by Neil Kleid
He moved farther into the chapel, the candlelight within casting shadows on the walls and the windows to either side.
With great fear, Sergei thought. And little happiness.
Sergei moved to the center of the chapel. He continued past rows of chairs and the dulled, prismatic colors of exquisitely designed stained-glass windows. Finally he came to the coffin—lined with velvet and burnished with copper, open and resting in the heart of his lair. It waited amid a handful of candlesticks, shaded to either side by lush, verdant floral arrangements imported from Madagascar, Moscow, and the Middle East. Sergei climbed the short staircase leading to the coffin and placed the family portrait on the edge of the bier.
But I believe I can know happiness now. It waits nearby—just outside, perhaps, hidden in the patter of the rain, the drumbeat of the thunder.
Peace, calm, happiness.
Sergei smiled and looked into the coffin, reaching down for the object he knew would be waiting.
Finally, an ending.
Sergei—Hunter no more, nothing but a man, a beast, a Kravinoff—lifted his rifle from its case, turned it in his hands, and tested its weight. He ran a palm along the stock and tightened the barrel in his grip, resting the cool metal against his strong, calloused fingers. The rifle, a modified Remington, was one of a kind: handcrafted for Sergei alone, built on the bones of a classic Model 700.
Thunder roared above, heralding the moment. Sergei lifted the rifle with both hands, turning it so that he might face the inviting barrel.
I was the Spider, Sergei thought as he placed the barrel between his lips. Thunder reverberated throughout the chapel.
I was the Hunter, he reminded himself as he placed a thumb on the trigger, slowly pulling it down.
I was a Kravinoff. A lone tear rolled down his cheek, splashing against the rifle’s stock. His mother’s eyes reached out from the portrait, pleading through the years, begging for an end.
They said my mother was insane.
Kraven the Hunter pulled the trigger, and the world went dark and cold.
PART FIVE
DEMONS
ONE
(THUMP thump)
Spider-Man dragged himself up the sewer tunnel toward the drums. In his mind, the whispers and accusations slipped away, replaced by the steady pounding of a mysterious heartbeat.
(thump thump)
Beneath it, he heard the soft whisper of a loving voice.
(come out COME OUT COME BACK)
(thump thump)
He knew the voices, drums, and heartbeat were only in his head. Still, he couldn’t drown them out with thoughts or jokes of his own. He continued on hands and knees, edging forward in the sludge. Into the ground again—his third time in two weeks. Kraven had buried him. Kraven had drawn him down into his lair. And now, because of Kraven, he was venturing down below to find and capture Vermin. He didn’t remember being buried, but as he crawled through a long, slick tunnel, he flashed back to Kraven’s basement and the stone staircase leading down into the darkness.
I don’t want to be here, Peter thought. I want to be home. He wanted to follow the insistent call of the loving voice, take its beckoning hand and return to the light.
He felt boxed in, as if he were still trapped in the coffin. Scrabbling with both hands at the darkness and finding nothing more than dirt.
(so dark)
“I want to be home,” he said aloud, to no one at all, as he fought his way through the shadows beneath New York.
I’ve been here before. I didn’t like it the first time.
(so dark)
Yet here he was, playing the hero, knee-deep in filth—determined to find Vermin and get him help.
I don’t want to be here, he repeated, adopting it as his new mantra. I want to be home with my girlfriend where it’s warm, safe, and secure. Not sweating in sewage and wondering if the walls are closing in and the tunnel is getting smaller.
I’m afraid. Mary Jane, I’m so afraid.
Spider-Man kept moving, putting one hand in front of the other. He scraped fingers and knees against concrete and slime, ignoring his own fear and exhaustion, heading for some unseen destination. Hoping for the telltale hint of spider-sense that would let him know he’d found his prey.
I’ve been here before.
Voices echoed down the corridor, bouncing their way toward his ears. Cackles and threats intermingled with bellows and grunts, growing louder the farther he progressed. He heard them waiting, crowding the passageway and beckoning him forward. Metal and scales, glistening in the shadows. Horns and wings; tails and tentacles. The closer he drew, the louder they became.
(come out now)
Spider-Man kept going. He kept crawling up the tunnel.
I’m afraid. But I can’t let my fear stop me.
He set his jaw beneath the mask, narrowed his eyes, and pushed forward.
God, please don’t let it stop me.
TWO
SPIDER-MAN’S body was tired, his costume soaked and filthy. Vermin had gotten a head start—when Spider-Man had climbed down the ladder, he found the tunnel abandoned. Now the water rippled at his feet, as if something had passed through it, leaving a subtle wake. He was exhausted, his head pounding, but he forced himself to gather the last of his strength. He trudged through darkness and a river of sewage, searching for Vermin.
He pursed his lips, doing his best to avoid accidentally drinking the water dampening his mask. Breathing through his nose, he soldiered on, determined to bring an end to this horrific, interminable night.
Then fear regained its hold on his rapidly beating heart. A vision appeared before his eyes. Velvet and copper, a rush of earth filling his mouth and nose, filling the interior of the coffin—
“No!” he screamed, lunging forward in the tunnel. He leapt into an isolated corridor in which four large pipes dumped their contents into the sewer’s main reservoir. Nearly free of the tunnel, resting on the overextended muscles of both arms, Spider-Man leaned his head into the corridor and tried to catch his breath. His lungs and nostrils filled with a putrid, horrible smell. Chest hitching, mind reeling, Spider-Man forced away the vivid hallucination.
It wasn’t a coffin—just a sewer. No one had locked him away again. He was here because he wanted to be here.
(I don’t want to be here!)
He was here because he had to be here.
(I want to go home)
He was here because Vermin was here.
He pulled himself out of the pipe, shaking sludge from his arms. He did his best to unclog his web-shooters. He wiped a hand across his mask, clearing both eye-lenses, and sat down in the water and runoff that filled the room.
Thanks to his sudden panic attack, the water now rippled in several directions. His chances of finding Vermin had grown that much slimmer.
I can’t give up. I can’t let Vermin run loose, he reminded himself, steeling his resolve. He’s a killer, less than human, and he eats people. These past weeks, while I’ve been…dead—
(I’m NOT DEAD)
—Vermin’s been out on the street, hunting and feeding. And while that was happening, and after Vermin ate his fill…what Kraven did to him—
Spider-Man let his thoughts trail off. He allowed his tired arms to dangle, a momentary respite before continuing his search. He failed to notice a resilient rodent paddle up from beneath him—until the vicious beast bit him on the finger.
“No!” he screamed, struggling to his feet. His voice sounded shrill and hoarse, echoing around the reservoir. Shocked and frightened, he swung his hand and tossed the rat aside, smacking it against the wall.
Then he noticed the water churning around his legs and the tinny patter rattling against metal. A moment later, an army of determined rodents appeared from the darkness, swarming toward him and backing him against the wall.
No! Not so soon! I didn’t want to find him so soon—
Peter needed time to rest, just for a little while. Everything that had ha
ppened at Kraven’s house—the emotional turmoil and drug-induced hallucinations— it was too much. He needed peace—just a few moments without being afraid.
(look at them swarming, biting, like maggots)
The rats dropped from the ceiling, landing on Spider-Man’s shoulder and scrambling their way up his back. They dragged wet tails over his arms and sides, covering his costume, making his skin shiver.
“Get them away from me, Vermin!” Spider-Man stared into the corners of the reservoir, trying to see his cannibalistic prey. “I’m warning you—”
(like little tiny maggots and they’re going to drag me back down into)
“—get them away from me!”
He lashed out, swiping at the multitude of rats and kicking those at his feet. His shoulder connected with the wall behind him as another handful of Vermin’s friends launched themselves from atop the pipe, attacking the enemy of their unseen master. Peter twisted and turned, doing his best to bat the rats aside. The water swirled around him as more of the foul little creatures swam toward him, nipping at his legs and heels with sharp yellow teeth. Sweat drenched his back, adding to the coat of slime left by the rodents.
Peter leapt from the water with a strangled cry, attaching himself to a nearby wall. Several resourceful rats clung to his back and legs. Peter kicked out, doing his best to shake them.
How does Vermin do it? How does he make them obey him like that? He isn’t human, is he? He’s some kind of…some kind of—
Spider-Man shook his head, forcing himself to think logically. He admonished himself for letting his thoughts run wild. He knew that Vermin was human; he had read copious files on the hybrid. Vermin had been a man once—a scientist, actually, working for Norman Osborn, the Green Goblin. Osborn, under the auspices of his company, had experimented on the man Vermin had been, mutating him into some kind of man-rat.
Spider-Man swung at the last of Vermin’s four-footed soldiers. They cracked against the wall, splattering along the concrete corridor.
Peter clung to the ceiling, avoiding contact with the rest of the pack. His heart pounded wildly, filling his ears with the familiar drumbeat that reminded him of Kraven, darkness, and death. He swung out of the corridor, away from the rats, into an adjacent tunnel. Crawling along the wall, he did his best to repeat his new mantra: I am not afraid I am not afraid I am not afraid.
Deep down, in the pit of his gut, Spider-Man knew that he was, indeed, afraid. But as long as he didn’t turn back, as long as he continued to do the right thing, the fear did not matter. It served to remind him that he was still a man, not a mask. That the only animal beneath New York was a coward who sent an army of ordinary rats to do his dirty work.
Peter skittered along the winding tunnels, keeping a watchful eye out for rat tails. Eventually, he came to a service passage. He dropped from the ceiling and landed with a splash, then waded hip-deep through the murky, swirling water. He headed through shadows as the viridian liquid eddied away from his legs. Everything was quiet now. The only thing Spider-Man could hear was the sound of water and the echoing heartbeat in the back of his mind.
I want to run away, he thought. I can’t stand the stench. I hope I don’t get sick.
“Your rats ran away, Vermin!” he shouted into the darkness. “They always run away in the end, don’t they?”
Spider-Man walked to the end of the tunnel and splashed a hand in the toxic river. “It’s just you and me now, Vermin. So come out, come out wherever you are!”
He felt the low buzzing of his spider-sense, sizzling up along his spine.
Vermin lunged from the churning water, clawing and growling. Peter leapt aside, evading Vermin’s slashing claws. The man-rat dove down, sludge coating his burning eyes and flashing teeth.
“Whassamatter, Vermin?” Peter taunted. “Rat got your tongue?”
Vermin roared in frustration and sprang from the water, digging both claws into Spider-Man’s shoulders. He kicked out, knocking Peter off his feet.
Stale, stupid, useless joke—when had jokes ever helped a situation before? Sometimes they could throw a villain off his game. This time, the taunt had only served to enrage an already angry, trapped animal.
“You shouldn’t have followed me, Sssspider-Man,” Vermin hissed. “You should have left me alone!”
Spider-Man tended to agree. His mask and mouth were below the water, and he was off his feet and going down once more and oh god they were going down—
Both victim and victor slipped below the churning, toxic liquid and disappeared from sight.
THREE
(I’M not dead)
Peter thrashed beneath the sewage, gasping for air and struggling to break Vermin’s grip. The world turned green and narrowed to an inch (out of the grave, up through the dirt) before his eyes, a flurry of slashing fingers and churning liquid. Vermin lunged for his throat and he pulled away, letting the killer’s teeth snap down on nothing more than filth and poison. Peter shoved against Vermin’s chest with his elbow, then pushed off the bottom with his foot. His fingers, blind and weak, searched for purchase above the water but found none.
(out of the grave, up through the dirt)
He stood, rearing up and out of the fluorescent river, sucking in a breath of air. Then Vermin wrestled him below once more.
(into the ground, into the dirt where Kraven buried him, alive and yearning to be free)
Down they went again, fighting for their lives.
(I’m not dead!)
Spider-Man shoved Vermin’s face away, pushing it against the wall. Before Peter could regain his footing, Vermin shook off the impact and tackled him for a third time.
(down in the earth in a velvet coffin as rain pounds and drums thunder and Peter Parker is dead to the world)
The world swam by before him. What if I am? Peter wondered, eyes bleary and stinging. What if he had never come up from the grave? What if all this— Kraven, Vermin, this sewer—wasn’t real and he was still down there—
(down with spiders and gravestones the death and disappointment with Ned and Gwen and Uncle Ben)
—and what if he really was—
(I. Am. NOT. DEAD.)
Vermin reached behind Spider-Man’s back and flipped him over in the water, squealing with rage as he tried to drown his enemy. But before he went under, Peter stuck his arm beneath Vermin’s neck and reversed their momentum, swinging around to wedge his right foot against the corridor wall. Vermin growled, low and menacing, then snatched a handful of Peter’s costume. Spider-Man launched himself from the wall and used the flats of his hands to shove Vermin beneath the water, holding him down.
The sewage boiled and bubbled, and moments later one of the combatants came up for air.
FOUR
EDWARD sputtered and coughed, expelling liquid from his throat, and spun around in the tight space to locate Spider-Man. He whirled and splashed, finding no one, and squinted to see where his tormentor might be hiding.
“Ssssspider-Man…?” Edward asked. He had to protect himself, so he put his back to the wall as he searched the tunnel. Claws hooked, eyes narrowed, Edward felt his resolve fading. He realized how alone he was, how vulnerable he was to the man who’d made his life a living hell.
find him, Vermin shouted in his head. find him eat him he’s ourssss down here
Edward’s stomach churned. Sweat trickled from the top of his head, mingling with dripping sewage. His breath rattled in his chest. The longer the silence grew, the more concerned Edward became.
“Where are you?” Tentatively, warily. “You…you can’t hide from me, Ssssspider-Man! I’ll find you!”
That didn’t sound as convincing as he’d hoped. Vermin urged him to try again. He reminded Edward who they were and why they had come above. They knew, he said, that Spider-Man could not defeat them alone.
Edward steeled himself, running back and forth against the wall. He ducked down to peer beneath the sludge, swiping his claws in case Spider-Man might be hiding below the sur
face. “Where are you?!”
Nothing. Silence. Just the sound of moving water and the far-off squeaks and scrabbling of his tiny little friends. No Spider. Nothing but the terrible beating of his frightened heart, and the disgusted scorn of Vermin in his mind.
weakling idiot let me out i’ll find him i’m the only one who can
Edward closed his eyes and shook his head, determined to finish this himself. He was desperate to end the pain, to stop Spider-Man’s cruel torture and Vermin’s constant belittling. Edward could deal with it all, himself. He hadn’t always been this way. Before…
what were you edward? before? nothing without me weak and soft
…no, that wasn’t right. He had been something else before the hurt, before the hunt. If he could remember—
i remember edward i remember the way they locked us up and hurt us just like spider-man locked us up and hurt us
Edward shook his head once more—violently, swiftly. Vermin was wrong. They hadn’t locked him away. They’d wanted to help him, before. Before they hit him. And hurt him.
i’m going to hurt you edward keep this up and you’ll have nothing to fear from sssspider-man you fool, not if i get to you first
“No!” Edward screamed. “You’re not gonna hit and hurt me again! You’re not!” He backed against the wall, eyes wide, cowering in terror and searching every shadow.
“E-everybody hits me. Hurts me. Everybody. Why—why won’t they just leave me alone?”
you’re a killer that’s why a beautiful killer did you forget my sweet
Edward gulped and coughed, tears springing to his eyes. Sweat continued to mat his fur, commingled with thick, viscous sewage. “It’s not my fault,” he replied. “I get hungry, is all.”
then what are you waiting for? Vermin asked. find the crawly man the insect man find the ssssspider-man and eat him up
Edward covered his mouth and craned his neck to see up the tunnel. He looked left and right but found no sign of Spider-Man’s costume, nor could he see any trail of blood to follow.
