Flee

by Caroline Clark

  “I can drain energy from you in this way, for several weeks, but I hope you’re not my only snack.”

  A warm glow enveloped Doris’s body. She felt safe and relaxed as her energy was drained from her along with a milky white fluid. She managed one last smile before she dropped forward, unconscious against her restraints.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The chink of ice sounded unnaturally loud in the quietness of the kitchen as Robert slammed it into the glass. He added a liberal amount of whiskey, his face hard and drawn as he handed it to Jenny. “You gave me quite a scare. I thought you had been taken,” he said a little forcibly.

  Her hand shook slightly as she reached out for the glass. She nodded, and looked at the dark liquid, swirling it around the glass before taking a drink. The whiskey hit her throat, burned for a second, before sliding down to warm her stomach. “Sorry. Rosie wanted to go out. She heard something. I was just curious.”

  “You have to be careful. We don’t know if you’re safe here.” He sat down heavily, the hint of anger leaving his voice. “Look, just let me know if you want to go wandering around at night. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She smiled at him, and sipped at the warming liquid. She was beginning to feel herself succumb to exhaustion. “Where is Rosie?”

  “She must be outside still. I’ll go find her. You get to bed.” He waved a finger at her, and pointed at the stairs, his face once again the open and lovable friend she knew so well.

  Jenny got up, unsure. She hesitated, but fatigue was dragging her down, and a touch of dizziness almost dropped her to her knees. “Okay, call me if there is a problem.” She struggled back to her room, barely able to make it to the bed before falling instantly asleep.

  * * *

  Robert watched as she exited the kitchen, then left through the front door. Things weren’t going quite as planned. He looked out across the dark garden, full of shadows.

  “Rosie, Rosie, come here, good doggie,” he called, crossing to the lawn. He followed their earlier path, back to the conifers and the door. Annoyed at having to go back out in the cold, he mumbled to himself, before shouting again, “Come on, Rosie. Foostie.”

  The night was still dark, but enough moonlight allowed him to see basic shapes. He knew the shadows in the garden well, having traveled this path many times at night. He walked confidently, directly to the conifers, suspecting the dog could smell something from behind the door.

  “Rosie, come on damn dog. Where are you?”

  Hearing scuffles and scratching from behind the conifers, he squeezed into the gap. As he disturbed the trees, a musty pine scent was released, and dust wafted up into his eyes.

  The dog was scratching and digging at the door, her powerful claws marking the wood, and loosening the soil at its base.

  Bending over, Robert grabbed hold of her neck. His fingers dug deep into her loose, silky skin. Pulling backward, he tried to haul the dog away from the door. His strong hands gripped tightly. She looked at him for a second, with her deep brown, intelligent eyes. They seemed to say, come on help me. He pulled harder, digging his heels into the loose soil, but she struggled, still intent on entering the door. Straining against her in the enclosed gap, his arms restricted by the conifers, he grunted with effort.

  Rosie whined and pulled away, escaping his grasp, and returned to scratch at the door, head down her whining more intense.

  Robert looked around. The garden was empty, quiet, and they were hidden by the dense wall of conifers. He pulled back his right leg, as far as he could in the enclosed space, and kicked the dog hard in the ribs.

  She yelped in pain and surprise. The force of the blow knocking her away from the door. She stumbled, and then looked up at him. With her head to one side, confused, her kind face questioned his actions.

  “Now come on, let’s get you inside.” Robert reached for her collar.

  Rosie stared at the hand, her stance confused more than aggressive.

  “Damn you dog, get inside.” He hesitated, and then kicked out again. The blow caught her shoulder, and knocked her off balance.

  She looked up at him unsure, and whined before starting back with the digging. Robert reached out, grabbing for her neck. She stopped, and turned towards him, her body quivering with rage, a growl emanating from deep within her throat. Her teeth were displayed for his benefit.

  As he closed the gap between them, Rosie lunged at him. Her teeth caught his hand, and scratched the skin.

  Robert pulled back, fear and anger flooded through him. He backed off, cautious, and shuffled in the confined space. He watched the dog’s every move, rubbing the wounded hand. He struggled backward out of the gap, inspecting his hand. It appeared unhurt, just a little red.

  Forgetting his hand, he searched the dark garden, looking for… something. He walked to a building a hundred yards across the wet grass. Opening the door to the tool shed, moonlight allowed him to see shapes, but no more. The interior smelt of pine as he disturbed shavings from a work in progress. Reaching around to the left, he fumbled in the dark. At last his hand closed onto a cylindrical object, wood, bound in leather. He left the shed, and closed the door with a grudging kick.

  He swung the heavy cricket bat in front of him, and approached the conifers. Feeling its weight, he practiced swinging the bat over his head and down. Satisfied, he squeezed back behind the trees, clutching at his face as a cobweb filament tickled his skin.

  Rosie was still digging at the door. A hole had developed before her. Dirt and mud were building up against the trees behind.

  Robert raised the bat, a grin of pure malice spread across his face. “Rosie,” he called using his sweetest voice.

  She turned towards him, her eyes questioning.

  He brought the bat down with the full weight of his body. It struck the top of her head, with a sickening thud. Rosie whined, and fell to the ground. She didn’t move. Her brindle body was barely visible in the dim light, her paws to one side, and her head flat to the ground. Robert raised the bat, and brought it down again, grunting with the effort he put into the swing. The bat hit the prone dog hard, knocking her head viciously backward, and still she did not stir.

  Robert released a breath, and put down the bat. “Here doggie, doggie, come see what Uncle Robert has for you,” he muttered to the still form as he unlocked the door. Pulling it open, he pushed the dog’s lifeless body to one side with the heavy wooden door.

  Leaning over, his back scratched by the conifers, he grabbed hold of Rosie’s still form. Picking her up, he heaved her through the door, and entered the cellar. She was warm and flexible in his arms, and smelt of half-baked biscuits. He chuckled.

  Struggling with the limp, warm dog, he descended the steep stairs into the room below. Step by cautious step, he carried the heavy lump deep into the cellar.

  Turning at the bottom, he walked across a large open space, back towards the house, but underground. Around the corner he saw Doris, head down, naked body strapped to the pole. Further, around was the altar, and lying on top of it was Aldona.

  Robert crossed to the right, throwing the dog’s prone body into a corner. She landed limp, and the momentum rolled her to one side. She made no attempt to move. He kicked her once, twice, swinging back as far as he could. His shoe connecting with her body made a sickening noise, each blow shaking her motionless form. Still, she did not move. Satisfied she was dead, he crossed to the altar.

  Robert bowed before the altar, and waited head down.

  “You raised me.” Aldona was lying provocatively across the stone top, one knee raised. Her leather-clad form was supple and inviting. Her eyes searched him, her face flushed as if from exercise. She raised her right hand to her mouth, and sucked the long needle-like fingernail. Hungry, noises of appreciation were produced by the almost carnal act.

  “Yes.” His eyes stayed down.

  “You have a sacrifice?”

  “Yes, in one more day, I will sacrifice my first born.”

  “I need mor
e food. The girl you have for me is not big enough. Return this evening with bigger, fatter food.”

  Robert bowed, turned and left, walking towards the waiting hell bat.

  He reached into his pocket, and brought out a bag, unfurling the top. The bat opened its sightless eyes, its nose hungrily sniffing for the treats. Robert reached into the bag, and brought out a piece of cooked liver. He tossed it at the creature, watching, amazed as it moved its blind head with supernatural speed. It caught the meat, and swallowed it down in one single fluid movement.

  Robert glanced across the pit at Doris. He could see the wound in her shoulder where Aldona had fed. The hole looked sore, and was weeping a yellow fluid mixed in with a little blood.

  “This is Fluffy,” he said pointing at the bat. “Would you like to hear how I raised him?”

  Doris stared at him, her head hanging forward. She was too weak to raise it. She shivered with the cold and with shock. He could see the fight was gone from her eyes, and he had a moment’s regret. She had been fun all these years, mainly because of her strength, but still all good things have to end.

  “Well, I’ll tell you anyway. It always gives me a thrill.”

  He continued to throw pieces of food up to the bat, making sure each one took a different path. The creature never missed. Its sightless eyes seemed to follow from his hand to the meat, its neck extending, and grabbing the treat from the air. He chuckled as it caught a particularly difficult piece, hopping from the perch to land back on it, meat secure in its mouth.

  The Aldona appeared before him, and snatched the bag from his hand with her long, delicate fingers. “I am hungry.” She looked into his eyes, her right hand traveling down his left leg, and digging into his crotch. He could feel her nail extending against his most precious flesh. He gasped as it pierced the material of his trousers. He heard the rip as it easily slipped inside. For a second, he was aroused, but the look in her eyes froze his blood and turned his emotion to fear. She pushed further. The nail touched his balls, marking the flesh with its tip. He gasped, lifting up from the floor slightly, trying to rise away from her. She pushed a little more, and just as it was about to break the skin of his scrotal sack, he pulled back. “Okay, okay. I’m going. Big food is on its way.”

  Walking away from her, rubbing his balls he felt cheated. No one told him she would be so prissy. He had expected her to treat him with respect as an honored initiate.

  Walking up the steps from the cellar, he remembered how he tied Fluffy to this dimension and to him.

  Exiting the cellar, he came out into the predawn. Daylight was still a few hours off. The cold chilled his face, and the air was damp. All was quiet. He closed the door behind him, squeezed past the conifers, and headed over to his car, running through the ritual to cheer himself up after his little incident with Ms. Aldona of the snotty requests.

  The ritual had been difficult and dangerous, and if it went wrong, the creature would have killed him just as easily as it would serve him. He sometimes wondered why he did it, but part of his joy was the risk. And to see the creature fly under his command with a body swinging from its hooked talons had been worth the danger.

  He had first seen one of the creatures in a book in Alex’s study, skimming through it one day when waiting for his friend. The picture had excited him, but he pretended the book was rubbish, as he always did, laughing at Alex’s naivety at believing in such nonsense. On his way out, he had returned, and popped the book in his briefcase.

  It required a special sacrifice to lure the creature from its home, and regular repeats every six months to ensure the tie between them was never broken.

  The sacrifice had to be that of a child. A girl under eighteen had to be brought before the pit and murdered, allowing her blood to run into the hole below. He expected it to be difficult to find children without the authorities finding out, but had learned that there were many unwanted, uncared for little ones in this world.

  The first he had taken from a city on the coast. She was snorting drugs with a friend, down under the pier. He had walked up to them, unchallenged, and put a spell on both of them, him to sleep and her to follow. She had gone with him, walking back to the car without causing a problem.

  Back in the basement she was afraid. Her drug hit had worn off, and she was cold, standing before the gaping hole in the basement floor. He walked around her, ripping off her clothes with the sacrificial knife, cutting her as his hand shook with excitement. The blood ran down her thighs, and dripped over the edge, to disappear into the ground. She could not scream or move because he held her in a spell. Her body naked, her denim miniskirt and black top were discarded behind her. The tiny thong covered nothing, and he decided to leave it, pulling the strap with the knife. He fondled her butt cheeks, reveling in the feel of the warm, smooth skin. He could feel her shake slightly, and realized she was weakening his hold. He must act soon.

  Taking his hands from her bum, he brought the knife up before her throat, performing the sacrificial cut in one fluid motion. The knife flashed forward, shearing effortlessly through her throat, not stopped by muscle or sinew.

  Blood spurted out into the hole before her, causing steam to rise as the crimson liquid fell down into the depths. Despite the spell, her body bucked as her life left her along with her blood. The spell held her, preventing her from tumbling into the pit.

  He bent down, one knee out as if he was proposing, and then pulled her down over that knee. Her face looked up at him accusingly. The jagged gash at her throat was still bubbling as the last vestiges of blood and air left her now lifeless body. The smell of the blood excited him even further, and it was all he could do to concentrate on the ritual, and not dip his head down and suck the last precious drops from her shredded neck.

  He breathed in deep, concentrating, getting his mind back on the task at hand. Holding the knife before him he began. “Bind to me Desmodontidae of the Underworld. Come to my command, and be my supplicant. I offer you this sacrifice by blood and intestine. I call you to me, bind, bind, bind.”

  He took the knife, and plunged it deep into her flesh, just above her curly pubic hair. The blade entered easily, slipping into her body smoother than any man. He pulled to his right, slicing through her skin like warm butter. Her coiled intestines spilled forward, and ran over his knees.

  The smell was instant and nauseating. The coils of hot intestine released their contents, and seemed to scald his skin as they tumbled out of her body. He pulled back his head, recoiling from the stench. Warm, slimy snakes slipped across his legs, and onto the ground. As if with a life of their own, the large intestines, the caecum and colon seemed to squirm on the ground. The smaller intestines piled out on top of them, the whole mess writhing on the floor, smelling of copper and putrification. He pulled the colon, feeling the mass bulge in his hands, the food still contained in it moving, making it impossible to grab with any strength. He brought the knife in and cut the squirming tube, as low down as he could. He wrinkled his nose at the sudden smell of excrement. It was all he could do to not throw the girl into the pit, and turn around and vomit. He controlled his disgust. This would be over soon, and end better for him than her, or at least he hoped so.

  Clenching his jaw, he controlled his emotions, fighting down the nausea. Lifting the girl by her hair, he pushed her to one side. Now all he had to do was push the steaming pile of viscera into the pit, repeating his earlier incantation.

  He shoved them over with his foot, and squirmed at the heat and mess it made on his shiny black shoes. They disappeared like snakes into the gently smoldering hole. “Bind to me Desmodontidae of the Underworld. Come to my command, and be my supplicant. I offer you this sacrifice by blood and intestine. I call you to me, bind, bind, bind.”

  Nothing happened. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the smell, and the mess the sacrifice had made. Before him was the perch he had prepared for the bat. He stamped his feet, getting cold now where the blood on his legs was starting to cool. “Damn it,”
he shouted. Then, with all his force, he shouted, “Bind to me Desmodontidae of the Underworld. Come to my command, and be my supplicant. I offer you this sacrifice by blood and intestine. I call you to me, bind, bind, bind.”

  A rushing of wind and air came from the pit, rising upwards. Fear pushed him to his feet, and he stepped back, wary now, and unsure he would be able to control the beast. At last it burst from the pit, its translucent body leaping at him, claws drawn up in front.

  “Bind,” he shouted and sent the spell.

  The creature stopped, and turned in mid-air, flying around for a second before alighting onto the perch. It tucked its wings to its sides, and pointed its ratty nose at him. It was much bigger than he expected, much bigger than the picture. The beast was almost as big as the girl lying lifeless behind him. He walked to her, and cut off a chunk of meat from her stomach and threw it at the waiting bat.

  Snatching the offered morsel effortlessly from the air, the bat screeched at him.

  “Now then, what should we call you?” He sucked his fingers, licking the girl’s blood from them, deep in thought. “Yes, of course, Fluffy.” He placed a nervous hand above Fluffy’s head and said, “Bind to me, bat from dimension below.”

  The bat turned, and rubbed its papery skin along his hand, causing him to shudder in both revulsion and exhilaration.

  Fluffy had been a great asset, as well as being an eager retriever. The bat could also be used to dispose of the sacrifices. He would eat cooked liver, but preferred raw virgin.

  Robert realized he was stood in the middle of the damp lawn unmoving. He was reliving the raising of Fluffy, which was always a wonderful experience, but now he had to find food for Aldona. Typical woman, he thought. No favors without a meal. He continued across the grass, back towards the house.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alex gasped desperate breaths as he came back to life. His skin was frigid, his neck agonizing, and breath returned to his body in painful gulps. The air forced its way through parched lips, over a ravaged throat, and dragged into sunken lungs. It brought him fully awake, but the pain of death still crushed every cell of his body. He lay still and rested. He could feel the cold steel plate beneath his naked body. It was hard, and unrelenting against his back. A thin sheet covered his face, shielding tender eyes from the harsh light of life. It also covered his naked form.