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Just keep telling yourself..'it's only a movie..it's only a movie'...
PROLOGUE: To many, traveling along a nightmarish dreamscape filled with grisly images of mayhem and death is a nightly affair, while other, more fortunate souls, rarely book the same flight of horrific fancy. Witness a case regarding the former in the following ‘night chiller’…
OUR ''CINEMATICALLY FLAVORED'' TALE BEGINS:
With an intense, unblinking glare, the physician requests a detailed synopsis of my latest malady. I cannot help but find his oddly intrusive stare a bit unsettling and his rather warped grin nothing short of bizarre. No doubt the man comes highly regarded in his field. Still, the aura he emits is less caring man of medicine than curious counselor. Regardless, it is painfully obvious I require professional help. After months of suffering in silence, it might indeed be therapeutic to discuss the problem, least it continues to manifest. I can only hope the answer provided will be a useful one.
*
In my dreams, I never job or casually stroll. I sprint. I dart. I run full bore until it feels as though my internal organs are melting from within.
Despite the searing pain, I dare not slow my pace or heaven forbid…halt altogether, for my fate would surely be sealed and my soul as certainly damned.
I have no clue as to what induces such dreams to haunt my slumbering subconscious, for if I did, a deviation from the normal routine would most assuredly be in order.
The same pattern applies verbatim once the dark journey begins, the order of each occurrence never altered, less the changes are so minute as to go completely unnoticed.
I wake wearing a suit sewn of cool perspiration, my hair matted to my pillow as if fused to the cloth itself; my pulse cruising at warp speed.
Unlike the majority of nightmares, it often takes an entire day for the imagery to fade and my rattled nerves to settle somewhat. Mother has noticed my irritability of late, as well as a noted lack of concentration.
After a cool sip of water, I inhale deeply and retrace the continuing dream from the only logical place, the beginning.
**
I walk the motel grounds just as dusk begins to fall. A fresh spattering of snow litters the surrounding grounds, but strangely there is no chill present in the air.
Entering the last available room on the East Wing, presumably to clean and change the bedding, I suddenly find myself …
…STRAPPED TO A COUCH WITH SEVERAL OTHER MEN, NONE OF WHICH I RECOGNIZE. WE ARE BOUND ACROSS THE CHEST, KNEES AND ANKLES BY THICK ROPE. MY HANDS ARE TIED TOGETHER AND REST ATOP MY LAP. TWO OTHER MEN, OUR APPARENT CAPTORS, STEP FORWARD ARMED WITH FLAME-THROWERS AND BEGIN TAKING ‘SAMPLES’ OF OUR BLOOD BY RECKLESSLY SLASHING THE TIPS OF OUR FINGERS WITH THE DULL EDGE OF A POCKETKNIFE. I AM NEVER GIVEN AN EXPLANATION FOR HIS BIZARRE BEHAVIOR, AND MOMENTS LATER AM FLUNG AIRBORNE AS THE MAN NEXT TO ME BEGINS TO WILDLY CONTORT AND SHAKE, MY BONDS SOON SEARED AWAY BY BLUE FLAME AS OUR CAPTORS ATTEMPT TO BURN US ALIVE. AS I DART FROM THE BURNING ROOM, I SEE SEVERAL OF MY FELLOW PRISONERS IN A NEW, HORRIFIC LIGHT. THEY ARE NO LONGER MEN, BUT MUTATED MONSTROSITIES POSSESSING TENTACLES IN LIEU OF HUMAN APPENDAGE. I ESCAPE INTO A FROZEN, ICE-COATED LANDSCAPE AND HIDE AWAY INSIDE THE DARKENED COCKPIT OF A NEARBY HELICOPTER….
…and temporarily fall into an uneasy slumber, the screams of my unknown comrades still ringing in my ears as I wake no longer inside the chopper cockpit, but instead…
...DRIVING A FOUR DOOR CHEVY DOWN AN ISOLATED STRETCH OF HIGHWAY ON A WARM, CLOUDLESS DAY.
THE FEELING OF SWEET RELIEF SOON VANISHES AS I CHECK THE REAR VIEW MIRROR AND DISCOVER THE RUSTIED GRILL OF A TANKER TRUNK RIDES MERE INCHES FROM MY REAR BUMBER.
I GLANCE DOWN AND NOTICE THE SPEEDOMETER READS SEVENTY-FIVE AND CLIMBING JUST AS THE TRUNK’S HORN SOUNDS OFF AND I’M JOLTED FORWARD FROM THE IMPACT OF THE COLLUSION. SWERVING ONTO THE GRAVEL SHOULDER, I SLAM ON THE BRAKES AND GO INTO A FRENZIED SPIN, HALTING ONLY WHEN THE PASSENGER SIDE SLAMS INTO A METAL GUARDRAIL. I CAN LITERALLY TASTE THE SALTY MIX OF BLOOD AND GRIT ON MY TONGUE AS THE DUST JUST BEGINS TO CLEAR.
THE TRUCK SAILS DOWN THE DIRT GRADE DIRECTLY TOWARDS ME, BARRELING FORWARD LIKE AN ENRAGED BULL EYEING A SWIRLING RED CAPE. DESPITE THE DIZZINESS DULLING MY SENSES, I SLAM THE GAS PEDAL TO THE FLOOR AND TWIST THE WHEEL HARD TO THE LEFT, CREATING A FUNNEL CLOUD OF DIRT AND GRAVEL THAT COATS THE CHARGING SEMI IN A SWIRLING FOG BANK.
THE TIRES SQUEAL AND THE MOTOR GROANS AS I NEGOTIATE THE SHARP MOUNTAINSIDE TURNS WITH THE SPEEDOMETER READING BETWEEN EIGHTY AND EIGHTY-FIVE.
ONCE AGAIN, A FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY BECOMES JUST THAT AS THICK WAVES OF WHITE SMOKE POUR FROM THE HOOD, TEMPORARILY BLINDING ME. AS A STEEP, CURVY GRADE LOOMS, I WATCH HELPLESSLY AS THE ‘CHECK ENGINE’ LIGHT GLOWS AND MY SPEED RAPIDLY DESCENDS UNTIL THE VEHICLE STRAINS TO MAINTAIN A TWENTY MILES PER HOUR PACE.
THE SEMI’S BLARING HORN SEEMS TO ORIGINATE FROM THE CHEVY’S BACK SEAT AS A SUDDEN IMPACT JARS MY TEETH AND SLINGS MY FOREHEAD INTO THE HARD VINYL DASH. THE LAST THING I FEEL IS THE SENSATION OF WEIGHTLESSNESS AS THE CAR SAILS AIRBORNE, MY FINAL VISUALIZATION A JAGGED ROCK FORMATION GROWING EVER CLOSER AS THE BATTERED CHEVY GOES INTO A SUICIDE BOMBER NOSEDIVE AND I...
….snap too still perched behind the wheel, the Chevy purring along quietly, it’s windshield no longer riddled with cracks but shockingly clean. With my teeth intact and my forehead no longer throbbing, I sail atop an empty two-line mercifully void of other traffic from either direction. After a time, I’m passed by a late model Plymouth; a real beauty from the late fifties or early sixties. Collector’s edition all the way, I deduce. It isn’t until it vanishes over a nearby grade that I realize it had no visible driver. Alas, I have no time to dwell on such trivialities.
The sky is overcast as a light rain begins to fall.
Without understanding exactly why, I pull into a parking lot fronting a gigantic indoor Mall. Like the highway fronting it, the colossal lot is completely empty. I park at the entrance, which is lit in neon and announces ‘Final Closeout Sale! Everything MUST go!’ over a series of double-door entryways.
I enter the dimly lit entrance and…
...AM INSTANTLY TAKEN BACK BY THE RANCID AIR TRAPPED WITHIN. IT’S A PUTRID, NAUSEATING STENCH THAT WORSENS THE DEEPER I DELVE INTO THE MALLS INNER SANCTUM.
MANY OF THE STORES ARE CLOSED, THEIR BAMBOO BLINDS AND METAL GATES PULLED SHUT, WHILE OTHERS LOOK TO HAVE BEEN RECENTLY RANSACKED, WITH MERCHANDISE SCATTERED ABOUT THE FLOOR AND LYING OUT ONTO THE TILE WALKWAY.
I HEAR A MUFFLED GROAN WHILE STROLLING BRISKLY PAST A CLOSED ‘GNC’, AND SPOT THE STUMBLING MASSES AS THEY POUR LIKE AN ARMY OF ANTS FROM A ‘JC PENNY’ ENTRANCEWAY APPROXIMATELY FIFTY YARDS TO MY NORTH.
I TAKE A FEW STEPS FORWARD AND FREEZE IN MY TRACKS.
AS THEY MOAN AND GROAN LIKE SOME OVER-MEDICATED CHOIR, I GET MY FIRST CLEAR LOOK AT THEIR SLACK, PALE FACES AND THE SHOCKING PHYSICAL DEFORMITIES THEY POSSESS. WHETHER MAN, WOMAN OR CHILD, AND I SEE AN ABUNDANCE OF EACH REPRESENTED, ALL SEEM MORTALLY WOUNDED IN SOME WAY. THE MAJORITY ARE MISSING EITHER A LEG OR ARM, WHILE OTHERS DISPLAY GAPING WOUNDS THAT SEEP GREEN OR YELLOWISH PUS INSTEAD OF BLOOD.
AS THEY GIVE CHASE LIKE A PACK OF MAD DOGS, I ESCAPE INTO A NEARBY STAIRWELL IN SEARCH OF A TEMPORARY SAFE HAVEN. I DASH BY SEVERAL CLOSED DOORS MARKED ‘UTILITY’ OR ‘SUPPLY’, NEVER SLOWING UNTIL I REACH ONE WITH THE WORDS ‘EXIT HERE! NO ZOMBIES ALLOWED!’ SMEARED ON THE DOOR IN WHAT MIGHT WELL HAVE BEEN BLOOD. AGAINST EVERY INSTINCT I POSSESS, I FLING OPEN THE DOOR AND STUMBLE INSIDE.
I STAND AT THE PITS OF HELL ITSELF, FILLED WITH DISPLACED BODY PARTS THAT WRIGGLE AND SQUIRM AS IF ELECTRICALLY CHARGED. A METAL LADDER HANGS FROM A TRAP DOOR JUST A FEW FEET AHEAD, OBVIOUSLY LEADING TO POTENTIAL FREEDOM, AND IS PRESENTLY GUARDED BY A HERD OF INHUMAN ABOMINATION WHOSE SOLE REASON FOR BEING IS SEEMINGLY TO BLOCK MY PATH.
SUDDENLY ARMED WITH A MACHETE IN ONE HAND AND A BLUE-STEEL REVOLVER IN THE OTHER, I BEGIN SYSTEMATICALLY CHOPPING, SLASHING, AND SHOOTING MY WAY THROUGH THEIR UNDEAD RANKS, COATING MY FACE AND UPPER TORSO WITH GREENISH GORE THAT RESEMBLES PEA SOUP AND CARRIES OF THE SCENT OF ANCIENT, FESTERING INFECTION.
I JUMP ONTO THE LADDER AND FEEL MY LEFT CALF AND ANKLE IGNITE AS IF LIT ABLAZE. CRAWLING THROUGH THE MANHOLE-COVER SIZED OPENING , I LOOK DOWN AND SEE SEVERAL OF THE GHOULISH MONSTROSITIES GNAWING AND CHOMPING ON MY LEG AS IF IT WERE A FROCASSED DRUMSTICK, LITERALLY STRIPPING IT UNTIL I SEE WHITE BONE SHINE THROUGH PULPED TENDON AND JAGGED STRIPS OF FLESH.
I REACH DOWN AND EMPTY THE REVOLER INTO THE MASSES, THEN PULL MYSELF THROUGH THE ROUND SPACE INTO A NARROW, DIMLY LIT HALLWAY.
PEERING DOWNWARD WITH GREAT APPREHENSION, I SEE THAT MY LEG IS BACK INTACT WITH NOT A SINGLE SCRATCH EVIDENT. DESPITE THE APPARENT LACK OF BLOOD LOSS, MY VISION DARKENS AND MY LEGS GROW WEAK…
…. until a bright flashing light awakens me, accompanied by a shrieking siren released in three-second intervals. A robotic voice blares repeatedly over a built-in PA system, and I stand on shaky legs and discover myself…
…. WANDERING A NARROW HALLWAY IN WHAT MIGHT BE EITHER A FREIGHTER’S LOWER-LEVEL HOLD OR A FUTURISTIC SPACE SHIP, AS THE METAL FLOORING BENEATH MY FEET WOBBLES AND SWAYS, CAUSING ME TO LURCH ABOUT DRUNKENLY. THE SWIRLING WHITE AND BLUE LIGHTS PIERCING THE OTHERWISE MURKY HALL ONLY ADDS TO THE DISORIENTATION. I PASS BY SEVERAL CLOSED-IN CUBICLES AND ENTER A CIRCULAR ROOM FILLED WITH BLINKING LIGHTS AND OVAL-SHAPED COMPUTER MONITORS, ALL OF WHICH ARE BLANK SAVE THE LARGEST, WHERE THE WORDS ‘Crew Expendable’ FILLS THE SCREEN.
THE MECHANICAL VOICE ANNOUNCES:
‘You now have ten minutes until automatic self-destruct…ten minutes…’
….AND I CAN JUST MAKE OUT THE MUTED ECHOES OF HUMAN SCREAMS IN-BETWEEN WORDS.
DEPARTING THE ROOM IN A FREE-FLOATING DAZE, MY FIELD OF VISION BLURRED BY BLOWING SMOKE AND A VERITABLE KALEIDOSCOPE OF LIGHTS, I EVENTUALLY FIND MYSELF STANDING BEFORE A METALLIC DOUBLE-DOOR READING ‘SHUTTLECRAFT X – Ensure you check for HAZARDOUS STOWAWAYS!’
THE DOORS SEPARATE BEFORE ME, AND I STEP CAUTIOUSLY INSIDE. THE PA ANNOUNCES:
‘..eight minutes until automatic self-destruct…you now have eight minutes…”
THE CRAFT CONTAINS A SINGLE CHAIR AND CONSOLE , ALONG WITH TWO GLASS-COVERED PODS AND A WALL-STORAGE UNIT WHEREIN SEVERAL SPACE-SUITS AND HELMETS HANG.
‘…you now have seven minutes until automatic self-destruct…seven minutes…’
PRESUMABLY ON INSTINCT ALONE, I TAKE UP POSITION BEHIND THE CONSOLE AND BEGIN PRESSING VARIOUS BUTTONS WITH ONE HAND WHILE TYPING FURIOUSLY ON A COMPUTER KEYBOARD WITH THE OTHER. I HEAR THE HATCH DOOR CLOSE BEHIND ME JUST AS A MASSIVE SHADOW LOOMS OVERHEAD, ENGULFING THE ENTIRE AREA I OCCUPY.
MY EYES GRADUALLY SHIFT FROM THE MONITOR TO THE SHADOW’S ORIGINATOR, AND I INSTANTLY FEEL A SEVERE TIGHTENING IN MY CHEST AS THE AIR WITHIN THE SHUTTLE GROWS FRIGID.
THE CREATURE COCKS IT’S SLIME COATED, OVAL-SHAVED HEAD TO ONE SIDE AS IF TO INSPECT A RATHER FASCINATING ZOO EXHIBIT. EVEN SLIGHTLY HUNCHED, IT STANDS AT LEAST EIGHT FEET TALL, WITH SLIM, CORD-LIKE APPENDAGES, AND A TORSO COVERED IN WHAT RESEMBLES SOME SORT OF SKELETAL BODY ARMOR. IT LUMBERS FROM THE SHADOWS AND WHIPS FORTH A SCORPION’S TALE THAT IS AT LEAST AS LONG AS THE CREATURE IS TALL.
DESPITE MY BEST EFFORTS TO TURN AND FLEE, I DISCOVER MY FEET AND LEGS UNABLE AND/OR UNWILLING TO ADHERE TO MENTAL COMMANDS, THUS FREEZING ME INTO PLACE LIKE A WRIGGLING FLY WITHIN A SPIDER’S WEB.
THE THING SLOWLY RAISES ITS HEAD, ITS LEGS VISIBLY TENSE AS IF TO SPRING FORTH, AND I SEE NOT ONE BUT TWO SETS OF TEETH EMERGE FROM ITS DRIPPING MAW.
‘….you now have five minutes until self-destruct…five minutes to reach minimum safe distance….five minutes….’
I COLLAPSE ONTO MY HANDS AND KNEES JUST AS THE CREATURE LUNGES FORWARD. COVERING MY HEAD WITH MY HANDS, I PREPARE FOR A PAINED IMPACT THAT NEVER COMES. I CAN HEAR A LOUD SHRIEK AND THE SOUNDS OF BATTLE AS PIECES OF THE SHUTTLE BEGIN TO CRASH AND LAND ALL AROUND ME.
PEEKING THROUGH SPLAYED FINGERS FROM BENEATH THE CONSOLE, I STUDY THE COMBATANTS FROM LESS THAN AN ARM’S REACH AWAY.
A LARGE, ARMOR-CLAD, DREAD-LOCKED WARRIOR WEARING A METALLIC MASK OF SOME TYPE HAS JOINED THE FRAY, HAVING SPEARED THE FIRST CREATURE THROUGH IT’S BONY CHEST PROTECTOR WHILE DODGING THE DOUBLE-SET OF PISTON-LIKE TEETH THAT STRIKE OUTWARD WITH RATTLESNAKE QUICKNESS.
I CRAWL BACKWARDS AT A SNAIL’S PACE, KEEPING MY EYES TRAINED ON THE COMBATANTS AS TWO ADDITIONAL FIGURES APPEAR AS IF FROM THIN AIR. BOTH HAVE HUMAN SHAPE AND DON SIMILAR CLOTHING, BUT ALSO WEAR HALLOWEEN-STYLED MASKS TO CONCEAL THEIR TRUE IDENTIFIES.
THE LARGER OF THE TWO WEARS A HOCKEY GOALIES MASK AND WIELDS EITHER A SWORD OR LONG-BLADED MACHETE, WHILE THE OTHER IS SLIMMER IN BUILD, HIS CONCEALMENT OF CHOICE A SCAR-RAVAGED MASK AND FEDORA HAT. THE SECOND CARRIES NO WEAPON TO SPEAK OF, BUT INSTEAD DRAMATICALLY ALTERS HIS PHYSICAL SHAPE TO ASSAULT HIS BULKIER OPPONENT.
“….you now have four minutes until automatic self-destruct…four minutes to reach minimum safe distance….”
WITH MY BACK TUCKED TIGHTLY AGAINST THE HATCH DOOR, I BECOME AN UNWILLING SPECTATOR TO A BRUTAL BATTLE ROYAL BETWEEN FOUR DISTINCTLY DIFFERENT BUT EQUALLY VISCOUS ENEMIES.
**
THE DREAD-LOCKED WARRIOR IS TOSSED AIRBORNE FROM A SINGLE SWAT OF THE CREATURE’S LASHING TAIL, ONLY TO RETALIATE ALMOST IMMEDIATELY BY PULLING A STAR-SHAPED DEVICE FROM HIS BELT AND SLINGING IT AT BULLET SPEED.
THE CREATURE WAILS IN APPARENT AGONY AS THE WEAPON SEVERES HIS LEFT ARM CLEANLY AT THE SHOULDER. A FOUNTAIN OF GOLD-SHADED LIQUID SPEWS FORTH FROM THE CREATURES WOUND AND SPATTERS THE MACHATE-WELDING HULK, WHO SCARELY SEEMS TO NOTICE AS HIS BACK AND SHOULDERS CATCH FIRE AND THE TIP OF HIS WEAPON MELT AWAY LIKE BUTTER ATOP A HEATED STOVE.
UNDAUNTED DESPITE THE LOST APPENDAGE, THE CREATURE LEAPS FORWARD AND HEAD-BUTTS THE WARRIOR INTO AND THROUGH THE REAR SHUTTLE WALL. LANDING ON A NARROW EXTERIOR WALKWAY, THE DREAD-LOCKED WARRIOR EXECUTES A TEXTBOOK ‘COMBAT’ ROLL, THEN SPRINGS TO HIS FEET JUST AS THE CREATURE REACHES HIM. THE STEEL BEAM WALKWAY LOOKS NO MORE THAN THREE FEET WIDE AS THE TWO COLLIDE FULL-FORCE AND STILL, MIRACULOUSLY, MANAGE TO STAY UPRIGHT.
“..three minutes until automatic self-destruct…..three minutes to reach minimum safe distance…”
***
THE HULKING BRUTE HOLDS THE MACHETE IN BOTH HANDS, SWINGING IT ACROSS HIS BODY AT A SLIGHT DOWNWARD ARC AND WITH IMMEASURABLE FORCE, HACKING HIS SCARRED ADVERSARY CLEANLY IN HALF JUST ABOVE THE WAIST. THE FIGURE’S UPPER TORSO TUMBLES TO THE SIDE LIKE A BAG OF DISCARDED LAUNDRY WHILE THE LOWER HALF REMAINS UPRIGHT, SPEWING FORTH SEPARATE GUSHERS OF CRIMSON FROM THE NEATLY SLICED RUINS.
AS THE MASKED BRUTE STEPS FORWARD TO INSPECT THE TOP PORTION OF THE KILL, THE LOWER HALF LAUNCHES ITSELF AIRBORNE LIKE THE WELL-TRAINED LEGS OF A BLACK BELT MARTIAL ARTIST, KICKING THE BRUTE FLUSH IN THE FACE AND SENDING HIM SPIRALING INTO ONE OF THE GLASS DOMES. AS THE DOME SHATTERS, I SEE THE UPPER AND LOWER HALVES OF THE SCARRED ENTITY MELD BACK TOGETHER LIKE MATCHING PUZZLE PIECES. ALL THE WHILE, THE SCARRED ONE RANTS, RAVES, AND GESTURES AS IF PERFORMING COMEDY STAND UP.
****
WITH HIS TAIL WOUND AROUND THE WALKWAY FOR APPARENT BALANCE, THE CREATURE AVOIDS SEVERAL BLOWS FROM WHAT LOOKS LIKE A BOLO SEWN FROM RAZOR WIRE.
*****
WITH A SINGLE THRUST, THE BRUTISH HULK BURIES THE MACHETE TO THE HILT INTO THE SCARRED ENTITIES CHEST, THE LAST FEW INCHES OF THE BLADE STICKING OUT FROM BETWEEN HIS SHOULDER BLADES LIKE A SHARK’S FIN.
******
WITH SHOCKING QUICKNESS AND AGILITY, THE CREATURE SWINGS BENEATH THE WALKWAY BY ITS TAIL, THUS NOT ONLY AVOIDING THE WARRIORS LASTEST THRUST, BUT TO REEMERGE BEHIND HIS OPPONENT, WHO WHIRLS ABOUT A SPLIT-SECOND TOO LATE. THE THORNY TAIL ASCENDS LIKE A SPIKED TORPEDO, IMPALING THE WARRIOR BENEATH HIS CHEST ARMOR AND HOISTING HIM AIRBORNE LIKE A SPEARED FISH.
VALIANTLY BUT WITHOUT EFFECT, THE WARRIOR CONTINUES TO STRIKE OUT WITH BOTH FISTS EVEN AS THE CREATURE PULLS HIM FORWARD UNTIL THEIR FOREHEADS ARE MERE INCHES APART.
“….two minutes until automatic self-destruct….two minutes to reach minimum safe distance…”
*******
THE SCARRED ONE TURNS FROM HIS ENEMY, GRASPS THE MACHETE HANDLE STICKING FROM HIS CHEST WITH BOTH HANDS, THEN PINWHEELS BACK, SINKING THE EXPOSED BLADE DEEP INTO THE BRUTE’S CHEST CAVITY. HE THEN REACHES UP AND BACK, FOLDING HIS FOREARMS AROUND THE BRUTE’S BOWED NECK. TWO VISCIOUS DOWNWARD TUGS PULL THE BRUTE’S HEAD CLEANLY FROM HIS SHOULDERS, A THICK TRAIL OF BLACKISH FLUID SPRAYING FORTH FROM THE JAGGED STUMP LIKE A TOXIC WATERFALL.
********
THE CREATURE’S SECOND SET OF TEETH RIPS THROUGH THE WARRIOR’S FACEPLATE, PUNCHING A FIST-SIZED CRATER THROUGH THE BACKOF ITS HEAD. WHILE HOLDING THE WARRIORS STILL-TREMBLING BODY AIRBORNE WITH ITS REMAINING ARM AND BOTH SETS OF GNAWING TEETH, IT WHIPS THE TAIL FROM LEFT TO RIGHT ONE FINAL TIME, ESSENTIALLY GUTTING THE WARRIOR LIKE SLAUGHTERED LIVESTOCK.
I SEE BOTH THE CREATURE AND THE SCARRED ENTITY DISCARD THE BRUTALIZED CARCASSES OF THEIR FALLEN ENEMIES AND STARE DIRECTLY MY WAY. THEY NOD IN UNISON, AS IF REVELING IN MY OBVIOUS FEAR, AND TAKE A SINGLE STEP TOWARDS ME.
“…it is now too late to reach minimum safe distance….far….far….too…late..”
IT IS THEN THAT THE HATCH DOOR FLIES OPEN, AND I BEGIN AN IMPROMPTU FREE-FALL. THE AIRSPACE IS DARK AND UNEXPECTEDLY COOL EVEN BENEATH THE PROTECTIVE SPACESUIT I NOW WEAR. THE AIR WITHIN MY HELMET BEGINS TO FOG AS THE DISTANCE BETWEEN MYSELF AND THE OCTOGON-SHAPED SHIP RAPIDLY INCREASES.
I SEEM WORLDS AWAY AS A FIERY GLOW IGNITES, MUCH LIKE VIEWING A FLASHLIGHT’S CIRCULAR GLOW SHINE FROM THE BOTTOM OF A DEEP, MURKY CAVERN. THE NOVA LASTS BUT A FEW FLEETING MOMENTS, ALTHOUGH ITS MAJESTIC BEAUTY SEEMS TO PROVIDE AN INSTANT ANTIDOTE TO MY SHATTERED NERVES. A WAVE OF EXTREME DROWSINESS FOLLOWS AS I DRIFT INTO A SOUPY FOG BANK THAT APPEARS FROM NOWHERE. THE IVORY MIST SERVES AS A MIDDLE GROUND BEFORE ENTRY INTO STILL ANOTHER REALM OF THE FANTASTIC AS…
…the young boy, surely no more than seven or eight, jogs by me without a glance, as if I am transparent. For such a tender age, his face is weirdly drawn and a bit haggard. His eyes are wide with fear, his mop-styled hair littered with tiny specs of blown snow. I watch him round a wide curve and vanish behind a wall of tall, perfectly manicured shrubbery I soon realize is a man-made maze of some sort. I quickly follow the boy’s freshly dug trail around the same curve, madly tugging at my jacket collar as a paralyzing numbness grips my lower extremities and I begin to deliberately slow my pace. I then...
...BEGIN TO CALL OUT TO THE BOY, PLEADING WITH HIM TO STOP HIDING FROM ME. MY EYELIDS ARE LITERALLY FROZEN OPEN. MY FINGERS, TOES AND EARS ARE ALREADY SHOWING SIGNS OF FROSTBITE. MY LEGS SLOW AS IF WEIGHED DOWN WITH IRON CHAINS.
THE MAZE ITSELF SEEMS AS INFINITE AS A VAST, BARREN DESERT. I AM A WONDERING NOMAD CROSSING AN ICY DUNE FOR AS OF YET REASONS UNKNOWN.
I CONTINUE BELLOWING THE BOY’S NAME, ALTHOUGH THE SOUND OF IT HAS NO FAMILIAR RING.
SOON ENOUGH THE BOY’S TRACKS VANISH. HOW CAN THIS BE? WAS HE SUDDENLY SCOOPED UP BY A PASSING ALIEN VESSEL? DID HE DISCOVER THE POWER OF FLIGHT AND CLEAR THE MAZE WALLS IN A SINGLE BOUND?
I COLLAPSE IN A STIFFENING HEAP AS MY LUNGS ARE PUNCTURED BY THE UNGODLY CHILL.
JUST AS MY EYES ROLL BACK INTO MY HEAD A FINAL TIME AND MY HEART SEEMS TO SCREECH TO A SUDDEN HALT IN MID-BEAT, I GLIMPSE THE OBLONG OBJECT THE FLESH OF MY RIGHT HAND SEEMS WELDED ONTO.
THE AXE BLADE REFLECTS THE UNBRIDLED LUNACY TRAPPED BEHIND DOOMED, DAMNED EYES.
THE LIGHT OF DAY PRIES THEM OPEN TO REVEAL.......
....Brief images played out in random snippets, not unlike a series of movie ‘coming attractions’ played in successive order but void of any cohesive theme. The inner ‘record’ button within my subconscious recalls the following as easily the most vivid of said images; a ‘HORROR’S greatest hits’ package, if you will.
.....I DRIFT ATOP SPARKLY BLUE, CLAM SEA WATERS IN A WOODEN LIFE VESSEL AS THE MIDDAY SUN FEASTS ON MY BARE FLESH. I FEEL THE BOAT TILT SHARPLY TO THE RIGHT AND HANG MY HEAD OVER THE SIDE, FOOLISHLY THINKING I’VE SKIMMED THE TIP OF A CORAL REEF.
LESS THAN A FULL SECOND DO I VIEW THE BEAST AS IT SURFACES TO CAPSIZE MY VESSEL BY RAMMING ITS MASSIVE BULK INTO THE HULL LIKE A SLEDGEHAMMER THROUGH BALSAWOOD. MY LUNGS FILL WITH WARM SALTWATER AS I FIGHT TO KEEP A GRIP ON WHAT REMAINS OF MY SHATTERED LIFELINE.
BALANCED ATOP THE FLOATING DEBRIS, I SEE THE BLUE-SHADED TORPEDO EXECUTE A WIDE U-TURN AND TURN BACK IN MY DIRECTION. IT IGNORES THE FLOATING CARNAGE IT HAS CREATED AND MAKES A B-LINE FOR MY EXACT LOCATION AS IF LOCKED IN VIA BUILT-IN RADAR. A HEAT SEEKING EATING MACHINE DRIVEN BY A SINGLE OBSESSION, I HAVE TO RESPECT THE HONESTY OF ITS ACTIONS. IT ISN’T PERSONAL BY ANY MEANS. SIMPLY PUT, IT HUNGERS. I AM NOURISHMENT.
HELPLESS TO DO ANYTHING OTHER THAN WITNESS MY OWN DEMISE, I NEVERTHELESS STICK MY HANDS OUT PALMS UP AS IF TO SOMEHOW SLOW ITS TWO-TON-PLUS ASSAULT.
IT PARTS THE WAVES LIKE A SURFACING SUBMARINE, ITS MASSIVE JAWS ALREADY PARTING. I SEE ITS BLACK MARBLE EYES BEGIN TO ROLL BACK AS IT DESCENDS.
MERCIFULLY, I FEEL NO SENSATION OF PAIN, JUST A LENGTHY SERIES OF MUFFLED CRUNCHING SOUNDS, NOT UNLIKE A FRESHLY GRAVELED ROAD BEING DRIVEN OVER FOR THE FIRST TIME.
THE SCENT WITHIN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST IS SICKLY SWEET. THOUGH THE INTERIOR IS PREDICTABLY DARK, MY SIGHT SLOWLY BEGINS TO ADJUST.
A MAN, OR AT LEAST PORTIONS OF ONE, LIES ALL ABOUT ME IN VARIOUS STATES OF ROT AND DECAY. IT MAY IN FACT BE SEVERAL MEN.
ONE PARTICULAR SKULL, BLEACHED WHITE AND FULLY INTACT, ROLLS INTO VIEW FROM A FAR CORNER, A LIGHT BLUE CAP STILL ATTACHED AND PULLED DOWN ALMOST TO COVER THE ENTIRE FACE.
THERE IS A WORD SEWN ABOVE THE BILL.
‘QUINT’ IT READS.
‘WELCOME ABOARD, MATE’ CROONS THE SKULL IN A SHRILL, IRISH-
LADEN ACCENT THAT INSTANTLY TRANSPORTS ME.....
.....inside a dimly lit room that reeks of decayed meat and burning incense. A young girl is strapped to a bed, her face grotesquely swollen and glowing green. She speaks in a husky, garbled tone I do not recognize, her pointed teeth bared like a rabid animal. I match her incomprehensible rants by...
.....SCREAMING SELECT VERSES FROM THE BIBLE PROPPED IN MY LEFT HAND. THE GIRL STRUGGLES AND SQUIRMS, HISSING LIKE A RATTLER PREPPING TO STRIKE. I WATCH IN UTTER REVULSION, ALTHOUGH MY BIBLICAL SPEECH CONTINUES UNABATED, AS HER HEAD BEGINS A METHODICAL TWIST COMPLETELY AROUND HER SMALL, NARROW SHOULDERS. WITHOUT WARNING, SHE COATS MY FACE AND CHEST WITH GREEN BILE, SPEWING FORTH FROM HER OUTSTRETCHED JAWS IN CONGEALED GLOBS. THE ENTIRE BED FIRST SHAKES AND THEN BEGINS TO LEVITATE, AND I LEAN HARD ON ITS EDGE TO KEEP IT GROUNDED.
MY CHEST THROBS AND BURNS, AND I REALIZE THAT TIME IS INDEED SHORT IF THE CHILD IS TO BE SAVED.
WIPING THE ACIDIC VOMIT FROM MY BLURRED EYES, I ATTEMPT A NEWER READING WHEN I HEAR BINDS POP AND SNAP LIKE SEVERED GUITAR STRINGS.
WITHIN THE BLINK OF AN EYE, THE GIRL LAYS ON MY CHEST, HER CLAW-LIKE HANDS DIGGING INTO THE SOFT FLESH OF MY THROAT. HER PUPILS ARE BLOOD-RED, LIT AFIRE WITH INFINITE RAGE. HER TEMPLES VISUALLY BULGE.
GRIPPING HER SKULL ON EACH SIDE, I TUG AND JERK HANDFULS OF WIRY HAIR, SUBSEQUENTLY PULLING HER DOWN AND TRAPPING HER CHEST BENEATH MY KNEES.
IN ATTEMPTING TO LITERALLY BLUDGEON THE EVIL FROM THE INNOCENT YOUTH BEFORE ME, I INADVERTENTLY BECOME THE DEMON’S MEANS OF ESCAPE.
AS THE VILENESS FILLS MY VEINS LIKE A RAGING VIRUS, I SPOT THE BEDROOM WINDOW JUST A FEW FEET TO MY RIGHT.
THE TAKEOVER IS NOT YET COMPLETE AS I TRAVEL HEAD FIRST THROUGH THE THIN GLASS PANE.
THE DEMON WITHIN SHRIEKS IN AGONY AS MY HEAD IMPACTS THE CONCRETE STEPS SOME TWENTY FEET BELOW.
VERTEBRA FRACTURE LIKE BRITTLE LEAVES. MY SPINE SEVERS AT THE BASE OF MY SKULL, AND A DEMON WILL PRAY ON THE INNOCENT NO MORE THIS NIGHT.
...I wake within a gloomy catacomb, standing upright and surrounded on all sides by...
....A BIZARRE GROUP OF MUTATED BEINGS THAT EMERGE FROM THE SHADOWS RESEMBLING A 19TH CENTURY CIRCUS FREAK SIDESHOW. THE ONE I PRESUME TO BE LEADER OF THE GRUESOME TROUPE STEPS FORWARD. HE DONS AN ANKLE-LENGTH LEATHER JACKET RIDDLED IN CHAINS AND VARIOUS METALLIC ACCESSORIES, AND HIS BALD, FRIGHTENINGLY PALE HEAD IS EQUALLY LITTERED WITH WHAT LOOKS LIKE EMBEDDED STRAIGHT PINS.
AS HE STEPS CLOSER, I SEE THAT EVERY SQUARE INCH OF HIS GHOSTLY VISAGE IS SIMILARLY ATTIRED. HE RAISES, THEN SPREADS HIS ARMS DRAMATICALLY, THE WORDS HE SPEAKS DELIVERED IN A DELIBERATE, ROBOTIC MONOTONE ONE MIGHT ASSOCIATE WITH EARLY 20TH CENTURY STAGE ACTORS. HE ANNOUNCES SOMETHING TO THE EFFECT OF ‘TEARING MY SOUL APART’, AND I DECIDE NOT TO ASK FOR CLARIFICATION WHILE TURNING TO DART IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION.
I HEAR THE HUMAN PINCUSHION’S HOWLING LAUGHTER AS SOMETHING SHOOTS FROM THE DARKNESS, PIERCING MY LEFT SHOULDER. EVEN BEFORE I CAN GLIMPSE THE ORIGIN OF MY NEWEST BOUT WITH AGONY, I HEAR A WHOOSHING SOUND NEAR MY RIGHT EAR, AND MY RIGHT ARM AND LEFT THIGH ARE SIMULTANEOUSLY LIT ABLAZE WITH THE SAME BURNING, STINGING SENSATION. WITHIN A SPLIT-SECOND, MY RIGHT CALF AND THE BACK OF MY NECK ENDURE THE SAME.
UNABLE TO TURN MY HEAD BUT A SCANT FEW INCHES IN ANY DIRECTION, I AM NONETHELESS ABLE TO SEE THE STEEL HOOKS EMBEDDED INTO BOTH SHOULDERS; HOOKS CONNECTED TO CHAINS NO THICKER THAN STANDARD FISHING LINE.
AS THE NEEDLE-HEADED DEMON’S LAUGHTER CONTINUES UNABATED, MY CHEST, ABDOMEN AND GROIN ARE SIMILARLY PENETRATED, THEN THE VERY FLESH OF MY FACE AND SCALP.
THE CHAINS GROW INCREASINGLY TAUNT UNTIL EVERY NERVE ENDING I POSSESS SCREAMS OUT IN SEPARATE ANGUISH. I HEAR THE SICKENING TEARING SOUNDS…THE MOIST RIPPING SOUNDS. THE FEELING OF BEING SYSTEMATICALLY UNHINGED, LIKE A DISSECTED LAB SPECIMEN ON A COOL METAL SLAB, MERCIFULLY FADES AS I AWAKE WITH A CHOKING GASP AS….
…the doctor sits to my immediate right, a small PC balanced atop his lap as he reaches over and pats my shoulder in kind reassurance. Sitting up stiffly, I pull a handkerchief from my back pocket and wipe fresh wetness from my forehead. My body reeks of sour sweat, and my mouth and throat are horribly parched.
Displaying the same steely, frigid glare that might well be his trademark, the doctor informs me of the hypnotic spell he’d initiated as the session had progressed, explaining that such techniques are often useful in determining what triggers such nightmarish episodes.
He advises we conduct future sessions, and prescribes a mild sleep-aide. As I gather my wits and follow him to the door with a wobbly gait, he turns to me, peering over the top edge of his wire-rimmed spectacles. Flashing a wide, toothy (and dare I say, strangely predatory) smile, the doctor asks if I’d prefer a ‘private counseling’ session at his home later that evening, being that he finds my particular case extremely fascinating.
I politely decline, informing him that my aged mother expects me home this evening to prepare her nightly meal.
The psychiatrist studies me for a brief moment, his searing gaze unwavering, then graciously accepts a rain check for another time. A shame, he comments, as the dinner menu was to include specially prepared liver and Fava beans. I had heard the doctor is fancied as quite the local chief.
Be that I could accept his kind invitation, but poor mother would never understand. More importantly, I couldn’t…wouldn’t dare abandon her.
She needs me so, dear mother, and after all…
…a motel can hardly run itself.
Besides, there is the matter of that attractive young blonde woman who just checked in ....
THE END?????
Horror Films referenced in the above story are:
Psycho
Silence of The Lambs (or Hannibal)
The Thing (1982)
Duel
Christine
Dawn of The Dead
Alien
Alien Vs Predator
Freddy Vs Jason
Jaws
Hellraiser I or II
The Shining
The Excorcist
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Doc
Good job!
Tyrone
(((HUGS))) and love, and many shivers, Karla. *GASP*
Worst fear: being strapped down. THANKS
And I have enough pain, thankyewverymuch. *GASP*
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in tx., karen lynn. :o (screamin' my guts out here...LOL)