by Jeremy Seals
Back at Stoddard, two vans, non-descript and perfectly ordinary, drove out of the parking lot. Mr. Pete followed in a small sedan. The convoy travelled to a small private airport. Children, some weeping, others, Georgia included, were eager, trooped from the vans to a waiting Lear jet. It took off shortly after everyone boarded.
Police investigating the murder of Megan Summers and the disappearance of the kids were baffled. No one had seen them since that morning. The staff’s backgrounds were all very well done fakes. Even the psychotropic drugs they found mixed into a half empty jug of grape drink had no back trail.
All the meager details were filed away in a cold case box a year later. Stoddard was repurposed as a medical office building.
No one bothered to check behind the hastily bricked up entrance hidden by the ragged tapestry in what had once been a large classroom.
Cave
Chris swam up from unconsciousness slowly, like a deep sea diver slowly rising to prevent decompression sickness. Water dripped nearby, causing his already throbbing head to pound even more mercilessly as each drop hit the larger puddle. The ground he laid upon was cold, damp, and hard. Stones dug into his hip and shoulder, piercing the heavy parka he wore.
Something tight was wrapped around his chest. Chris weakly struggled against it, slightly able to move his elbows away from his body. It was too much effort to do any more at the moment. Just doing that was sufficient work until his muscles woke up more.
What had happened? One moment he’d been on a sunny trial, taking photos to test out his new camera. The next, a sharp prick jabbed at the hamstring of his left leg. A warm numbing sensation followed the sting, flowing up to his head and knocking him out.
Remembrance of the odd pain started a maddening itch in the affected area. Chris attempted to maneuver a hand in order to alleviate it, stretching his bonds further.
Encouraged, he struggled harder, forcing the strange material out of shape enough to push it over his head. Freed, Chris set about restoring blood flow to his arms, wincing at the pins and needles as he shook feeling back into them.
He patted at the pockets of his coat. His phone was still there, though he had no signal. No surprise, since Chris was apparently stuck in a cave. More importantly, his pocketknife with flint striker in the handle was present. Now if only he could find wood to use as a torch.
Cautiously, reaching out with one hand, Chris began to explore the walls, searching for an exit. Three solid walls and one semi-solid that gave a little when he pushed. Whatever the last was, it stuck stubbornly to his probing hand. After scrubbing vigorously at the gunk, he unfolded his blade and attempted to cut into it. Very tough going, but there was progress. Fresh air seeped through the small hole.
Judging by how little progress he’d made with the knife, Chris decided against continuing. All it would probably do is leave him with a dull blade. Given the high potential for his circumstances to be dangerous, having a sharp weapon was important.
Experimental pulls at the tiny breech only resulted in tacky hands. Chris cursed out loud, immediately clamping his mouth shut afterward. He strained to listen for approaching footsteps. Long moments passed without a sound. He let out a breath he was unaware to have been holding and tried to think around the current problem.
A more thorough search of his pockets gave no help. This trip was only supposed to have lasted long enough to test filters on the camera. He hadn’t packed any camping gear. The single idea he could come up with was to try and burn away the material.
Removing the small flint stick, he crouched near the doorway’s bottom. A bright spark, blinding after the time spent in darkness, jumped out. It struck the wall and ignited it. Chris stood back in amazement. The barrier was going up like tissue paper. Really moldy old tissue paper that stank to high heaven. He briefly wondered about burning up all his oxygen. What if there was an airtight seal beyond this one?
Too late now. The apparent exit was completely open now. Dim light filtered in, enough to make out basic shapes without showing details. Meager weapon in hand, Chris walked slowly forward. Fingertips were kept on the wall to his left. Occasionally, it came into contact with more of the mystery gunk. He would stop and remove it, not wanting a build-up of the stuff to hinder mobility.
His plan was pretty simple; get out without encountering whoever had captured him and get home. Calling the police could wait until he was safe, not that he had a lot of information to give them.
A prickly, hairy object brushed Chris’ face. He yelled in surprise, swatting it away. It felt like smacking a water balloon wrapped in a toupee. The thing struck the stone wall, squeaking as it hit the floor.
Chris rushed forward, kicking blindly. He got lucky, smashing whatever the creature was against a rock. It splattered wetly. A small fleck of it struck his cheek, which caused an instantaneous sensation of irritated skin.
Panic, held at bay heroically until now, flooded him. Chris went sprinting down the corridor. Less than a hundred paces later he fell hard, losing his footing in some loose pebbles. The knife clattered away.
He lay still on the cold ground. The wind was knocked out of him. It was a struggle to breathe. Chris wondered if he’d broken a bone. It felt like his ankle was on fire. To boot, he was bleeding from two wounds; knee and palm.
Skittering, chattering sounds came from the darkness behind him. He rolled over onto his back, straining to see. There seemed to be a cluster of red lights at various heights floating in the tunnel. They were stacked on top of each other, almost like a rectangular flash on a camera.
He climbed slowly to his feet. Chris’ ankle was tender, but could bear weight. Good. If his kidnappers were finally showing themselves, running would be necessary, though given the results so far, this wasn’t the best plan.
A high pitched shriek echoed towards him. It was followed up by a series of angry chatters. Chris began to edge away, trying to be as silent as possible. His mouth was bone dry. Sweat ran down his armpits in rivers.
Multitudes of tiny red eyes opened throughout the corridor. Every surface seemed covered with them. They were much closer than he’d thought. Chris walked away as quickly as he dared. The path was littered with lose stone. Running now would be suicide. Another fall would do him in.
Suddenly a startlingly white face appeared in the gloom, dead center of the red eyes. Even more shocking was the fact that it was human. Indeterminately sexed, the features were heavily wrinkled. The nose was large and hooked. A massive vein pulsed mid-forehead.
“What…?” Chris stammered through chattering teeth.
The milky visage lifted to show skin stretched over the eye sockets and gleaming dentate ending in uneven points. A bioluminescence filled the tunnel, revealing a massive body comprised completely by a teeming, writhing bulk of dinner plate sized spiders.
A three fingered hand attached to a hair covered limb reached out for Chris. He booted it away, sending an arachnid flying into the wall. It erupted against the rock, sliding down on a slick of intestine and dark blood.
Roaring, the creature surged forward. Chris shuffled backward, struggling to keep balance. A tentacle, thick as a telephone pole, nearly smashed into him. One of the oversized spiders leapt onto his chest. It was trying to bite through the thick coat. He screamed and punched himself, smashing it.
Awkwardly launching into a run while trying to scrape the attacker’s viscous grime off, Chris narrowly avoided a large rock launched at his head. The monster was ripping small boulders from the walls, throwing them with nightmarish force. Sharp fragments showered down on his lowered head as he dashed for what he hoped was an exit.
Dodging and stumbling through the passage was exhausting. Already running on empty, his quivering legs threatened to dump him at any moment. Sooner or later the creature would catch up…or find its mark.
After what seemed an eternity, an opening appeared. Opaque light filtered through. Chris slowed, breathlessly crying out in despair at the thick webbing blockin
g it.
He’d outdistanced the monster by a hundred paces. It would be at him in a minute at the most. Rather than uselessly tearing at the barricade, Chris began to gather up stones in a rough pile. There was little hope of getting through the barrier. Better to go down fighting.
The ghostly face peeked around the final bend, a grotesque, triumphant grin plastered across it. Chris promptly pegged a baseball sized rock into the dark body beneath it. Squeals announced his kill.
More missiles followed. Each thumped into the beast with a wet smack. It whimpered loudly, as if asking how he could do such a thing. Chris screamed laughter at its pain.
From outside the blockage, a surprised voice interrupted his merciless flow of scoop and pitch. “What’s this stuff?”
“Help!” Chris yelled hoarsely. “I’m in here!”
“Holy crap!” A second speaker, female, exclaimed. “We’ve found him!”
Hissing, the creature advanced. It knew the new players were here to rescue the juicy morsel its scouts had recovered. Despite the painful attack, it was determined to prevent Chris from escaping.
A thick knife blade punched through the webbing. Its owner grunted manfully as it slowly parted the heavily spun material. Chris pushed down on the flat side, adding his force to the rescuer’s. The chubby, bearded face of a middle aged man appeared through the tear.
“Get down!” The fellow yelled, eyes looking over Chris’ shoulder.
He dropped flat instantly, narrowly avoiding the milky face’s snapping, crystalline jaws. Gunfire thundered a moment later. The beast wailed. Bullets pushed it backward.
“Sue! Get up here!” The man hollered, dumping the cylinder on a large revolver. “Shoot that damn thing!”
The black barrel of a rifle poked through the breech. It boomed in the small space. A neat hole appeared in the creature’s forehead. Its features scrunched up briefly, then slackened. The spidery mass which made up the horror’s body began to fall away, scampering back the way they came. Sue picked off a few more as they retreated, her high powered weapon nearly disintegrating them.
Chris stayed completely still during the pitched battle, hands covering his head. His ears rang from the gunshots. He jumped when the bearded man touched his arm to help him up.
“Easy, buddy,” The fellow said gently. “Sue shot the fudge out of whatever that was, see?”
Apprehensively, Chris looked at the monster’s corpse. Without the writhing body, it was reduced to a black boned skeleton. The structure was humanoid except for the enlarged jaws and teeth. Spots of white flesh stuck to it here and there. Its organs were contained in a clear sac of yellow fluid.
“Gross,” Sue offered, turning her tobogganed head to spit in disgust. She clutched the smoking rifle tightly, alert to any movement from the felled beast.
“We’ve been out looking for you,” The bearded man explained, keeping one hand on Chris to steady him. “Park ranger found your car two days ago. Volunteers have been out since then. You’re one lucky duck. If we hadn’t spotted that web sparkling, that boogie would’ve had you for lunch, my man.”
Chris nodded dumbly. Two days.
“Speaking of lunch,” Sue took his other arm. “Let’s head back to base camp. He needs something to eat and to have the paramedic look him over.”
Gratefully, Chris allowed the duo to lead him to a larger group set up at a campsite. He sipped broth while a sheriff, after listening to the story told by his saviors, led a dozen people away. Half an hour later, while a medic was setting up an IV to get him rehydrated, Chris could hear faint pops and smell smoke in the air.
He laid back on the camp bed and thanked God for sensible actions to extraordinary situations.
Manor
Basil watched the group of young humans enter his home with utter contempt scrawled across his ancient, stretched face. Damnable people. They always went where they never belonged. One would think that living in a decrepit old mansion buried deep in a swampy marshland was enough of a deterrent. The large padlocks the intruders had cut through with their loud tools were meant to be even more of a hint. Maybe he should hire some builders to erect a massive, red lettered billboard reading “Keep Out!”
Damn them. Damn them all. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? This intrusion would undoubtedly mean another move. The legend would grow, following Basil no matter where he went.
One hundred years of this persecution. Since being turned, he’d been chased, forced to leave from every place he’d made a home. Hell, the last fifty years or so he’d stayed out of the cities. He hunted exclusively in the swamps and wooded areas. Animal blood sated him as well as human. Deer were plentiful.
He would make an exception for these fools. They’d intruded upon his domain. Basil’s territorial instincts would not be denied. Still, he would be fair. The humans would be given one chance to leave. If they ignored his warning their penalty for trespass would be death.
From his hiding place in the high, dark rafters of the grand entrance hall, Basil summoned more of the shadows around his pale, furry body. Once sufficiently cloaked, he shrieked at the intruders in a shrill, deafening voice.
“Strangers! Leave my home or suffer! You are not welcome here! This is your one chance to save yourself!”
An answering scream followed by a sharp report of a handgun. Splinters burst from a beam a mere seven feet from Basil. So they’d come armed. That put a new spin on this situation. At first, he’d pegged them as explorers, come to check on the reportedly haunted manor house. Since they bore weapons, the bastards must have decided to make a name for themselves hunting a legend.
Flashlights clicked on. They futilely sought to find him. The darkness he wore was impenetrable. Basil could drop down and rip them to shreds, but what was the fun in that? There were four of them. Enough to cause a bit of chaos amongst them, with a little torture thrown in to keep his human hunting skills sharp.
What do to first? His bright green eyes, the shade of fresh limes, slightly luminescent, narrowed in thought. The long pointed ears twitched as he considered strategies. A slow smile exposed his gleaming fangs as his liver colored lips spread over them.
Basil had decided on a classic, yet effective opening maneuver. He wrinkled his blunt nose and made a soft chirping sound. The light from below attempted to get a fix on the noise, frantically sweeping the ceiling in a vain attempt to find him. He stopped the noise, not out of fear of being found though. Tiny feet were thundering in from each room of the manor house.
“What was that?” A female voice called out, voice fraught with panic. “We should go, like now!”
“Shut up!” Was the masculine reply. He was trying mightily not to sound terrified. “We’ve got everything we need to kill the-“
The man’s claim stopped short as rats began to pour into the main hall from every available crevasse. A wave of brown and black bodies scampered up the intruders bodies. More pistol shots rang out. Basil pushed a bit harder at the rodents. They clamored up the original shooter’s arm, gnawing mercilessly at the hand holding the firearm. The animals weighed the appendage down, forcing the weapon into a point at one of the shooter’s comrades.
Reflexively, he yanked at the trigger after a particularly deep rat bite. A gaping red hole appeared in a short, blonde woman’s gut. She collapsed, clutching at the wound. Basil’s grin grew wider. He called the rodents off. They dropped to the floor and scattered back to their hidey holes.
Basil surveyed the confusion amongst the remaining three with satisfaction. They would begin infighting, spreading blame and arguing on what to do next. His furry little companions had covered the hunting party in bites. Pain would add to their confusion.
Now to the second phase. He climbed easily through a hole in the roof. Walking steadily to the edge, he peered down at a van parked near the front porch. Time to eliminate their ability to leave easily. He looked around, trying to find something to utilize. Yes, it would be a simple matter to leap down to slash their tire
s, but it had been a while since he’d hunted humans. Basil wanted to take actions that would cause a maximum amount of fear. Adrenaline often made the blood tastier.
His wandering eye fell upon a rusty weather vane. That might work. After a quick bit of footwork avoiding the numerous holes on the ancient roof, Basil ripped the vane free. It was a heavy chunk of wrought iron, yet he handled it like a paper airplane.
Leaping gracefully back to his position above the van, Basil flung the makeshift spear downward. It pierced the hood with a shriek of steel and a crash of destroyed engine. The front tires popped deafeningly with the sheer force of his throw.
More shouts from below. Three pairs of frantic feet stormed outside to survey the damage. Basil delighted in their rampant fear. He was extremely amused to witness a large, dark stain appear on one of the male’s pants.
The other man ran around to the sliding side door of the wrecked vehicle. He removed a large duffle, spilling it in the overgrown front yard. Long wooden stakes rattled out. Basil wanted to laugh. This crew was guilty of watching way too many horror films. Piercing the heart was utterly pointless. What was the good in spearing a heart that was dried up and useless?
“Come down!” The frightened man, now wielding two stakes called out. The sharpened dowels quivered madly. “Get down here, you coward!”
Basil shrugged to himself. Why not? He jumped down from his perch, landing directly on the stake man’s shoulders. The weight of his grotesque body snapped the unfortunate fellow in half, pushing a portion of the spinal column through his stomach.
Oblivious to the terrified shrieks coming from the other two meat bags, Basil tore the upper half of the torso away. His face was upturned to drink the dark blood running out the destroyed organs. It was absolutely wonderful after decades spent feasting on woodland animals. He must have more!
