Tormented

by Lee Mountford

  ‘Stand with you? Why would we do that? We aren’t like you people. We aren’t feeble and infirmed. We serve something higher.’

  Adrian kept releasing more of the prisoners, getting closer and closer to the orderlies as he did.

  ‘Well,’ Adrian said, ‘I hope you really believe in what you serve, because you are about to meet it. And I have a feeling you won’t like it.’

  Then it happened.

  Adrian knew it had been coming, and now was the time.

  The door behind them finally gave.

  Metal crunched and squealed as the door was pulled from its hinges. Then the inhuman sounds became louder.

  ‘They’re coming,’ Adrian said.

  And they did.

  Monstrosities barrelled into view, and patients and orderlies screamed in terror.

  But Adrian knew worse was to come, and he heard it approach—the booming thump, thump, thump of heavy footfalls.

  The thing that used to be Jones.

  It soon emerged as well, turning the corner into full view—its raging mass filling the corridor, so large that it had to stoop to keep its head below the ceiling. It saw them all and bared its teeth, letting out a nightmarish bellow that seemed to shake the walls around them.

  The panic and chaos around Adrian rose to new, unimaginable heights, and Adrian could think to do only one thing.

  ‘Run!’ he yelled.

  39

  Director Isaac Templeton should have been dead.

  After he’d attempted to escape with the rest of the crowd in the Main Hall, someone had rushed past and knocked him off his feet. He’d barely had time to roll to his back when one of the creatures—the very things he had nurtured into this world—seized him. It was a grotesque mix of human and spider, with multiple legs that had sprouted from a bulbous, fleshy base. A humanoid torso sat vertically atop this section, with a demonic, alien face melted into its head.

  Templeton readied himself for death.

  But instead of killing him, the thing hoisted him up and slid him beneath its underbelly, where small centipedal legs lined the underside. These small legs were far too short to reach the ground and be of any use for walking—the long, scuttling appendages to the side of the mass served that function—but Templeton soon realised what these smaller legs were for as he was thrust into them, face up. They then clamped shut over him, hugging him in place, and he could feel the sharp ends penetrate his skin as they pushed him forcefully into the disgusting belly of grey and yellow flesh.

  He was then carried away, helpless, as the thing moved, followed by a crowd of other shrieking creatures as well. His screams of terror were lost in the body that his face was pressed into.

  With his limited vision, Templeton saw that he was carried down into the passageway below ground, then over to the door that housed Robert Wilson. It was here that the gathering of monsters that had followed got to work on the door, heaving at the great thing. The door was strong, he knew that, but there were simply too many of them. It took a while, but soon the lock gave and the door was heaved open. He was then taken inside and dropped to the floor.

  Only things looked radically different in here now.

  Robert’s form had changed—swollen to grotesque proportions and littered with large, tumour-like sacks that hung down to the floor. His head had engorged as well, the cranium swelling to three times its normal size, with the skin around it melding and changing to resemble something more like a brain. And on this bulbous mass were multiple white orbs, each with dirty yellow pupils that twisted and rolled independently.

  The mass of his body spread, stretching out around the room like a virus, winding down to the floor and creeping up the walls and across the ceiling. And it wasn’t just the tendrils Templeton had seen before that were growing; most of the room was now coated in what appeared to be pulsating flesh. Within the expanse of this lumpy, writhing tissue were other eyes as well, like the one on the inflated cranium, as well as circular, gaping mouths of various sizes. Indeed, so spread out was the sea of Robert’s body, that his original outline was in danger of being lost within.

  At Robert’s feet sat another tumour-like sack, this one as tall as a person. A mass of eyes covered it, and a large, gaping mouth split it vertically down the centre.

  The spider-like creature that had brought Templeton down here, and its friends, all retreated, leaving him alone. Then Templeton saw Robert’s eyes open, revealing those black orbs beneath.

  And it was only at the last moment he noticed movement. He turned his head just in time to see a long, tentacle-like appendage slither out from the mouth of the sack—long, dark purple ropes of slimy, veiny flesh. Templeton had no chance to move as they wrapped around him, sticky and warm to the touch, and quickly tightened, trapping his arms to his side. Templeton let out a scream as the wriggling lengths tightened and constricted him.

  ‘Come… my… child,’ the voice from Robert’s body said. ‘It… is… time… to… ascend.’

  Templeton, fighting the whole time, felt himself pulled towards the open mouth, now larger than Templeton’s entire body. The pit beyond looked fleshy, wet, and dark. The smell that drifted from the insides that were lined with needle-like teeth was foul, like rotting meat. Templeton fought and kicked against his organic bonds, but there was no give.

  No hope.

  He was pulled into the wet, stinking pit, and the light cut out as the mouth closed around him, pushing the putrefied, gummy flesh onto his face, smothering him completely. He felt like he was being eaten alive, like he’d fallen prey to a Venus flytrap.

  The pressure was immense, and he felt teeth puncture his skin, causing excruciating pain. Templeton’s screams were then muffled as something he could not see slithered into his mouth, forcing its way down his throat to his stomach. He could feel this invading, phallic thing expel something inside of him—and it burned.

  The pain from the foreign sludge that pumped into him—coupled with the pressure of the sucking mouth—was simply too much to take. Certain he was in the throes of a horrific death, and in absolute agony and torment, Director Templeton lost consciousness.

  And even after he did, the Great Being continued to use his ruined body as it wished.

  Changing it.

  Shaping it.

  The entity had a specific purpose in mind for this mortal and his shell of flesh. It would use the husk to birth something. Something different from its other children.

  Something truly unique.

  40

  It was a stampede.

  Adrian struggled to keep his footing as the bodies of terrified inmates around him surged down the corridor. If he fell, then no one would stop to help him—he would be trampled and left to the horrors that now chased them all.

  So he concentrated on keeping his footing and making it to the Communal Area, even though he knew was pointless in the end.

  Because after that, there was nowhere else to go. No escape lay ahead, and those things would eventually get through and show them a gruesome end.

  They soon reached the large Communal Area, and the mass of people started to filter inside, fighting to get in, all acutely aware of the beasts that chased them, snapping at their heels.

  After he was through, Adrian turned and saw that Sean had dropped to the floor just outside the door and was screaming in agony. Others ran over him and he grabbed the leg of one of the patients close to him. The patient tried to pull away, but lost his balance and fell to the floor.

  ‘Help me,’ Sean said, desperately, as he started to convulse.

  The patient in his grasp kicked out at him. ‘Let me go!’

  The approaching creatures grew ever closer, but not everyone was inside yet.

  ‘Close the door,’ someone yelled, and those nearest the entrance obeyed, forcing them shut.

  ‘Wait!’ Adrian yelled, but it was too late—Sean and four other patients were locked out, on their own and the first to die. ‘You cowards!’ Adrian yelled, but th
rough the glass of the door he saw that their actions may actually have been wise.

  The four helpless men began frantically pounding on the door, begging for a mercy they were not afforded.

  Before Adrian’s very eyes, Sean began to change, still holding the leg of the struggling patient. The creatures stormed into view as well—the behemoth standing tall above them all—but held back, watching as the transformation occurred.

  Sean screamed in agony as he began to fatten and stretch, his face turning into a round, open mouth containing a ring of sharp teeth that circled round and round, disappearing into the black gullet beyond. His arms and legs melded into the long mass of his body, until he became more worm than man, one of grotesque size. Its skin was a dull brown—tumorous and lumpy with a sheen of slime. Small, milky eyes pinpricked the wriggling form, and it began to move forward, crawling towards the patient Sean had been holding. He was backpedaling but had nowhere to go. The other creatures still held back, happy to let their new addition have its first kill.

  And kill it did.

  The monstrous worm opened its mouth wider than should have been possible, even considering its girth, and it lunged forward, taking the man’s kicking legs into its maw.

  It bit down.

  The patient screamed and kicked and writhed as the ten-foot worm began to suck him into its mass. Fighting all the way, the patient was dragged up to his waist, then to his shoulders, as he screeched in pure agony.

  His head was the last thing to disappear inside, swallowed up by the slimy thing.

  The other remaining men outside screamed for help, but they were left alone.

  Abandoned.

  Then things took an unexpected turn—if indeed anything that had come before could be considered expected.

  After holding its food within its bulk, the fat worm turned itself to face the door that separated it from the rest of the patients. It opened its mouth and purged, regurgitating the man it had just swallowed whole.

  The screaming inside the Communal Area increased as everyone—Adrian included—saw what was left of the poor patient spill out and slop out to the floor. Amazingly, he was still alive, though was writhing and moaning, mostly dissolved and melted.

  He was devoid of skin and his body was a pinkish-red in tone, his flesh gooey and dribbling down over his bones in streaks of sickly yellow. One side of his face was gone, revealing the workings beneath, the eyeball still present but sagging and losing its roundness. Steam rose from the screaming man as he lifted a deformed arm, pleading to the people hiding behind the door.

  ‘Heeeeeellllgh meeeeeeee,’ he cried, not able to properly form the words.

  The agony must have been unimaginable as whatever acids that coated him continued to melt and dissolve him.

  And it appeared this was a signal for the other creatures, allowing them to get to work and indulge themselves as well. And the first, of course, was the monstrous behemoth that used to be Jones.

  The other entities circled around it, seemingly fearful to get too close, as it reached down and grasped one of the unfortunate, abandoned patients. It clasped a huge hand around his throat and lifted him up. So large was the meaty paw that, when it closed, the patient’s neck actually seemed to stretch up to an unnatural length, his jaw crushing and cracking as it did, to allow the mass of the hand to form a fist. The man seemed to be trying to scream as the monster lifted him higher, but he could only form a strained sound, given the lack of airway available to him. He kicked and fought in the grip of the terrifying giant.

  The hulking thing raised another massive hand and grabbed at the man’s torso and then, in a slow, painfully drawn-out motion, it pulled.

  The man’s eyes opened wide as his head rose… but his body did not. Blood poured from between the brute’s thick fingers as the head split from the torso beneath, the neck pulling apart into long strings of red meat. The man’s mouth still moved, a reflex action of the fading nervous system, as a length of his spine dangled down from beneath the monster’s fist.

  His body was dumped to the floor and the severed head held high.

  The monster bellowed out an ungodly roar, and the others about it screeched excitedly.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ one of the orderlies asked, the same one who had done so much talking earlier.

  Fearful murmurings rippled around the room. They all watched through the wired glass panels as the beast dropped the detached head to the floor and squashed it underfoot. The remaining three patients were then set upon by the other creatures, who wanted their own chance to kill. One man was thrown to the floor and his stomach torn open, the innards on show feasted upon by a gaggle of smaller abominations, like pigs feeding at a trough.

  Another was surrounded by a different group that pulled the skin and flesh from his body in large chunks, leaving crimson-soaked bones glistening beneath. The last man, who was pinned screaming in a corner, lost of all of his limbs, leaving only a torso and head wriggling and squealing on the floor as blood pumped from the bloodied stumps.

  Now the behemoth stepped forward, over the melted man who still twitched, and it roared again, before slamming a fist into the door, rattling it on its hinges.

  Adrian knew that the door would not hold for long, and the hulking creature struck again, ready to indulge in more carnage.

  Everyone inside the room pulled back, running to the outer edges, hugging the wall tight—but there was nowhere left to go. They were trapped in here, and the creatures outside were about to find their way in.

  In short order, the door gave way, and the demons of hell came through.

  41

  It awoke.

  Consciousness flooded into its mind.

  From nothing came something, and its nervous system tingled to life.

  It kicked, finding itself confined in a warm and safe space.

  Something in its gut pulled free and slithered from its mouth, relieving pressure in its stomach and throat.

  It kicked again, squirming, quickly tiring of its confines, yearning for freedom.

  Memories began to surface.

  Echoes of a past life.

  No.

  That was wrong.

  It was not just a single past life.

  Confusing, contrasting memories fought for attention. Two different beings, on two separate planes of existence.

  A temperature change drew the thing’s attention, and it felt cold air on its skin as an opening formed in its protective cocoon.

  The thing opened its two eyes and could make out light—an ugly yellow hue, seeping in from the opening before it. It crawled forward, reaching for its freedom, and eventually pulled itself out of the fleshy, pulsating surroundings and into a new environment.

  It dropped to the hard floor, the cold rushing in to meet it from all around.

  It heard a voice, not its own, within its mind.

  Stand.

  The being complied and pushed itself up, feeling strength start to flow in a body consisting of only two arms, which it felt was restrictive and primal.

  Though unsteady, it was able to climb up and stand on its feet.

  The room around was covered in flesh, similar to that it had just escaped from.

  No, been born from.

  And at the centre of this expanse was a specific outline—a body similar to its own.

  That was the entity, the thing knew, that had birthed it and communicated with it.

  Its creator.

  And this creator had also transferred its memories and knowledge—though not all was available just yet. It came in gradual waves.

  This was frustrating.

  The thing wanted more, and it wanted it now, desperate to feed and gorge on the knowledge that was dripping into its consciousness. Sensing this anger, the parental entity spoke again.

  Patience.

  The newborn laid a hand on the flesh—an affectionate gesture—and it heard the multitude of mouths that lined the expanse of skin chatter in response.
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  Then it listened as its creator told of the conflicting memories… and where they both came from.

  The being learned of its creator’s home—a place of wondrous chaos. And it learned of the place where it now existed.

  It was then told its purpose—the reason for its birth.

  And when it had all the knowledge it needed, the thing in Director Templeton’s ruined body left its creator behind forever.

  42

  Adrian braced himself.

  This was it.

  He had always maintained he was willing to accept death in the facility, and now it appeared it was before him in the form of monsters and devils.

  Punishment indeed.

  And yet he found himself pushed back against the far wall with the others, clinging to the false hope of life and continued existence. He realised just how desperate he was to live. Or to avoid a gruesome end.

  And what followed was a massacre.

  A sadistic orgy of violence, desecration, and depravity, dealt out by beings that had more suffering in mind than simple animalistic instincts of hunting and feeding.

  It wasn’t just killing, but prolonged torture and torment.

  With nowhere to go, it was a matter of sheer chance as to who would be claimed and killed first. Screaming, terrified men were plucked from the false safety of their huddled groups, thrown to the floor and opened up as the creatures swamped the room. The patients’ red, wet insides were raised up into the air with what appeared to be excitable glee from of the monsters. Limbs were pulled free and thrown into the cowering men who still pressed themselves against the walls, as if taunting them as their friends were killed.

  It was all too much, and Adrian’s grip on reality threatened to slip completely as he saw one patient crawling along the floor, screeching and desperate, in a state of utter terror. He didn’t seem to be aware of the fact that his body was ripped at the waist, with red, spaghetti-like strands of guts and intestines dragging behind him, leaving a trail of crimson liquid.