Terror Town

by James Roy Daley

  “But––” Roger rolled his eyes. They were going to investigate the big empty room no matter what he thought. He couldn’t change their minds. The choice was clear. He could either A) climb up the ladder alone and be a loser, or B) join his friends. Not much selection from his point of view. “Shit guys… wait for me.”

  Roger dashed towards them.

  Cameron walked backwards, looking at the ceiling. She thought she saw something move, but with the duct work and the shadows it was hard to tell.

  Daniel stopped walking completely.

  Once they were all together, Daniel said, “Let’s circle the room once and head back up.”

  “Damn straight,” Roger said. “It’s cold down here. You sure you wanna circle the room? Maybe we should just go back.”

  Daniel frowned.

  Pat said, “Let’s look around.”

  Roger shook his head. “Again, I must ask: look at what? This place is empty! It’s a big vacant box.”

  “You’re a big vacant box,” Cameron said, smirking.

  Daniel giggled. He glanced into Cameron’s eyes and smiled. Before he knew he would do it his line of vision rolled down her body, slowing at her breasts. Whoops. It was an honest mistake. Oh well, too late now.

  Cameron grinned.

  And Dan realized that he liked this girl. Not just physically, and not enough to have an affair with (he loved his wife too much for that), but Cameron was a fun girl to be around. She mixed her femininity and her ‘just one of the guys’ thing nicely.

  Silence.

  Pat said, “Hey, what’s that?”

  “What?”

  “That!” He pointed to something embedded in the wall, and together, the four explorers walked across the room slowly, investigating the unknown. “It’s a big door.” Pointing at a handle. “See?”

  It was a door all right, a big wooden one. But it didn’t look like a house door or a cupboard door; didn’t look like a car door or a set of patio doors. It was the size of a garage door, and it looked like part of the wall, with a handle.

  Roger wondered if something good was hiding behind of it.

  It’s a secret room, Daniel thought, a secret room inside a secret room.

  “Maybe we’ll find treasures down here yet!” Roger said. “Should I open it?”

  “Treasure?” Patrick mocked, releasing a condescending chuckle. “Do you idiots expect to find treasure? That’s hilarious.”

  “You never know,” Cameron contested.

  “Yes you do. Treasures are only found in movies where pirates have a patch over one eye and a parrot strapped to a shoulder. Are you guys for real?”

  With a soft, mocking voice, Roger said, “Treasure is the wrong word, old boy. The proper word is ‘antiques’. We were hoping to find some antiques; know what I mean? We’re hoping to find something that might have been worth a fair bit of change a hundred years ago, and has increased in value since… like pottery, or rare art. We’re not expecting to find a trunk filled with gold or a shiny chalice.”

  “Oh,” Pat said, scratching himself behind the ear. “Yeah, I guess that could happen. Well then, I stand mistaken. Let’s open the door!”

  Daniel wrapped his fingers around the handle. He pushed and pulled on the door. It moved both ways freely, and the nasty smell they noticed earlier became all the more noticeable.

  Cameron stepped back. The smell reminded her of rotten fruit, spoiled milk, wet fur, and decaying meat. Needless to say, she didn’t care much for the aroma. It gave her a bad feeling deep inside. Something was wrong here. The warning flares were blasting inside her mind the way they always did when something was off beam. Experience had taught her that ignoring her premonitions only led to grief and sorrow, and she had learned from her past to respond to her instincts. “I don’t want to be here,” she said flatly, keeping her voice in check.

  Pat examined her face. “What?”

  “You heard me. I want to get going. It smells bad down here and I don’t like it. I want to go upstairs.”

  “But Cameron,” Roger said, putting his hand on her arm. “Why?”

  Cameron pulled her arm away vigorously. “I’m scared, is that okay with you? Something isn’t right down here. Can’t you feel it? There’s something in that room. I can tell.”

  Roger’s shoulders slumped. “Cameron––”

  “I don’t care if you believe me… I can sense it. It’s like I’m standing inside a dream that’s about to become a nightmare, you know? I feel like Carrie White at the bloody prom. I don’t like being down here, not at all. Not one bit. Look where we are!” She took a step back, lifted her shoulders and extended her arms. “I don’t like the smell down here. I don’t like that big creepy door, and I don’t want any part of what’s behind it. I’m getting out.”

  “It does stink,” Patrick quietly said, adding a shoulder shrug to his statement. “I wasn’t going to say anything but I’ve got to admit, she’s not wrong. Smells like monkey shit down here. In fact, it smells like monkey shit covered in monkey shit.”

  Cameron needed out. She turned away from the three of them and she started walking towards the ladder. She wanted to run as fast as her legs would carry her, only pride didn’t allow it. She forced herself to stay calm, forced herself to walk. Everything would be okay as long as she moved away from the door and out of the cellar. (Bomb shelter, she reminded herself. This isn’t a cellar; it’s a bomb shelter. Who knows what’s down here? It could be anything!)

  “Wait Cameron,” Roger said. “You’re being silly!”

  She wasn’t listening.

  “Let her go,” Daniel said.

  “But––”

  “Rog, how long do we plan on staying down here? You want to spend the night? Like you said, it’s friggin’ cold down here.”

  Roger grunted. “The amount of time we’re down here will depend on what we find. How big is this next room, and what do you think is inside? Anything good?”

  As the two men turned towards the door, it swung towards them. Cameron was right. Something was inside and it wasn’t treasure. Something was alive and looking at them, pushing the door open, making the hinges squeak.

  Pat didn’t notice. He was looking at Cameron, and slowly walking towards her. He said, “Awe, don’t go. Stay!”

  Roger stepped back a foot. His mouth slid open and his eyes widened.

  Daniel put a hand to his face. His flashlight slipped from his fingers, bounced off the floor, and rolled towards Pat.

  Pat stopped eying Cameron when the light hit the floor. Instinctively, he looked down. Seeing the light roll towards his feet, he crouched to pick it up.

  And the thing in the darkness, the thing with no name, shuffled its enormous legs, snapped three of its twelve sets of jaws, and began to hiss.

  It sounded angry.

  It sounded like a kettle.

  16

  William returned to his car much like his brother had, with a bag filled with beer bottles in one hand, and a set of keys in the other. The car was a 1979 firebird, rusted to the nines.

  In the front seat was Hellboy, a pure brown Boxer that had big bulging eyes and feet the size of snowshoes. He was the type of dog that slobbered all over the place, never stopped shedding, had lots of gunk in its fur, and dropped turds the size of watermelons all over the yard. On a better note, the dog rarely barked and never went to the bathroom in places that caused trouble. But he did have a fair amount of energy and some days William wondered why he shelled out six hundred bucks for the stupid thing. Eat, sleep, and piss: that’s what Hellboy did. When he wasn’t begging for a walk, or getting walked, or begging for food, or unloading one of his watermelon sized turds, that’s what he did: eat, sleep, and piss. It was quite a life.

  As Beth and William opened the car doors, Will said, “Get in the back seat dog… now!”

  Hellboy lowered his head, licked his snout, and wagged his stumpy tail, shaking his ass (and half his body) in the process. He jumped onto the backseat gr
acelessly, with his snowshoe feet thumping the fabric. He walked in small circles before his head found residence between the two front seats. He licked Beth’s large arm as she plunked herself into the car.

  Once they were on the road, William rolled down his window, pulled a smoke from his pack, and lit it. He offered one to Beth, even though he only had four left. He was good like that, a generous man.

  “How far?” Beth asked, taking a cigarette from the pack.

  “By the time your smoke is gone we’ll be there.”

  “Yeah?” Beth raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see.” She lit the cigarette and rolled down her window.

  Hellboy plodded around the backseat. He stuck his head out the window, opened his mouth, and allowed his tongue to unfurl. His tongue flapped and fluttered like a thick, wet flag. Drool hung from his jaw and drops of white spittle hit the side of the car every few seconds; he was a doggie rain-machine. Occasionally he tried to bite the air.

  They drove past Nicolas Nehalem’s car and pulled into Daniel’s driveway a few seconds later. Beth crushed her cigarette in the dirt and followed Will to the front door, admiring the flowerbed in the yard. No flowers yet, she noticed, but the brickwork looked stunning.

  William rang the bell twice then checked the door. It was unlocked. He stepped inside. Beth followed. Hellboy entered next with his stumpy tail tucked low. He didn’t bark, but did consider it.

  Something, the dog knew, was wrong.

  17

  Legs were everywhere, long and heavy, muscular and strong. They were covered in a thick brown fur, similar to that of a scavenging hyena. Limbs––eleven feet long, twelve feet long, sometimes thirteen feet long––were equipped with three, often four sets of fat, elbow-like joints. Below the ankle joint––if that’s what it was––the limbs were endowed with a sharp, curved point. It was a stinger, shaped like a sickle. But not all limbs were created this way; some were different, ending with a hard, black claw, like those on a lobster or crab.

  The body of the creature was fat and round. Its skin was dark leather, swimming in bugs, bubbles, and patches of thin hair. But these things didn’t characterize the body. To be accurate, the body’s husk was crowded with two basic elements: eyes and mouths. Yes, the back end of the creature had a large anus cavity, a single anus cavity, shaped like a volcano. But the rest of the body was nourished in eyes and mouths. The eyes were black and swollen, the size of a man’s fist. They had no lids, lashes or brows. They were globular, shiny––terrifyingly empty. The mouths were nearly the size of a medicine ball, loaded with teeth. Some were eyeteeth, fangs, daggers; most were crushers, molars, used for cutting food and grinding. Many were squared like a brick. Some looked like small anvils; some were rounded, broken and cracked. In a few places, there were no teeth at all. Just holes. And from behind these daggers and anvils, these bricks and holes, the creature screamed its kettle sounds.

  SQUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

  Daniel ran.

  Cameron turned.

  Roger huffed with his eyes pinned to the beast.

  Patrick picked the flashlight off the ground. “You dropped this,” he said.

  Oblivious.

  Not because he couldn’t hear what was happening, but because everything happened at once: Patrick Love spoke, Daniel McGee ran, Cameron English turned away, and the monster shrieked, pouncing like a wolf-spider, knifing Roger McMaster while he gasped. It used three stingers concomitantly, stabbing ribs and lungs and breaking Roger’s back before he had a chance to move. Then Pat was knocked over and a clawed foot landed on him, holding him against the ground.

  Roger screamed a breathless scream, which the others felt more than heard. Blood filled his lungs. His body twitched violently, the creature’s eyes crawled on him like venomous snakes and for a brief and horrific moment the monster’s enormous teeth held their position in front of his face. It was the calm before the storm; the calm before the teeth came snapping together, chomping Roger’s face in half.

  Begging, Roger said, “Please.”

  That was all.

  The teeth slammed into his skull. Blood and brains splashed in several directions. Body convulsing, Roger’s arms slapped against fur. A piece of bone fell, banging off a trembling shoulder. Legs quivered like they were being electrocuted as the creature pulled its husk in a new position. It bit down a second time, using a new set of jaws, a fresh set, an empty set. Now Roger’s head was gone. In its place was a fountain of blood, a jet stream of blood, a tornado of blood that didn’t want to end. The man’s neck was a nozzle spraying freely. Arms and legs turned limp.

  The creature bit down again, devouring Roger’s neck and the top part of his chest. A crescent appeared in the area between the shoulders, which was hemispherical now, shaped like a half moon, a grotesque smile, the reaper’s sickle. Shoulders slumped low and lifeless on each side of the wound, deflating above the remains of a t-shirt, which slid into dripping red piles around the dead man’s waist.

  The creature changed position, pulling its body through the doorway.

  Legs shifted and lifted. Roger was stabbed again. A fourth mouth tore a shoulder apart and a bright wash of blood poured from the wound. An arm fell to the floor. The monster repositioned its meal and tore a generous opening into Roger’s ribcage. Intestines dropped in a coiled heap. The next bite took the other shoulder––the left shoulder. This time, the arm went with it. The bite after that created a cavity in Roger’s abdominal area. The cavity made a horrific opening that ended near his pelvic bone. Entrails hung like noodles. Seven mouths were feeding; five waited in line. The eighth bite was a large one, taking ribs, spine, bowels and pelvis. Two legs remained. One landed beside Pat, splashing in the fresh red pond. Two mouths consumed the limb, dividing their food above the knee. Roger’s final leg was snatched up with mouths devouring their food in near-equal portions. The beast shuffled its legs again. And all that remained of Roger was a rope of intestine, an arm, and a few hard to define pieces, sitting together in a puddle of gore.

  18

  Daniel ran, shouting, “Run! Get out of here!”

  Cameron’s shoulders shot upward as she spun herself around. Her eyes clamped onto the great creature and her mind seemed to lock up, frozen between thoughts. Inspirations vanished; questions became lost. She didn’t run. Just watched. Mouth open, eyes wide, she watched the beast stab its limbs into Roger’s body. She watched him convulse as the beast devoured his head.

  Daniel ran past.

  He stopped, turned around. He could see Cameron’s feet glued to the ground and Roger’s limbs dancing madly, doing the funky chicken.

  “Run!” he said again; then he went back. Not that he wanted to go back; he didn’t. He wanted to run fast and keep on running until everything seemed like some terribly impossible dream. But sometimes people don’t do what they want to do. Sometimes they do what they have to do. And Daniel McGee had to go back.

  He grabbed Cameron by the arm and pulled. Cameron tripped and fell. She landed on her elbows hard enough to break them. Pain shocked her senses. Dirt puffed into the air. Her flashlight rolled across the ground, circling a half loop before it stopped rolling. She let out a squeal and glanced at the monster again. It looked like a fourteen-foot wide bowling ball with legs and teeth.

  She eyed Pat, still trapped beneath a limb.

  His arms waved and his feet kicked. He was trying to scream, but with the air crushed out of him he was unable.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, still sitting on the floor.

  Daniel stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the beast and its prey. He looked half mad with fear, half mad with frustration. “CAMERON! GET UP NOW! LET’S GO!”

  She said, “Oh shit! We’ve got to get out of here!”

  “COME ON!”

  “What?”

  “GET UP! GET UP! FOR GOD’S SAKE, GET THE HELL UP OR I’M LEAVING YOU HERE!”

  Daniel looked over his shoulder, away from Cameron. What he saw made him feel lighthea
ded. The creature––the thing, whatever it was––was eating Roger. Eating him quickly, without pause, without hindrance. One big bite at a time, Roger was disappearing. Being swallowed. Being chewed.

  Like a fat kid on a cookie, he thought oddly.

  Cameron twisted her body to the left, stealing another glimpse.

  Both of them saw the same thing now: the creature was consuming Roger’s chest. Blood poured on the floor, onto Patrick. Quite simply, buckets of blood were falling. Neither could believe their eyes. There was more blood rushing out of him than either thought possible. And while Daniel figured the beast would come charging at them within seconds, Cameron was sure the creature’s eyes were not focused on Roger, but on her.

  It was watching.

  Cameron staggered to her feet, feeling a wave of nausea that made the room spin. Her eyes watered and fluid ran from her nose.

  Daniel grabbed her by the hand and pulled.

  They were running now, running towards the exit. Daniel was the fast one. Maybe under different circumstances Cameron would be faster. But here, now, it was Daniel. His legs moved quick and efficiently, with strong easy strides, like he was born to run, born to escape impossible situations.

  Cameron’s feet slapped against the ground awkwardly, her head was too low, her arms were swinging wildly and her balance was off. She was ready to fall to her knees, twist an ankle, crash.