by M. D. Massey
Amazingly, he was still breathing. Goblins were resilient little shits—not quite as tough as trolls, but they were still hard to kill. I stood there looking at him for a second, considering whether or not I should end his miserable existence. A whole lot of grunting and thumping behind me reminded me why I was here.
I turned around and pulled the gag from the kid’s mouth.
“Shit, man—what the hell is that dude’s problem? And why is he so ugly? I thought it was just a scary clown mask, then I rubbed off some of his makeup when he was tying me up.”
I pulled my hunting knife from the small of my back and began cutting the kid loose as I considered my options. This kid struck me as the curious type, the kind that got a glimpse of the world beneath and spent the rest of their life chasing the supernatural. If he’d seen what was underneath the goblin’s makeup, it was going to be hard coming up with a lie that he’d accept. I needed him to trust me, so I could get him out of here safely. For expediency’s sake, I decided to go with the truth. I could always get Sabine to mind-wipe him later.
“That dude is a goblin. They’re all that ugly. Just be glad they don’t smell like trolls.”
The kid sat up and swung his legs off the side of the table. “Goblin? As in Lord of the Rings, D&D goblins?”
I shrugged. “Sort of. Tolkien took most of his ideas from real life supernatural creatures. Except for orcs—that shit was totally made up. What’s your name, kid?”
“Well, it’s not fucking kid, that’s for damned sure. It’s Kenny.”
“Like South Park Kenny?”
He shot me a smart-assed smirk. “Ha, ha. Never heard that one before. Out of one-hundred-thousand sperm, you were really the fastest?”
“Cartman it is, then,” I said matter-of-factly. “C’mon, Cartman, we need to get you out of here and back to your parents.”
The kid jumped off the table. “First off, fuck you. And second, not until I find Derp.”
“Who the hell is Derp?”
“Derp is about the only real friend I have in this world. No way am I going to let him get sacrificed by these insane goblin pussies.”
“It’s Insane Clown Posse.”
“I know that—hell, I listen to ICP and know some juggalos, and these clowns are not even close. So fuck them—and fuck you if you’re not going to help me. I’ll find Derp myself.”
Kenny started walking for the exit.
“Man, I thought I cussed a lot,” I mumbled as I jumped in front of Kenny. “Look, Cartman, I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. In fact, it’s kind of my job.”
“Got turned down for door greeter at Wal-Mart, huh?”
“Yeah… I mean, no—I’m a hunter. I hunt things like these guys.”
“Buffy it is, then.” The kid looked around like he was missing something. “Hey, where’d that ass-clown go?”
I looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, the goblin had disappeared, probably with the help of a glamour. A quick glance around in the magical spectrum revealed him limping toward a section of wall.
The goblin turned around and flashed a “W.C.” hand sign with his arms crossed. “Whoop, whoop, bitches! Dis ninja outta here.” Then, he pushed on a section of wall and slipped inside a hidden door.
4
I ran to the wall, but it was sealed up tight by the time I got there. “Shit. The little bastard got away.”
“Hey, man, you’re bleeding.”
Kenny pointed at my midsection. I looked down, and he was right—my shirt was soaked. I lifted the material to reveal a nasty four-inch cut across my abdomen. I was lucky. The cut had only made it through the skin and fat, and not the muscle.
“How can you not feel that?”
“Adrenaline. Happens all the time,” I said. “That’s how soldiers bleed out on the battlefield. They get hit in the confusion of battle and adrenaline kicks in so they don’t feel it. Adrenaline causes vasoconstriction, so even though your heart is pumping faster, you don’t bleed as much at first. Later, when it wears off, that’s when your blood pressure drops and you pass out…”
Kenny covered his eyes with his hand and groaned, cutting me off. “You can stop right there, Dr. Google. Next time skip the science channel soundbites and just say, ‘adrenaline.’ I might be a kid, but I have the Internet, too.”
I rustled around in my Craneskin Bag for a first-aid kit. “I’m starting to think I should’ve just let the goblin kill you, Kenny.”
Kenny hopped back up on the table while he watched me patch myself up. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Smart-ass is my default setting, so get used to it. And anyway, you aren’t exactly the world’s least sarcastic person either. I bet you piss off a ton of people with that pissy fucking personality of yours.”
“Alright, already—enough with the f-bombs.”
Kenny flipped me off. “Like you never cussed when you were a kid. Every kid cusses. It’s like a rite of passage or something.”
I grabbed a first-aid kit from my Craneskin Bag, then cleaned the wound and sprinkled a clotting agent on it to stop the bleeding. “If I’d cussed like you, Cartman, I’d have slipped up eventually and gotten my mouth washed out with soap—A Christmas Story-style.”
“Been there, done that. It’s not so bad. That Ralphie kid was kind of a pussy. Who cries when they’re beating someone’s ass? If I was stomping a bully’s head into the ground, I’d be smiling.”
I applied a piece of gauze and taped the wound up tight. Then I swept a hand grandly in Kenny’s direction. “Ladies and gentlemen, the future of our nation.”
“Damn straight. And when you’re in the old folks’ home, I’ll be dating your much younger wife.”
“I’m, like, ten years older than you. And I date women my own age.”
Kenny smirked. “Sure you do, right now. But your generation is running from manhood. You guys just want to watch porn and play video games all day. No way you’re getting married until you’re in your sixties. Then, it’ll be to some wide-eyed coed who thinks your dad bod is sexy.”
He was a smart kid—probably smart enough to attract regular ass-beatings from bullies. He reminded me of myself at his age.
“I am not having this conversation with you, Cartman. Now, let’s go.” I approached the wall the goblin had disappeared into, and began tapping on it with my club.
“Whatever, Buffy. Hey, you got a sword in that bag? Can I have one?”
“No, Kenny, you can’t have a sword. And how would I fit a sword in this bag?”
Kenny crossed his arms. “Oh, quit fucking around already. If goblins really exist, then that’s a bag of holding if I ever saw one. You stuck your arm into it almost up to the shoulder. If you’re trying to keep it a secret, you might want to be a bit subtler the next time you pull a baseball bat out of your man purse.”
“It’s not a… never mind. Stand back, I’m going to bust us an exit.” I reared back and swung at the wall, just as hard as I could. The plywood barrier exploded into splinters.
Kenny was beside himself with glee at the destruction my club had wrought. “Holy shit! Man, you gotta give me one of those.”
“Sorry, it’s the only one.” I stuck my head through the hole, muttering a spell to enhance my vision. “Damn, this doesn’t bode well for us.”
“Bode? Who talks like that? You’re a bigger dork than me and Derp put together.” Kenny elbowed his way past me. “Lemme see.”
I pulled him back, just as he was about to fall into the vast, empty void beyond the wall.
“Shit, man! Why didn’t you warn me?” he exclaimed.
“Because you didn’t think to ask.”
“Asshat.”
“Shit biscuit.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
I looked out the hole one more time, verifying what I’d seen the first time. There were definitely things moving around out there in that void—huge, eldritch, otherworldly things that defied description. An enormous gaping mouth in a clump of tenta
cles, filled with row after row of teeth that spun like a pinwheel. A cuboid creature made of fire and smoke and blood. A giant tree-man that floated in the nothing, walking step by step through the void, somehow managing locomotion in empty space.
“Fuck.” I said it and immediately regretted it. “Help me move that table in front of this hole.”
“But that’s where the clown went. How’re we going to follow him if we don’t use the same door?”
“That’s not where he went. He stepped through a teleportation portal, and whoever or whatever created it closed it immediately after.” I pointed at the hole in the wall. “That out there is another dimension, maybe one of the planes of Hell, or some empty Void where shit straight out of Lovecraft’s warped mind lives. Do I have any idea why part of this funhouse resides in another dimension? Nope. But if we don’t close that hole up, something way more wicked and nasty than that clown is going to come through. And frankly, I’m not trained to handle that kind of shit-show.”
We moved the table to the wall and flipped it over. Then, I grabbed some silver spikes from the Bag and used my club to hammer them into the wall through the table. I hoped they’d be enough to hold it. I could’ve warded the damned thing, but I didn’t think anything I could cast would be enough to keep one of those things out. Besides, the magic would glow like a beacon out there, drawing unwanted attention from the Old Ones or whatever the hell those things were.
We rested for a moment after I was done. Then we tried to backtrack, just to see if we could. Unfortunately, we ended up right back in the room with the hole in the wall that led to the nightmare dimension.
“Something really powerful and really twisted is screwing with us,” I mumbled.
“No shit, Sherlock. Now what?” Kenny asked.
“Now, we keep going through the fun house. Hopefully, we’ll run into your friend and get the hell out in one piece.”
5
Kenny and I headed out the door opposite from the one I’d entered minutes prior. Strangely, the interior scale of the fun house corridors expanded the farther along we went. The nature of the walls, floor, and ceiling changed as well, transforming gradually from cramped plywood hallways to large stone passages. Oddly enough, black-light bulbs above and lighted arrow signs mounted on the walls continued to light our way. Apparently, someone had also turned on the fog machine, because the floors soon became obscured by thick mists that clung to our legs as we passed.
“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto,” Kenny muttered.
I glanced over at him, noting the way his eyes were darting around. A high, chilling laugh echoed from the corridor ahead, and the kid nearly jumped out of his shoes.
“Hang on a second.” I stuck my arm out to stop him, keeping him behind me as I scanned the cavernous passageway ahead. “Alright, I think we’re good. Kenny, do you know how to shoot?”
He gave a half-shrug. “I’ve played a lot of first-person shooters. Does that count?”
“Ever play any arcade shooting games?”
“At the theater, sure. They always have some old-ass arcade games in the lobby.”
I nodded and pulled a Glock 9mm from my bag. “Good deal. Listen, I’m trusting you with this, because I want you to be able to protect yourself. But you have to understand it’s not a toy.”
“Yeah, yeah—don’t shoot you, I get it.”
I sucked air through my teeth, wondering if this was such a good idea. I decided I wouldn’t feel right if I left the kid completely helpless, and if we got separated he’d need a way to defend himself. So, I gave him a crash course in Glock 101.
“Okay, check it out. The magazine holds seventeen rounds, plus there’s one in the chamber—so there’s no need to rack the slide.” I press-checked the chamber and dropped the slide, showing him what I was doing. “Glocks don’t have an external safety, which means if you pull the trigger it’s going to go boom, every damned time. Keep your finger off the trigger, and keep the muzzle pointed away from us both. Grip it with both hands, like this. If you have to shoot, take your time. Line up a good sight picture, aim for center mass—right in the middle of their chest—and gently squeeze the trigger twice.”
I put the pistol back in my concealment holster and handed it to him. “Tuck it inside your belt, and keep it holstered unless you’re in danger. And I’m getting that back when we’re out of here. Got it?”
He looked me in the eye and pursed his lips, then nodded. “Got it.”
I waited to see if he needed help clipping the holster to his belt. He didn’t. He also didn’t make the stupid mistake of placing the holster where he couldn’t easily reach it. Smart kid. I pulled out my Kahr subcompact 9mm from my Bag, and holstered it in similar fashion. It was a lot smaller than the Glock, but contrary to popular belief, the larger weapon would be easier for smaller hands to control.
“We’re obviously not inside the carnival fun house anymore, so there’s no telling what’s up ahead. Keep that pistol holstered until I say so. And if we get separated, shoot first and ask questions later. Let’s go.”
I headed up the corridor again, taking my time and listening carefully for signs of danger or pursuers. Outside the occasional sinister laugh, and the plip-plop of condensation falling from the ceiling above, it was deathly quiet.
And that made me nervous.
After a few minutes of cautiously creeping down the tunnel, the corridor widened out into a large, cavernous chamber—maybe two hundred feet across. Halfway across the chamber, waves lapped at the shore of a small underground lake. A row of gondola-style boats, like the kind found in old-school “tunnel of love” amusement attractions, sat half in and half out of the water, their tail ends lodged in the dark sand of the subterranean lakeshore.
“Why do I feel like we’re about to get jumped by the Falmer?” Kenny asked.
“Yeah, I’m getting a definite dungeon crawl vibe here.” I cast a night-vision cantrip and looked around the cavern, searching for exits. It looked as though the lake drained into a cavern across the way. “Seems as though the only way out of here is across the lake. We’re going to be exposed when we cross this chamber, so stick close to me, alright?”
Kenny gulped and nodded. I stayed low to reduce my silhouette, and began slinking across the cavern toward the dark, sandy beach ahead. We were halfway to the boats when Kenny tugged on my sleeve.
“What is it? Do you need to pee? Because now would be a good time, before we get in one of those boats.”
Kenny shook his head slowly, his eyes widening. Then, he raised one small finger and pointed overhead. I looked up, and nearly shit my pants.
Thick, cable-like spiderwebs covered the ceiling in a vast network of translucent ropy strands. Each strand of webbing glistened in the pale light, as if covered by something wet and goopy. I had no doubt that if we touched one of those lengths of web, we’d be held fast.
Of course, scattered throughout the web were at least a dozen giant spiders—large black and yellow arachnids with bodies five or six feet in length, and leg spans easily three times that.
And all of them had their beady little eyes fixated on us.
“You have to be flipping kidding me. Run for the boats, Kenny!”
6
As soon as we bolted for the shoreline, the spiders began dropping from the ceiling. I tossed my war club in my Bag, and grabbed a wicked little Celtic-style short sword instead. The club was great for bashing in fae, and it did have better reach. But if one of those spiders spat or shat their webbing at me, I damned sure wanted at least half a chance at cutting myself loose.
Kenny was right on my heels as we ran. I skidded to a stop as a spider landed in front of us, cutting us off from the boats. The damned thing came at me, clicking its fangs together. I pulled a Sam Gamgee, sliding under those fangs as I stabbed that fucker right in the baby maker. It was mean as hell, but the bitch had it coming.
I rolled out from under Shelob’s little sister, slicing two of its legs of
f as I stood. It was already dead, it just didn’t know it yet—and it was fighting to its last breath to kill me. It spun toward me, snagging me with its forelegs and pulling me toward its fangs, which dripped with venom. I stabbed it in the head, right between both rows of its beady little eyes. The spider collapsed and released me, and I kicked it off to gain space to maneuver.
Three shots rang out to my left. Kenny had decided it was open season on giant spiders, and damn it if the kid wasn’t a halfway decent shot. He’d plugged a couple of the things, although the 9mm hollow points weren’t having much effect. A .44 magnum or 10mm would have been a better choice for bear-sized spiders, but at least they were keeping their distance from him.
But the spiders were trying to flank him, and when they did he’d be their snack. I charged the one closest to me, jumping on its back and plunging my short sword into the joint between its head and thorax. This sword was made for stabbing, and it slid in easily to the hilt. The spider staggered a few steps, and I hung on to the hilt for dear life until the beast crashed to the cave floor.
Kenny was alternating shots between the other two, keeping them back. But more were coming from the entrance side of the cavern, and I knew that soon we’d be overrun.
“Kenny, head for the boat, now!”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Which boat?”
“I don’t know, pick your favorite color. Now, run!”
He fired a couple more shots, then did as I asked. I jumped off the dead spider’s back, sprinting to get myself between Kenny and the other two spiders. As I did, I reached into my Bag for one of my jury-rigged spells—an M-80 firecracker enhanced with minor spell work and runes drawn on with a permanent marker. I cast a small cantrip to light the wick, then tossed it between the spiders and took off at a dead sprint for the boats.
The magic bomb went off like a thunderclap, stunning the two spiders. Without any projectiles glued to the outside, it was nothing more than a homemade flashbang bomb, but that was all we needed. The spiders backed away from the noise and flash, giving me enough time to reach the boat Kenny had selected.
