Dark Rapture_A Disturbing Psychological Thriller

by Logan Fox

  A flicker of movement ahead drew her head up. For an instant, she thought that Rex, The Chair, the thing behind her had somehow teleported, flashing into existence mere feet in front of her. Perhaps he wasn’t human at all, but a poltergeist that could take on physical shape and form.

  Solid enough to fuck her.

  Ghostly enough to transcend physical space.

  Pearl laughed. The sound cracked in her ears, warbling unsteadily. She threw a glance behind her, the wall crashing into her shoulder — her shoulder careening off the wall.

  Still nothing.

  But he was closer still. Drawing closer.

  She had to move faster. Had to run. This lumbering trot of hers wasn’t going to—

  Pearl faced forward. Screamed. Reared back.

  Ahead, midnight shadows dripped from the ceiling. She was almost at the dungeon’s doors, about halfway down the hall leading to the living area, the patio.

  But her way was barred by darkness.

  Black webbing — ephemeral pitch — spanned the hallway.

  And, in its center, writhed the kitsune. Naked, lithe, pinched face expressionless.

  Pearl’s back slammed into the wall. She tried to scream, but fear was strangling her with its icy fingers. The kitsune turned grey-blue eyes on Pearl, blinking lazily as it squirmed against its demonic bonds.

  And now, clearly, Pearl could see the thing’s tails.

  They coiled and writhed around each other like a pit of snakes, fur matted with streaks of hardened red.

  The kitsune’s blood… or someone else’s?

  The wall clawed at Pearl’s back. She grimaced at the kitsune, showing the thing her teeth — as dull and pitiful as they were — and, in turn, the kitsune bared its own gleaming canines at Pearl.

  But then those cerulean eyes flashed away from Pearl. To the foot of the stairs. And it hissed, spitting a venomous warning with hackles raised and slender body contorting.

  Pearl spun around.

  The stairs were still empty.

  She took a hesitant step back, eyes darting to the side where her own blood painted the Fox Pit’s flowing, organic walls with maroon.

  Warm air, reeking of drying blood and the musk of an animal’s den, surged around her.

  Pearl drew a long, involuntarily breath that made her chest shudder.

  Fur tickled her ear.

  A claw dragged across the nape of her neck. Shivers raced down Pearl’s body, goosebumps springing up in their wake.

  “Run, li’l fox,” a soft, mangled voice hissed in her ear. “He’ssss coming.”

  This time, Pearl didn’t look back.

  The air stank of cherry blossoms and her own sweat. Two blossoms clung to the shoulder of her dress, resisting an absent flick of her fingers to brush them off. More lay scattered on the floor behind her; she’d been so intent on the door, she’d walked right into the putrid plant.

  Pearl’s hand closed over the front door of the Fox Pit. She tugged. Nothing happened.

  Of course… locked.

  Did it know? Did the bloodthirsty piece of architecture trapping her inside itself realize that, if she bolted through the front door, it would never be able to feast on her dripping flesh? Pearl swallowed a panicked whimper and shoved her hand inside the duffel bag. It wasn’t surprising she still had the thing with her — there’d been no time to untangle it from around her arm — but the fact that its contents hadn’t spilled out from the gaping-open flap was astounding. Her fingers recoiled from sodden sweats, hunting blindly for the keycard. Something hard and slick. Curved. Her sweats draped it. She slid her hand under it.

  Footsteps.

  He wasn’t running — Rex, The Chair, whoever the fuck was chasing her. No… his steps were dull, plodding things. She could almost imagine the slack-jawed face and dead eyes of the man working his way down the stairs.

  Her fingers closed around the edge of the keycard. The tip of her nail tore off as she tried yanking it out and it caught on whatever ponderous object made this bag so fucking heavy.

  There was no pain, though — her brain had deactivated her nerve endings in self defense.

  Finally tugging the card free, Pearl swiped it against the panel. The door opened. She slipped outside, turned, and gently closed the door behind her.

  She stepped back, going down a step with a clack of teeth. Seconds later, a dark shadow streamed out behind the stained glass.

  The kitsune… or Rex?

  It was too large to be the kitsune.

  Her heart flung itself around in its cage of bone as she watched that shadow. Watched it pause at the foot of the stairs. Watched it lift its head, sniffing the air like an animal.

  And then the shadow streamed away, shrinking, winking out as it merged with the insipid darkness waiting further down the hall.

  Pearl swallowed a relieved sob and spun around. Her feet crunched over gravel — she felt the pressure of the stones digging into her bare soles, but still no pain — as she bolted toward the fountain.

  The keycard went back into the duffel bag, clacking against something. The journal?

  The phone.

  She almost stopped. Almost fell to her knees, tugged the phone out, and tried to phone for help right there next to the fountain.

  But she felt a push against her, a force driving her further away. Whether it was internal or external, she didn’t have a fucking clue. But it was probably a hell of lot smarter than she was right then.

  She still pulled the phone out, nearly dropping it from her nerveless, shaking fingers.

  Pearl looked down, holding her hand up in front of her face as she jogged down the road at an awkward, lopsided pace.

  Her hand was pure white. The veins on her wrist protruded like blue wires beneath thin, translucent skin.

  Was she turning into a phantom?

  Maybe she’d already died. Maybe she wasn’t running from anything physical anymore, but from the host of evil spirits that haunted the Fox Pit.

  She let out a ragged laugh.

  Her thumb struggled to swipe over the screen. Mild surprise surged through her when the phone came on. It told her to plug it in. She laughed at it and dismissed the message with her index finger, leaving a smudge of blood on it. Her footsteps slowed to a jolting lurch as she tried to remember what to do next.

  Phone icon — tap.

  Her finger moved to the ‘9,’ but hesitated.

  There was already a number on the phone’s screen. Familiar looking. Her brain remained mute on whose it was.

  She pressed the call button and held the phone in as close approximation to her ear as she could while her footsteps jarred her body like a rag doll in a washing machine.

  Ring.

  Her earring clicked against the phone’s screen.

  Ring.

  Ring. Click.

  Ring. Click, click.

  Ring.

  Ring. Click—

  There was a pause, long enough for her to think that someone had answered the phone.

  “Help!” Her shriek surprised the living shit out of her. She drew breath, whatever strange calm she’d been operating under evaporating in an instant.

  “Fuck, help me! They’re going to find me! Please, please, just—”

  There were sounds coming from the phone. Pearl drew a shuddering breath and managed to press the earpiece close enough to her face to hear.

  “—a message after the tone.”

  There was a loud beep.

  Pearl drew the phone away from her ear, staring at it in horror.

  “Greg? Greg!” She was shrieking again. She surged forward, tears blurring her vision. “Greg, please, help me! The girls—they’ve—Owen’s—I can’t…” She drew a ragged breath, letting out a sob. “I can’t run anymore,” she whispered. Another sob. “Please. Please help me. I can’t—”

  There was a sound up ahead, but an itching, crawling dread made Pearl look down at the phone. The screen was nothing but dead, black glass.

&n
bsp; Had it even been on?

  Or had she imagined that number? The voice message?

  She shoved the phone into the duffel bag, face twisting with anger. Fuck this. She’d climb that fucking gate if she died trying. At least, this way, she’d be going on her own terms, and not at the hand of some—

  Her feet skidded as she came around the corner and tried to stop. The duffel bag swung around, unbalancing her even further, sending her sprawling to the stones.

  Up ahead, a car slammed on brakes. Tyres squealed and gravel crunched. There was a loud thump. A plink-plink of cooling metal and gravel settling.

  A car door opened. Pearl pushed herself onto her elbows, her legs now incapable of supporting her. She tipped her head up, watching a blurring figure as it ran towards her.

  “…the fuck happened to you?”

  She recognized that voice. But she still fought the hands that grabbed at her, that tried lifting her to her feet.

  Not going to happen.

  A violent shake cut off her scream. Pearl blinked, forcing her eyes to focus on Ethan’s dumbfounded expression. His green eyes scanned her, taking in her torn, bloodied dress. Her matted hair where rose-scented shampoo had congealed into a sticky mess. To the duffel bag dragging through the gravel beside her.

  “Pearl. Can you hear me?”

  Her head bobbed forward. Not in acquiescence, but because she couldn’t keep it up anymore.

  “Don’t worry. I’m getting us the fuck out of here.”

  She would have kissed him then, if she’d had the strength to lift her head.

  Dull, aching pain brought Pearl back from whatever nowhere land of exhaustion her body had drifted away to. Hands moved over her leg, tugging at her, sending jets of fire into her thigh. Her eyes flickered open.

  She was on the backseat of a Bentley. Ethan fussed over her leg, winding strips of red-mottled yellow around it. He bent low, grabbing something in his teeth, yanking hard.

  Those green eyes glanced up at her, his face billowing as her eyes struggled to focus.

  “Jesus, thank God,” he said. “I was about to CPR the fuck out of you.” He gave the rough tourniquet around her leg another hard yank, wincing when she grimaced at him. “Sorry, honey, but it’s gotta be tight.”

  He reached for her, but she managed to dip her shoulder out from under his.

  Ethan looked like shit. But probably no worse than she did. She laughed, coughed, almost hacked up a lung, and sank the back of her head against the seat, letting her eyes close as they so desperately begged her to do.

  “Can’t do anything about your back right now, but most of those cuts have started clotting, so I think you’re good. Our top priority right now is to get out.”

  There was a clatter as Ethan shook two capsules into his hand from an orange prescription bottle.

  “Can you dry swallow these? You’ll need them.”

  Pearl laughed, coughed again, and took the pills from Ethan. She forced them down her throat with a hard swallow, almost gagging when one of them lodged sideways.

  Ethan gave her leg an absent wipe with the bundle of dress in his fist. Pearl squeezed an eye shut, glancing down at her leg. Most of her skirt was gone — the cop had tried to keep her as decent as possible, but there hadn’t been much of a skirt to begin with — and was now wrapped around her thigh.

  “Is it still in there?” Pearl asked in a rough voice. God, but she was thirsty. And tired… so fucking tired.

  “Yeah…” Ethan glanced back at her, his hand on the car’s door handle. “Would’ve had to use my teeth to pry that shit out.”

  He gave her a soft pat on her knee — on her healthy leg, thankfully — and turned back to the door.

  “Tina?” Another hoarse whisper.

  Ethan paused. His head dipped down, and he gave it a small shake. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, lips pressing for a moment to his faded green t-shirt.

  “I… there wasn’t any time. That fucker Seth came at me like a suicidal ton of bricks when I got upstairs. Barely fended him off.” He gave a nod, straightening his shoulders. “She’ll be fine. She’s a lot tougher than she looks.”

  But the words rang false, as if he was trying to convince both of them.

  “Got his…” Pearl’s voice trailed away as her hand fumbled beside her, encountering nothing. She sat up, wincing. “The bag! Where’s—”

  Ethan gave her a soft smile. “Have it, don’t worry. Look, we have to—”

  “Where?” Pearl’s voice was almost a shriek. She surged forward, grabbing Ethan’s sleeve.

  “Hey, relax. You’re going to start bleeding again.” Ethan smacked away her hand, giving her a severe frown as he reached past her into the footwell behind the passenger seat. He tugged out Seth’s duffel bag, dragging it onto the seat beside her.

  “What’s so important—” he began, but Pearl elbowed his arm out of the way and shoved her hand inside the bag.

  She found the wet slacks and yanked them out. Burrowed her fingers into the pocket. Tugged out a wad of wet paper.

  “No… no, no, no…” her voice trailed away into a soft wail as her trembling fingers struggled with the clump of wet paper.

  “Pearl, there isn’t time for—”

  “They did it,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “It was here. They wrote everything down…” She bit back a sob and carefully smoothed out the top page of writing over her thigh.

  “Fuck, Pearl, we can’t—”

  “It’s all here,” she said, lifting her voice over Ethan’s. “Names, dates. Where they buried them. There’s three of them. All in his head. And Owen. He’s the one that, that—” She swallowed in a breath, smearing down the paper “—he calls him, and they…”

  Ethan snatched the paper from her leg. “Pearl, there’s nothing here. It’s just paper.”

  “No, they wrote—”

  “There’s no fucking time for this!” Ethan slapped the page into her stomach. “Put it back. I have to get us—”

  Pearl fumbled with the paper. “No, it’s here. Ethan, they bury them in the forest. Abby, she’s a kid, she doesn’t like it. Then there’s Rex, and he—”

  “Pearl!”

  A pair of hands trapped her face. They twisted her up, tearing her gaze away from the clump of wet paper in her lap.

  “Pearl.” Softer now, more intense. “You can show me later, okay? It’ll still be there when we get out.”

  Pearl managed an unsteady nod.

  “You okay? You with me?”

  Another nod.

  “Good.” Ethan gave her a smile. It seemed to pain him, what with the cut alongside his eye. “Now let’s get the fuck out of this—”

  Behind him, the window shattered into a thousand furious glittering slivers of glass.

  Something was wrong with her eyes, or her mind. That, or reality had taken a coffee break and was currently lounging on a sidewalk somewhere, annihilating a donut and a triple espresso.

  Glass shouldn’t glitter like that, right?

  It shouldn’t float through the air.

  Pearl blinked.

  In that tiny fraction of time, a fist hurtled through the air, connecting with the side of Ethan’s slowly turning head as he faced the barrage of crystalline daggers sliding toward him.

  Another blink.

  Ethan’s head snapped around. Blood and spittle sprayed into Pearl’s face. Her scream vibrated through the air.

  Reality returned, aghast to find that everything had gone to shit while it had been sallying forth. And, as if determined to make up for this lapse of attention — good jobs were hard to come by these days — it redoubled its efforts to restore order to time, the universe… fucking everything.

  Rex’s vacant black eyes turned to slits. He grabbed Ethan’s hair and jerked the man out of the car through the torn-apart window. Ethan cried out in pain, but the sound was silenced by a meaty thud seconds later. Then another. And another. Blood trickled down the creamy leather beneath the window
, drawing Pearl’s eyes like metal shavings to a lodestone. She watched that trickle stain the leather, seeping into the tiny holes of a seam, leeching into the hand-stitched embroidery.

  There was a fox embroidered on the leather. Tiny, curled in on itself.

  Pearl blinked, her eyes refocusing.

  They studded very inch of the leather interior.

  Had she just not made out that now so woefully apparent pattern on her trip here? Or was this a different car?

  Was this Henry’s car?

  There was a harsh sigh from outside the car. Rex straightened, his shoulders bunching as he lifted a limp, bloodied Ethan from the gravel. He tossed the man over the hood of the car as if he was throwing his jacket over the back of a chair after a long day.

  Those empty eyes fixed on her.

  Pearl’s hand found the door handle behind her. She tugged it open. Shoved her shoulder into it. It opened. She yelped in surprise when she crashed into it a second later.

  Rex slid his hands over the bottom of the window, glancing from left to right as if trying to figure out if he could fit through the hole. Maybe the tooth-like protrusions of glass spearing up from the bottom — some stained with Ethan’s blood — gave him pause. His hand dove down, hunting for the door handle instead.

  Pearl’s head swung around — oh so fucking reluctant to take her eyes off Rex — and stared in horror at the tree behind her.

  So that had been the thump she’d heard earlier: Ethan losing control of the car, skidding over the gravel, the Bentley’s left-rear door slamming into a fir tree.

  The door she was currently trying to escape from.

  Pearl swallowed down a scream when the opening chords of Master of Puppets crashed into the air.

  Reality ducked out for a quick puff again, leaving time to crawl along on its belly.

  Rex cocked his head. In that moment, those black eyes were filled with the cunning guile of a doberman. His lips pulled back into a humorless grin that bared white teeth at her.

  Pearl darted forward, snatching the phone out of the duffel bag and wriggling between the gap in the front seats. Well, she tried to dart. Attempted — desperately — to snatch. And that wriggle? It was more like the squirm of a dying worm.