Trapped Within

by Bradshaw, Duncan P.

  A scream and hard thump from behind caused them all to turn. A young man was pressed up against the shop's window by three undead fucks. His throat was chewed out, sending blood geysering across the glass. As the dying man bucked, his weight thumped against the window, causing spiderweb cracks to develop. The undead left behind bits of their own flaky, bloody skin as they dragged their prey to the floor and out of Jason’s view.

  “We have to get the fuck out of here,” Wires said.

  “Stop getting hysterical, man,” Bosco told him.

  “Maybe you should try replacing what you took?” the teen offered, raising her voice. Some of the undead had now gathered their emaciated frames at the door to beat their fists against its glass. One of them only had half a tongue. It rubbed its stump of an organ against the window.

  Jason looked away as cherry-coloured clots dropped off the creatures’ faces, arms, and hands and glued to the glass. His guts somersaulted. “Jesus!” he muttered.

  The shop’s main window started to crack further, causing the blonde teen to whimper and shriek as particles of glass fell away.

  “We need to get downstairs,” Bosco said. “We’ll be safe behind the thick doors down there.”

  “But we’ll be trapped!” the suit said, getting up off his arse.

  “I don’t hear your suggestions,” Wires said, jumping to Bosco’s defence and getting between the men.

  Probably worried Bos will level the cunt into an early grave, Jason thought.

  “Let’s keep calm, okay? What about up?” Wires suggested. “Boss, when you were casing the joint, did you happen to notice if there was a second floor or attic?”

  Jason shook his head, unable to take his eyes off the main window; the cracks were getting bigger as more undead bodies piled in behind their comrades. Splits raced up, down, vertical and horizontal. The centre of the pane resembled a huge spider web; the sound of splintering glass became deafening, rising above the noise caused by the few undead hammering at the door.

  “We need to head down!” Jason said. “There is no upper level.” His eyes flicked back to the door; it was rattling in its jamb. The lock shook as flocks of the undead engulfed the outside. In the background, Jason could see more vehicles and people being lost to the cracks in the ground.

  The world was ending.

  Maybe there’s a chance I can fix this!

  “Come on, move!” Jason yelled, pushing the girl onwards. Wires and Bosco followed behind. As they headed through the door leading to the back, the businessman screamed. Jason looked back and saw hands reaching up through the floor, grabbing the businessman around his ankles—the dirty, chipped and broken nails of the dozen or so hands were raking the man’s flesh.

  When he fell, Jason made to go back for him, but was stopped by Bosco and Wires.

  “He’s a goner!” Bosco said. “Let’s keep moving.”

  Jason’s eyes fixed onto the businessman’s face; the sheer terror that was etched on it was the stuff of nightmares. Dirty digits were forced into the man’s mouth and relieved him of his tongue, which stretched until its cord snapped. Blood pooled from his mouth. More hands came through the floor. Their roaming fingers stabbed through his eyeballs, whilst other talons grabbed, slashed, yanked and ripped. Before Jason turned away, he saw the man’s privates being torn free; the bollocks and cock were pulled through the floor.

  Probably being stuffed into a hungry, greedy and waiting mouth! Jason shivered at the thought. From below, he thought he heard the slurping and smacking of chops. Another shiver cut down his back.

  The window and door exploded simultaneously. The undead flopped through the shattered glass and shredded their taut yet weak flesh on the jagged shards left in the frame. Blood pumped and squirted across the floor, which now resembled the inside of an abattoir.

  “Shift your bloody arse!” Wires grabbed Jason and pulled him down the corridor. Whilst being dragged by his scruff, Jason watched as the army of darkness flooded the shop and meandered, stumbled, shuffled, and pin-balled in his direction.

  They groaned, snarled and snapped their decayed teeth together in a lust-hungry way. The horde bottle-necked their way into the corridor and staggered after Jason, who was wrenched down the stairs to the vault area.

  He shoved Wires’ hand off him. “It’s okay, I’m cool now! Turn right and head through the door. We’ll be able to lock that motherfucker.”

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Jason heard thuds from behind, which sounded like bowling balls being tossed down the steps after him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the first few undead had literally launched themselves after him.

  They can’t take the steps, but it won’t stop them!

  Bones broke, necks snapped, shoulders were jerked from sockets and legs were twisted into various unnatural positions.

  But still the undead came.

  Their groans intensified which, in turn, breathed forth a rotten, wet earth stench that caused Jason to gag. The putrid, skinless faces on some he’d seen pushed against the windows upstairs had had maggots and beasties scurrying around inside their mouths and skulls.

  The images would stay with him until his dying day.

  When Jason and the others got through the door leading into the vaults and the rooms beyond, they closed and locked it behind them with just seconds to spare. Soon, rotten dead fists began pounding at it, to no avail.

  “It’ll take a tank to get through that!” Bosco said. “We’re safe for the time being.”

  “But we’re trapped down here—what do we do?” the teen asked.

  “I have explosives in my bag. Enough to blow a hole in a wall down here,” Jason said. “I’m sure I can get us out of here, don’t worry. Let’s take five, regroup, and plan our next move. If the streets are crawling with those things, then maybe going out there isn’t such a hot idea!”

  “But we can’t sit here, either,” Wires said. “We have no food or water.”

  “Fucking chill, princess!” Bosco winked. “We can go a few hours without either of those. Besides, I have some snacks and a few cold drinks in my bag. I don’t go anywhere without a small ration of refreshments.”

  The hammering on the door reverberated around the vault-like corridor/room they stood in. Either side of them were various rooms filled with numerous treasures.

  “You could have taken all this, too!” Wires told Jason.

  “Nah, the scarab is priceless.”

  “Put it back!” the girl snapped.

  “Maybe you should put a fucking sock in it, or I’ll ram my fist into your mouth,” Bosco threatened.

  She crossed her arms and poked her tongue out at him. Jason couldn’t help but smile. Her attitude matched her jumper, which had a big anarchy symbol on it—the sign was made to look as though it had been painted on, as the dye had a running look to it. On her feet, he could see she was wearing Doc Martins—Beetle Crushers is what Mum used to call them.

  “Putting it back might not be such a bad idea. With the score we’ve got, we can still piss off out of the country and never look back,” Jason informed his gang.

  “Dude! Wake up! The world has gone to tits. Money is no good, especially if you can’t rectify your mistake.”

  Jason poked his head into the room he had cold-bloodedly mown Hopkins down in. The man lay in a lake of coagulated blood, his face ashen. At least he ain’t up and walking the fuck around like something out of Living Dead at the Manchester Morgue!

  A rumble underfoot caused him to snap his head downwards. Jason half expected to see the ground cracking beneath his feet, but the hard, marble floor was intact. “What the hell was that?!” he asked.

  “I can’t see them coming through this floor,” Wires said. “It’s blast-proof.”

  The earth below shook and groaned again, but the marble remained solid. A collectively held breath was released. The three men placed their bags on the floor and looked around. Jason went to the last room on the left and entered. He made h
is way to the corner and tapped on the wall.

  What is beyond them? How far down are we? If we blast and let a fuck ton of dirt in, it may bury us alive! And if it doesn’t, it could take us months to dig our way out. We’d never survive… Fuck!

  “These walls are probably the weakest, guys!” Jason yelled, giving the brickwork a few more taps. “Some explosives by here and… Boom!” he muttered to himself.

  Jason set his bag down and removed enough C4 to level a handful of walls. He also took out extra shotgun ammo and reloaded his sawn-off. He placed his gun by his side and rigged the explosives to the detonator.

  We might need a quick getaway!

  Jason walked back to where the others were.

  “Are you replacing that stone or not?” The girl glared, crossing her arms once more and shooting him an unimpressed look.

  Full of sass, ain’t ya?! he thought. “Yes, I’m going to replace it.” He dug the scarab from his pocket and showed her. “Here it—”

  She snatched it from his hand before he could finish his sentence and ran into the room containing the body of Hopkins.

  “Hey!” he yelled, watching her go.

  “Which drawer did you pilfer it from?” She stood in the jelly-like blood, her back to the vaults.

  “If you give me a—” Again his words were cut short, as the floor started to groan and protest once more. “Shit…”

  “I’m not liking that noise one bit, guys!” Wires admitted. “Sounds like girders are being twisted.”

  They stood and listened as the sound continued. Soon the floor did start to crack, but not like it had outside. Splits developed, but the ground didn’t part like the red sea. As the marble broke, particles were tossed into the air along with a thick, cement-like dust.

  “We need to go! This place isn’t going to be safe for much longer,” Jason said. “Replace the stone. Top drawer.”

  He watched as the teen ripped the right compartment open and dropped the stone inside. She let out an “Oops” as she did so.

  “What?”

  “I broke it!”

  More cracking. Only this time it wasn’t the floor; it was the wall in front of the girl. Jason could only watch as she stood frozen to the spot, her body trembling.

  “What… what’s happening?!”

  “Get out of there!” Jason screamed, but it was too late. Mummified arms smashed through the wall and grabbed her shoulders. The huge arms pulled, ripping the youngest in two like a piece of paper. Her guts and innards smashed against the floor, causing a crimson explosion. Her head popped off her shoulders and into the air like a bottle cap.

  Then the mass pushed through the wall. Bricks, plaster and dust flew everywhere; the powder from the stonework was that thick, Jason felt as though he was lost in fog.

  Through the clouds he could see jade-coloured emeralds glowing, which were the mummy’s eyes. Its bandages were an ancient yellow, all tattered and moth-eaten.

  Only its piercing eyes could be seen—bandages covered everything else. The thing’s massive frame appeared to ripple with muscle beneath its wrap. Bricks disintegrated under its footing.

  Behind it, more of the undead spewed from the shattered wall.

  “Oh, fuck!” Wires screamed as he fled the room and ran down the corridor.

  Jason raised his gun and fired both barrels. The shells drilled into the eight-foot mummy’s chest, but did nothing but disturb dust and singe bandage. However, the ball-bearing spray tore through some of the undead, sending a couple to ground.

  Flesh and gore splashed the walls.

  “Run!” Jason yelled, and turned to bolt out the door. As he ran past Bosco, he could see the man was taking aim with his shotgun. “There’s no point!”

  “Die, bastards!” Bosco screamed. His sawn-off roared.

  Jason left him to it and rushed down the corridor to his detonator. When he got there, he saw Wires had it in his hands. “Get back, you’re too close! I’ve set the lot—” Jason was blown off his feet and sent back along the corridor. As he floated through the air, he saw Wires turn into a liquid cloud of red nothingness.

  When he hit the deck, he heard Bosco scream from behind, which carried over the horrendous sound of the walls and ceiling caving in. Bosco’s cries were followed by that of wet, sloppy sounds.

  Jason couldn’t think about it.

  He pushed off the floor with his palms and stood on shaking legs. He detected a faint ringing in his ears. He tried to walk towards the mound of earth before him. Above, daylight could be seen peeking through.

  I’m saved! He stumbled forward, unaware of how close behind the mummy was.

  He looked over his shoulder and screamed. His legs tangled and he was sent backwards. He landed on the earth with a hard smack. The bricks and jagged slabs of concrete hidden in the dirt dug into him. He pushed his heels into the soil and boosted himself up until his fingers were through the gap.

  “Just a few more inches…” he grunted, and then he was being pulled. “No!” Jason looked down to see the undead were clutching his ankles and lethargically yanking on his legs. He stabbed his fingers into the dirt and tried to stop himself from sliding.

  Below, the mummy waited.

  Jason felt hot piss shoot down his leg. He clenched his anus.

  “Please… You have it back… We didn’t mean to!”

  His grip on the earth weakened and he started to slide towards his demise.

  All he could do was buck his body and try to kick out with his legs, but more of the undead had gathered and were reaching up for his legs. Dirty hands and fingers clawed his shins, calves and thighs, causing him to pull his fingers out of the dirt and grab his hurt. He lost his grip.

  When he hit the floor they huddled around him.

  Manic laughter escaped him as hands punched through his stomach. His guts were torn free and devoured, his face was clawed to ribbons, and an eyeball was plucked out.

  The mummy stood over him and looked down. “I am Ra, the ever powerful sun god!” he roared

  “Fu… Fuc… Fuck you!” Jason managed with his final breath.

  David Owain Hughes is a horror freak! He grew up on ninja, pirate and horror movies from the age of five, which helped rapidly install in him a vivid imagination. When he grows up, he wishes to be a serial killer with a part-time job in women’s lingerie…

  He’s had several short stories published in various online magazines and anthologies, along with articles, reviews and interviews. He’s written for This Is Horror, Blood Magazine and Horror Geeks Magazine. He’s the author of the popular novel “Walled In” (2014) & "Wind-Up Toy" (2016), along with his short story collections “White Walls and Straitjackets” (2015) and "Choice Cuts" (2015).

  https://www.facebook.com/DOHughesAuthor/

  https://www.amazon.co.uk/David-Owain-Hughes/e/B00L708P2M/

  http://david-owain-hughes.wix.com/horrorwriter

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4877205.David_Owain_Hughes

  https://twitter.com/DOHUGHES32

  Night painted the room grey. The moonlight shining through the window was the only thing that kept darkness from consuming it entirely in its blackness. Adrian stirred in his bed. Any minute now his bladder would wake him for an urgent toilet trip. A pleasant reminder of the six cans of beer he’d drunk before bed.

  The cold breeze swirled around the room and wound its way through the gaps in the quilt, wrapping itself like a serpent around Adrian’s body.

  Groaning, he threw his quilt off, climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom to relieve himself. A whisper of cold air tickled the back of his neck, causing him to shiver; urine sloshed from side to side, covering the toilet seat and the floor around it.

  With a sigh, he tore paper from the roll and proceeded to wipe up the mess. The sound of a child’s laughter came from outside the bathroom. He stood upright and quickly turned to face the door.

  Living on his own, he was used to an almost silent household. Besides the sound of t
he cats outside having sex each night, meowing their, “I love you’s,” there was never any noise. Unless he left the TV on to listen to while going to sleep. Perhaps that was it. Wouldn’t be the first time that it had scared him. He’d often woke to the sound of a woman’s screams. A suitable punishment for going to sleep while listening to The Horror Channel, one could say.

  Still feeling slightly unconvinced, Adrian slowly opened the bathroom door and peeped through the crack. The hairs on the back of his neck stood upright. Any minute now something would jump out at him, but nothing came. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, and lack of bravery, he flicked the bathroom light off and walked back to his room.

  The greyish blue tint that the night sky had gifted the room surrounded the bedroom door. This wasn’t an uncommon sight. He often slept with the curtains open, as he liked to wake with the sunrise. The light of the night made it easy for him to see where he was going without crashing into his bedside furniture.

  He entered the room and closed the door behind him, pausing for a moment to peer out the window. He looked to the moon and admired the beautiful glow it gave to the clouds as they passed by. Lowering his gaze to the back garden, he gave a visual inspection to check that everything looked okay. Satisfied, he turned to go back to bed.

  Adrian froze still with fear. Stood before him was a small boy, perhaps six or seven years old. A white glow surrounded the figure. There was no question in Adrian’s mind that he was face to face with a ghost. The boy wore a flat cap, a brown shirt with an open waistcoat, and knee-length shorts which appeared to be torn at the end.

  The boy looked as though he was laughing, but no sound came from his mouth. The room remained silent.

  Adrian’s legs gave way beneath him, and he dropped to the bedroom floor. Slowly he pushed himself backward until he was sat against the wall. Trembling uncontrollably, he tried to stand up, but he couldn’t; all strength had left him. He crawled to the bed and pulled himself up, terrified that the spectre was going to be inches away from his face, waiting for him. When the rest of the room came into view, there was nothing there. No boy, no glow. Just the bluish grey room, as it always was.