could see nothing other than grey walls. With infinite patience he oiled the hinges, checked for traps and carefully opened the door a crack. There was nothing there. He slithered in.
The door opened to an alcove like room, similar to an anti-chamber to a larger bedroom though there was no sign of another door out of it, just a feeling that there might be something more beyond.
Gently he began easing himself into the room, wondering if the little that remained of his courage would stay with him. There was precious little keeping him going. The room itself proved to be a non-event. It was just an empty boring room. And yet through the hearing aids he could still hear the prisoners in it. The shuffling of bodies too crippled to move well, the quiet moans of those in terrible pain.
How? Was it an echo chamber carrying sounds from other parts of the castle? There was a smell in the air that made him wrinkle up his nose in disgust. It was the odour of fungi carefully rotting down an old log. It was the smell of death and corruption. It was the stench of things long dead and which should have been properly buried. It was the smell of evil.
Still nursing his doubts and fears he forced himself onwards through the room, heading for the sounds of those suffering, telling himself that once he found them and let them go he could get out of here. And grief did he want to leave.
At the far end of the room he found where the sounds were coming from and suffered several nightmares as a result. There was a small doorway, no larger than that which a dog kennel might have, and through it a pitch-black passageway that he guessed led to the dungeons. It was lucky that he was still crawling as it meant he wouldn’t have to get down to enter it. A barely contained hysterical laugh tried to force itself out of the back of his throat.
Shining his pocket torch down the tiny passageway he saw that it didn’t just descend at an angle of forty five degrees, it curved downwards to become what he could only assume was a vertical fall. That and the narrowness of the passage way meant he could never have ascended it again. Disappointment filled him. This was a dead end. He would have to find another way.
Then again did he have to enter it? The novel thought struck him, and the wonder was that he hadn’t thought of it before. For if he went down that passageway, he knew he’d never return. He’d be trapped with the others in hell for eternity. But he didn’t have to go down. Only the others had to ascend. If he could find a way to help them out, his work would be done. If they could climb out. If they could even see the way, or trust him. If there was time given however many might be down there. He tried to put the negative thoughts out of his mind.
He had a rope, not one he’d intended to be used as such, but a rope nevertheless. And that, just maybe, would be enough.
Slowly he began unwinding one of the grapplers, removing its base from the handle and tied it around a small piece of wood he pulled off the room’s only chair to act as a weight. The grapple’s other end he fired into the far wall, infinitely relieved to see the titanium bite firm into the cold stone, but wincing a little at the noise. In theory each grapple could hold upwards of fifteen tons from a shear stone ceiling. Surely more than enough. Next he added a few selected pieces of equipment to the timber, a tiny video cam, a speaker and a light.
Then came the risky part. He tossed the weighted end down the passageway, and watched as it disappeared from sight. In short order it started dragging more of the nylon wire after it and he knew it was free falling. He grabbed the rope before it had gone more than a few feet and slowly played it out, lowering the end to the floor so far below.
Looking carefully through the monitor he found he could see nothing. The place was in complete darkness. Crossing his fingers and praying as he’d never prayed before, he pushed the switch that activated the light.
It was as though a nuclear bomb had gone off in the chamber below. Screams and thumping noises assailed him even through the stone floor, and a vision of hell blasted its way into his vision. For he saw the prisoners, and wished he hadn’t.
They were in terrible shape. Far worse than he had imagined. The damage went far beyond just the loss of their wings. It was as though they were becoming stick insects, starvation taking away the last of their divine forms. Yet it wasn’t simply their flesh that was being absorbed he knew instinctively. Their souls were being eaten. The humans too, lying on the floor with them, were in terrible condition, emaciated, torn, bleeding, fevered. It was a concentration camp.
But the horror that they were was as nothing to the foul almost insect like creatures that were in the cage with them. He tried not to vomit as he saw the demons for the first, and he prayed, the last time.
These insect like nightmares he knew were the demons, or at least some of them, feeding off the bodies of their prisoners. These were the horrid creatures that had caused so much devastation and fear in that cavern. They were dangerous with a capital ‘D’. Yet the presence of even the tiny light from his torch had left them writhing in agony on the floor. For the first time as he saw them suffering he started to know some hope, misplaced as it might be. He also knew another emotion, a savage joy in their suffering.
Instinctively he decided to liven things up, and without even thinking about it, chucked a sun burst down the narrow shaft. The effect was devastating. If the tiny torch had caused them pain, this threatened their very lives and sent them running like terrified mice in all directions, while their prisoners looked on with something totally new in their eyes, hope. They were probably blinded as well, but they didn’t care.
“Having fun?” The dread chill voice caught him totally off guard and he couldn’t help but gasp in shock. It was right behind him.
Faster than he’d ever moved in his life he rolled sideways and fired the grappler at the sound. The projectile left the launcher even before he saw the monster, and he thanked God it had. For the thing was so monstrous he couldn’t help but freeze as he laid eyes on it. Repulsive, black, oily skin, insect like in form, it was the shape of his worst nightmares. And it stank like a sewer of rotting corpses.
The thing was fast, and even as the grappler shot towards it, leapt sideways. The grappler missed, but that tiny second of breathing space gave him the time he needed, and the next sun burst was hurled before it could catch him.
The sudden massively bright explosion of light caused it to skitter and scream like the others, covering its eyes. But unlike the others it didn’t run away. This he realized was a much stronger demon. It held its ground and waited for the light to pass.
Mikel leapt to his feet and sprinted past the frozen horror. Even as he hit the door, his hand was reaching for more of the sun bursts, and he sprayed them before he went through. It was just as well, for far too many more were running towards him from all sides. Their screams gave him the time he needed to stop his headlong rush into their arms, and he leapt back into the room, slamming the door behind him. Better to deal with one
blinded monster than a hundred.
Out! There was nothing else in his mind but the terrible need to run. To get out of this house of living horrors. Everything else was forgotten in his blind panic. And yet he was trapped in this small room with one of them. The door behind him was blocked by the enemy and there were no other doors; there was no way out. He wanted to fall to his knees and shit himself.
Discipline, all that he had left to him, was the only thing that kept him going. There had to be another way out of here.
Up! It was the only way out, and he seized on it, the power of hope driving him like a cruise missile. Quickly he reached into his pack for the first of the shape charges he’d brought. Designed to break down foot thick stone walls, he knew there was nothing to stop them destroying a ceiling just as easily. It was only the thought of millions of tons of rubble coming down on top of him that had worried him. Looking at the still writhing monstrosity trapped with him, he discovered that the thought of being killed by falling stones didn’t frighten him at all.
He slapped the charge against the ceiling and sprinted to the safety of the furthest corner, nowhere near far enough, and buried his head under his arms. It was pathetic, but all he could do.
The explosion was almost nuclear in that small room, and rubble fell on them both in a single massive crashing wave. In a second the demon was buried and it was all he could do to leap above what had fallen. Yet he succeeded and in seconds he was scrambling up the growing mound of rock, heading for the next floor up, while throwing sun bursts before him.
An adrenaline powered lunge sent him to the next level, and he found himself on an empty floor. A huge empty chamber with an altar in it. He recognized the room instantly from his nightmares but didn’t have time to be sick. He was too scared.
Mikel sprinted towards the far end, hopefully in the direction that the way out had been, even if it was a floor below them. Fear lent him wings in his flight. Beyond the chamber was another small hallway, leading to another door, and he hit it at a run, sun burst in hand. More screams greeted him, and he knew he’d scored big time against them.
Entering the room he saw fully a dozen of the smaller monsters writhing on the floor. There was worse to come for them though. He knew he had to go down and fast. The only way out was the way he had come in.
He lobbed another shape charge at the centre of the room and took cover in the hallway while hopefully the demons died as the floor of the altar room vanished underneath them. Even before the dust had settled he was lobbing more sun bursts through and running towards the crater the centre of the altar room had become. A rolling dive took him back down to the right level while the demons writhing on the ground, many of them covered in rock, never saw him.
Hope filled him as he recognized the hallway by which he had entered. He filled it with light and ran for the narrow tunnel heading to the door.
But even as he reached it another dozen of the larger demons rushed him from one of the side rooms. They were all screaming wildly, clearly in pain and angry as hell, but above all else, they were close. He knew they were going to catch him. The sun bursts weren’t enough to stop these monsters.
Panicking he flung a shape charge at the nearest and watched it turn into an explosion of dust. The charge should have turned it into spaghetti scattered against the four walls, but all it really did was blow the creature out of his sight. Somehow he knew it wasn’t finished. He couldn’t be that lucky. Soon, very soon it would be after him again. Reaching hastily for everything he could find he threw a dozen sunbursts, gas and smoke bombs, screamers and grenades at the others, hoping only that they would slow them down enough, and leapt into the tunnel.
On all fours he crawled faster than he’d ever sprinted in his life, only taking the time to throw more sun bursts ahead. More screams came to his ears and he threw another shape charge at the door on the other end. The resultant explosion nearly took down the end of the tunnel on top of him, and left him largely deaf. But it didn’t even slow him down as he burrowed frenziedly through the rubble.
Light. He saw light.
The sight of pure starlight, the smell of fresh air. He was going to make it! Heedless of anything but his terrible need to flee, he sprinted for the newly created opening, and for a split second thought he was going to make it.
Then something grabbed his ankle in mid air and he was halted as though he’d hit a brick wall.
Hitting the floor hard on his elbows, he rolled instinctively and kicked out with his other foot at the dark horror. His toe connected with something solid, and made a satisfying crunch. It let go of his foot and he ripped loose. Too late he saw the dozens more heading for him from all sides. He flung more grenades and sun bursts at them, but they were far too close. The resultant explosions nearly took his head off, and threatened to leave him unconscious. Only blind luck and fear kept him free and gave him the strength to keep moving.
Quickly Mikel limped outside, avoiding the insanely clutching claws of the demons buried in the rubble, and stood in fresh air. It was almost too much to bear as he limped away. The relief at being alive, at being safe, free. He should have known better.
Without any warning a form came out of the darkness from his side and tore his pack off his shoulders before he could react. He flung the last of his sun-bursts and saw his worst nightmare before him. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of the demons surrounded him on that darkened plain. All of them moving towards him. The light bothered them, but not enough to stop them. He reached for his belt and flung the remaining percussion grenades at the nearest, watching them disappear in clouds of dust. Then, all sanity gone in his need, he sprinted straight at those directly between him and safety.
Karate kicks and chops disabled the first few far more effectively than he would have thought possible, and he felt their bones snap like twigs under his terrified strength. Years of martial arts training guided his hands and feet to do the most terrible damage they could and for once his conscience did not hold him back. He hated and feared these creatures as nothing else, and would have killed them all if he could.
A weight by his chest called out to him and his left hand grabbed the gun by reflex. Somehow in his rage and terror he’d forgotten it, but no longer. He fired the holy water bullets at the closest of them and more began screaming as though they were on fire. Perhaps they were.
Firing and kicking his way through them like a master warrior, he made his way through them like a force of nature gone berserk. It was close enough to the truth. Before him, before the light and the holy water they reluctantly gave way, and he made his way to freedom. But it was a two way street. For every one that he crippled, another took a chunk out of him. In short order he was bleeding from a dozen gashes, every inch of his body was puffed and swollen, and worst of all he was running out of both bullets and light. But he was getting closer.
Desperation took hold of him when he suddenly spotted the trees ahead and less than a dozen demons between him and them. Legs that had been flagging, suddenly gave one hundred and ten percent for that final burst, while his hand eye coordination went through the roof. He shot everything that lay between him and the trees in what had to be world record speed shooting time, every one a bull’s eye, and made a run for it.
Legs moving like propellers, for the longest second he thought he was going to make it. Then a hand reached for him, its talon like fingers tearing into the soft flesh of his cheek, and all his plans came to naught.
Instantly he was blind, his face was on fire, and his world was destroyed. Screams assailed him, and he knew they were his own. He didn’t try to stop them. Mikel hit out at where the hand had been and kept running, vision unimportant compared with direction and speed. The only sound he heard above that of his own laboured breathing and his screaming was that of the demons behind him.
They were close. So close that he could almost feel their foul breath on his neck, yet they didn’t touch him. How close were they? He didn’t know. All that mattered was
that they were behind him, and that he kept running away from the sound.
He ran as if all the demons of hell were on his tail. They were.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
“The guardian angels of life fly so high as to be beyond our sight, but they are always looking down upon us.”
~Jean Paul Richter
Fire. His world was on fire. His hands, his feet, his body, all were one raging inferno, but the hottest of all was his face, a nuclear nightmare. He clutched at it as he ran, blindly placing one foot in front of the other since he couldn’t bear to open his eyelids. His steps were almost random and he had visions of himself running in circles, back to that dark nightmare. Yet he couldn’t open his eyes, and he couldn’t stop running.
A sudden crunch brought him to a screaming stop, and he slowly realized he’d hit something as he picked himself up off the ground. And yet he hadn’t felt it, only heard the impact and touched the ground. His tortured nerves could no more feel the impact over the fire that consumed him than could his ears hear a pin drop at a rock concert. They had no capacity left to feel such trivial things.
