by Brian Keene
They fumbled around in the darkness, seeking one another. Someone’s hand encircled Kerri’s. The palm was sweaty, and thick calluses rubbed against her skin. She squeezed tightly, seeking comfort, and the hand squeezed back. Long, pointed nails grazed her wrist. Kerri froze. Her stomach lurched and her muscles tensed. Brett and Javier had short fingernails. So did Heather. She complained about it anytime that she, Kerri, and Steph got together for a day trip to the spa. Every time she tried to grow them out, they got brittle.
The hand squeezed harder. Kerri shrieked. She tried to pull her hand away, but the stranger’s grip tightened. The nails dug into her skin. In the darkness, she heard Javier, Brett, and Heather crying out in confusion, but she was too panicked to warn them. The club slipped from her other hand and clattered onto the floor. The attacker jerked her forward, and Kerri nearly fell. She felt hot, rancid breath on her face, as something warm and wet slithered across her cheek. She realized it was a tongue. Shuddering in revulsion, Kerri opened her mouth to scream again. The slick appendage slipped between her lips. Half in shock, Kerri chomped down.
Now it was her attacker’s turn to scream. It did so in short, muffled bursts because its tongue was firmly clenched between Kerri’s teeth. Blood filled her mouth. Nauseated, Kerri released the tongue and stumbled backward. Something groaned in pain. Seconds later, footsteps pounded down the hallway as the wounded attacker fled.
“Kerri?” It was Javier. “What’s wrong?”
She tried to answer, but all she could do was wail. She fumbled in her pocket with one trembling hand, pulled out the cigarette lighter, and flicked it on. The flame jittered. Brett, Heather, and Javier stared at her in concern.
“What’s wrong?” Javier repeated. “What the hell happened?”
“There . . . there was something in here . . . with us. It grabbed me. At first I thought it was one of you, but . . .”
She couldn’t finish. Stomach roiling, Kerri sank to her knees, released the lighter wheel, leaned forward, and vomited. She heard small sounds of shock and dismay from her friends, but when she tried to answer them, her stomach heaved again. The stench rising from her own puke made her throw up a third time. Javier, Brett, and Heather pulled out their cell phones and used the display screens to give her light. Heather stood over her, holding Kerri’s hair back. She rubbed her friend’s back and whispered soothing words. Kerri stayed there for a few moments more, retching. Finally she tottered to her feet and wiped her mouth.
“Are you hurt?” Brett asked.
“No, I—” She turned away and vomited again.
“Sorry,” she said when she was finished. “I’m not hurt, but I definitely hurt it—whatever it was. I think I might have bitten its tongue off.”
They shined their lights toward the floor and found dime-size splotches of blood.
“I’ll say you did,” Heather agreed.
Kerri spat, trying to rid her mouth of the horrible taste. Her teeth, tongue, and the insides of her cheeks felt like they were covered with slime.
“Can you bleed to death from your tongue?” Brett asked, eyeing the scarlet droplets. “I wonder how badly it’s injured.”
“Let’s not stick around to find out,” Javier said. “Come on.”
Using his cell phone, he snapped a quick picture of the hallway. Then he crept down the passage. Kerri picked up her club, and she and Heather followed. Brett balked.
“Hold up.”
“What now?” Javier asked, annoyance creeping into his voice.
Brett pushed his glasses back up onto his nose. “We’re not going that way?”
“There’s no other way to go.”
“Yeah, but whatever it was that attacked Kerri—it went that way, too.”
“Good,” Javier replied. “If it ain’t dead yet, then we’ll finish the job if we run across it.”
He started forward. The girls followed. Sighing, Brett trailed along behind them.
When the lighter grew hot again, Kerri put it back in her pocket. With the flame gone, the darkness seemed denser. The cell phones did little to lessen the gloom. As far as she could tell, there were no rooms along this corridor. The walls were featureless.
Javier halted, staring ahead into the darkness. The others followed his lead.
“This doesn’t feel right,” he muttered. “There’s no doors leading off. No rooms. It just keeps going. If Kerri’s attacker came this way, I don’t know where he went.”
“I told you,” Brett said. “We ought to go back.”
“We can’t go back,” Kerri reminded him. “Remember? The hall is blocked.”
Brett didn’t respond. Heather rolled her eyes.
Javier cursed in Spanish again. “I don’t know what to do, guys. I guess we just keep moving forward. See where it goes.”
Without another word, he started down the hall again. After a moment, the others followed. Kerri slid her hand into her pocket, but her lighter was still too hot to flick. The floor changed under their feet, becoming uneven. The floorboards began to squeak and groan with each footstep. They slowed their pace, almost tiptoeing.
The dark hallway ended in three doorways—one directly ahead of them, and one on each side. All three doors were wide open. Each doorway opened into more windowless rooms full of junk and debris. Kerri moved up to the front of the group and stood alongside Javier. Their arms touched, and she felt a momentary flush of warmth. The sensation comforted her. She glanced at him, but Javier seemed oblivious. He stared at all three exits, his eyes flicking from one to the next as if waiting for something to jump out at him. When nothing happened, he held his cell phone aloft like a torch and stepped into the room directly ahead of them. Then he stopped and turned.
“Let me see your lighter?”
Nodding, Kerri handed it to him. Javier winced as his fingers came in contact with the hot metal.
“Sorry,” she apologized. “It hasn’t cooled down yet.”
Javier pocketed his cell phone and held the lighter high over his head. Then he checked the room thoroughly. He stepped around a rusted bunk-bed frame and thrust the flame into the corners. Then he returned to the hall.
“It’s empty,” he whispered, “but it’s a dead end. No way out.”
His voice sounded resigned, as if he hadn’t expected anything less.
“What about the other two?” Brett asked.
Scowling, Javier entered the room on the right. A few moments later, he emerged from the room and reported the same. He handed Kerri her lighter and then sucked his thumb and index finger.
“Burned the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” she said again, and returned the lighter to her pocket.
Kerri watched as Javier stepped into the third room. He pulled out his cell phone and fumbled with it as he walked. He’d only gone a few feet into the darkness when the floor disappeared beneath his feet. One moment he was there, glancing around the room and opening the cell phone. The next instant, he plummeted from sight, as if the house had opened up and swallowed him. He didn’t even have time to scream. The only sound was a crash. To Kerri, it sounded like a million glass windows breaking.
One heartbeat. Two.
And then Javier began shrieking.
Gasping, Heather pushed past Kerri and dashed through the door. At the same time, Brett made a noise behind them, and there was a loud thud. Kerri leaped forward, grabbed Heather, and looped an arm around her waist, pulling her back. Heather struggled, shouting for Javier.
“Stop it,” Kerri warned. “Don’t run in there.”
“Get off me,” Heather yelled. “Let me go! He’s hurt.”
Kerri tightened her grip. “It’s a trap! I think there’s something wrong with the floor. We have to go slow.”
As suddenly as they’d begun, Javier’s screams stopped. He didn’t cry out. Didn’t plead for help.
Kerri thought that the abrupt silence was even more terrifying.
Heather pushed away from her, but Kerri grabbed her shirtt
ail and tugged.
“Listen to me,” she urged. “Watch your step.”
And then Brett began shouting, his voice rising in pitch.
“Get it off me . . . Oh Jesus, get it the fuck off me!”
Kerri whirled around, distracted by his frantic cries. Heather broke loose from her grip and ran to help Javier. Kerri barely noticed. Javier and Heather were no longer her primary focus. She gaped, horribly transfixed by what she was seeing, needing time for her brain to process it. She almost wished that her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, that instead, she was groping blindly, because then she wouldn’t have to watch. Brett was on all fours in the middle of the hall. His lips peeled back in a sneer of pain. A shape clung to his back, trying to crush him to the floor. Kerri squinted, trying to see whatever was behind him more clearly. The figure’s arms and legs looked out of proportion to its body. Brett slapped at it repeatedly, but each time he did, the figure smashed him to the floor again. His glasses, cell phone, and the shard of glass he’d been carrying all lay nearby, but out of reach. Blood streamed from his nose. His eyes locked with hers.
“Kerri . . .”
Before he could finish, the figure clutched a fistful of Brett’s hair and rammed his face down. Brett’s cries became muffled. The thing on his back chattered insanely, babbling nonsense words and noises.
Kerri raised the club and tried to appear menacing.
“Hey,” she shouted.
The thing still clung to Brett’s back, but it ceased pummeling Brett and glanced up at her. White teeth flashed in the darkness.
“Let him go,” Kerri warned, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
The attacker spat at her. Something warm and wet and sticky splattered against her cheek and clung there. It slowly rolled down the side of her face, leaving a slug-like trail. Disgusted, Kerri wiped at it with her fingertips. The stench was revolting.
Brett took advantage of his attacker’s momentary distraction and pushed himself upright. Still kneeling, he reached behind him and punched the thing in the head. It must have hurt, because then Brett jerked his hand away and shook his fingers as if they’d gone numb. The thing tumbled off his back and staggered. Then, squealing in what sounded like frustration, it waddled forward again. Its movements were jittery. Spasmodic. But it was incredibly fast. Shouting, Kerri dashed toward Brett, as well, praying that she reached him first.
Brett screamed.
As she closed the distance, Kerri finally got a good look at their foe in the light of Brett’s cell phone. Like the previous attacker, this one was a dwarf, but it was even more repulsive than the last one had been. It was naked, except for a swath of dirty cloth sticking out of its vagina.
The cloth was soaked with fresh blood. Kerri realized with horror that the cloth served as some type of tampon. The woman’s body was lean but heavily muscled, and her face, even obscured by the darkness, was clearly malformed. Her forehead bulged, and her mouth seemed to curve around her face. What hair she had was long and stringy and matted with filth. Her eyes were too large for her face, and the pupils seemed to almost completely fill in the irises. The thing’s arms were longer than its body and rippled with bulging muscles. By contrast, her legs were mere nubs—withered and useless. Despite this, the freak moved quickly. It waddled toward Brett, running on its arms, and reached him before Kerri. Brett tried to roll out of the way, but the female dwarf stood on one hand and slapped him in the head with the other. Brett collapsed to the floor, stunned.
“Get away from him, bitch.”
The female laughed at Kerri—a high-pitched keening that drowned out Heather’s shouts from the dark room.
Kerri felt a sudden but slight draft of air on her face. She glanced upward. Directly above Brett, there was a hole in the ceiling—a dark spot, blacker than the rest of the hallway. An open trapdoor dangled there. Kerri grunted in fearful awe as it dawned on her what had happened. Their captors had sealed off the hallway, turned off the lights, and then waited for them to pass beneath the trapdoor. The dwarf had dropped out of the ceiling, directly onto Brett.
The dwarf growled, eyeing Kerri’s weapon.
“Get away from him,” she repeated.
Before Kerri could strike, Brett regained his senses and lashed out at his attacker with his right hand. His movements were sluggish. He cried out, and Kerri noticed that his voice was slurred. His fingers scraped across the dwarf’s shoulder. The woman lunged forward. Her wide open mouth clamped down on Brett’s fingers.
Brett tried to pull his fingers back and moaned in disgust. Kerri gasped. She knew what was about to happen as surely as if she were watching footage that had already been filmed—and even as she raised the club, she knew she’d never be able to stop it in time.
The woman bit down. Blood flowed from around her lips and streaked down Brett’s forearm. Brett shrieked. His eyes opened wide. The thick lips on the dwarf’s face quivered. Then the woman reared back, shaking her head savagely. Kerri heard the crunch of Brett’s fingers breaking, even over her own screams.
Brett wailed. His voice rose in octaves and echoed off the empty walls and ceiling as the dwarf wrenched her head back and forth, ripping at the prizes caught in her jaws until they finally peeled away from Brett’s hand.
The dwarf growled again. Kerri edged closer and caught a good look at the shadowed, malformed face. It seemed garish in the cell phone’s light. The creature glared at her as it chewed. It sighed, clearly relishing the meal. A black froth of spittle dripped from the open maw.
The woman’s teeth ground meat and gristle and bone into paste. Her throat bulged as she swallowed.
Brett thrashed on the floor, eyes rolling and teeth clenched. His remaining fingers clawed at the wood. Blood jetted from his stumps, running down his hand and forearm as he kicked and jittered. He wasn’t screaming, but Kerri could tell he was trying to. His neck muscles were corded, and his mouth hung open, but the only sound he made was a low, pitiful whine.
The dwarf hunkered down and grunted, almost barking as it charged toward Brett again, propelling itself forward on its elongated arms. Brett tried to defend himself with his good hand, but he wasn’t fast enough. The creature rushed to his side. Her head darted forward, slavering mouth open wide, aiming for his nose.
And then Kerri swung the club in a wide arc and buried the nail in the dwarf’s eye.
It shrieked, a rough, gurgling noise, and spun around so quickly that the weapon was wrenched from Kerri’s hands. The dwarf scuttled backward. The length of wood dangled from its face; the tip dragged across the floor. The thing tottered back and forth, swaying, then lurched forward, glaring at Kerri with its remaining eye. It tripped over Brett’s outstretched feet and fell face-first onto the floor. It lay there, jerking spasmodically. Its bowels and bladder erupted, spraying the floor and Brett with foul, yellow feces the consistency of vegetable soup.
Kerri reached down, grabbed a fistful of the dwarf’s greasy hair, and jerked its head up. Then she wrenched the club free. The pulped eyeball came with it, dangling on the edge of the nail like a squashed, oversized grape. A strand of tissue stretched like taffy from the empty eye socket. Kerri twisted the weapon in her hands and the ropy gristle snapped. Cringing, Kerri shook the club until the eyeball fell off. It landed in a puddle of feces and blood.
Kerri watched, forgetting about Javier or Heather or even Brett. She stood there trembling, absolutely transfixed as the dwarf’s motions slowed. Amazingly, it was still alive, despite the massive amount of damage it had endured. The thing rolled over and tried to crawl, failing miserably in all efforts to rise even to its knees. Kerri stared, horrified. It looked toward her, one eye rolling wildly while dark fluid gushed from the red, raw, empty socket. Then it breathed out one long, shuddering sigh and lay still. A strange expression of calm seemed to come over its misshapen face.
Despite everything the freak had done, Kerri felt a sickened sense of pity for it.
She moved past the corpse and crouched
next to Brett. Without a word, she pulled at his belt until it came loose from his jeans and slipped it over his wrist. Two hard yanks and the leather strap was tight, pinching the flesh until the skin beneath was bone white. Brett let out a yelp but didn’t struggle.
“Lie still,” Kerri soothed. “I’ve got to stop the bleeding. And then I’ve got to help Javier and Heather.”
“W-wh-where . . .”
“Don’t talk. Just lie still.”
Kerri retrieved Brett’s cell phone and eyeglasses. She glanced around for his makeshift glass knife, but it had shattered at some point during the struggle. All that was left were tiny slivers. She put the glasses on his face. The frames had been bent during the attack, and they hung crooked—one side higher than the other. Using the sharp, white light from the phone, she examined Brett’s injuries. The three center fingers of his right hand were gone. Raw meat and jagged bone showed clearly past the remaining shreds of flesh. The remaining digits were already bruised and swollen. His nose had stopped bleeding and didn’t appear broken. Kerri doubted that would comfort him, though.
Brett coughed and then moaned. Frothy spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth. He tried to speak again, but she put a finger to his lips. Then she handed him his cell phone, hoping that the light might give him some comfort.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back. You need to stay awake, okay? Can you do that? You need to holler if you hear any more of them coming.”
Brett whimpered, but nodded in understanding. He clutched the open cell phone to his chest with his good hand. Kerri felt like crying as she left him lying there.
She made her way to the end of the hall and peered into the darkened room. Heather was kneeling on the floor, sobbing. Dark streaks of mascara ran down her cheeks. Kerri moved up beside her, and Heather jerked in surprise.
“It’s okay,” Kerri said. “It’s just me.”
They were at the edge of a deep pit. From somewhere far below, they heard Javier groan. He sounded weak and afraid.
