by Amy Cross
I open my mouth to tell him that he's wrong, but then I look at my hands and see that blood seems to be pooling under my fingernails. I take a closer look, and a moment later I realize I can feel a hot trickle of blood in my underwear. I swallow hard, and then I gasp as I feel a sharp pain in my throat, as if I've swallowed a thousand tiny razors.
“We have to go!” Larry begs. “Now!”
He grabs the sleeve of my shirt in his teeth and starts trying to pull me toward the door, and after a moment realize that he's right. I'm bleeding!
Stumbling to my feet, I make my way through to the hallway, where I find that there's a breeze blowing through the flat. I head to the front room, and that's when I remember that I opened a window for Larry last night before I went to check on the bog. I usually shut all the windows before I go to sleep, but now I'm glad that I left this one open. I take a couple of steps forward, through the cloud of spores, and I can't help wondering how bad the cloud would have been if I hadn't had the window open.
It's hard to believe I'd even have been able to breathe.
Suddenly hearing a gurgling sound, I spin around and see the crack on the wall. I'd forgotten about that until now, but I feel a flicker of fear in my chest as I step forward and stare at the thick root that's visible in the cavity behind the plaster. As I watch, the root twitches slightly, as if something's moving along on the inside, and I start to realize that it's as if the root is somehow feeding on the building.
“Paula!” Larry yells. “We have to go!”
I stare for a moment longer at the root, and then I remember that Larry's right.
“Where's your lead?” I stammer, turning and heading back to the hallway. I feel so light-headed, I'm worried I might faint at any moment.
“I don't need the lead!” Larry shouts. “I'm not going to run off! Let's go!”
“No, you have to have your lead,” I tell him, as I spot it on the side, grab it, and then reach down to attach it to his collar.
At first, my hands tremble so much that I can barely get the lead hooked onto the little metal ring. I try to focus on keeping my hands steady, but then I realize that my vision's starting to get fuzzy.
I blink a few times, but I can almost see two of everything.
“I think these spores are...”
My voice trails off, and I finally manage to attach the lead.
“Okay,” I stammer, turning toward the door. “Let's go.”
I immediately fall forward, slamming my head against the door and then slumping back onto the floor.
“Paula!” Larry yells, rushing over and starting to lick my face. “Wake up!”
“I'm awake,” I reply, although I can already feeling myself starting to slip back into sleep.
For a moment, I can feel dreams starting to wake in the back of my mind, ready to take over from my conscious thoughts. At the last second, however, Larry's tongue slips straight up my left nostril, and I gasp as I sit up.
“That was disgusting,” he says. “Now come on! Move!”
Again, I realize that he's right, so I get to my feet and open the front door, and then I take Larry out into the public hallway that leads to the front door. I take a couple of steps forward, and then I stop and turn to look at the staircase that winds up to the higher floors of the building.
“What are you waiting for?” Larry asks. “We're almost out! Hurry!”
I pause, and then I start stumbling toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?” I yell.
“He's waiting for me,” I whisper, filled with the sudden certainty that I have to go up to flat 5a. “It's Mr. Seymour. I have to go to him.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“No!” Larry yells, pulling harder than ever on his lead. “Stop! We're not going up there!”
“He's calling me,” I point out. “Can't you hear?”
I step forward, but again Larry pulls on his lead, holding me back.
“Stop it,” I tell him, as I feel filled with the need to get up there and see what Mr. Seymour wants. “You don't understand, Larry. We have to go to him.”
“We'll die if we go up there!” Larry shouts. “The higher you go in this place, the thicker the spores in the air! Don't you get it?”
He pulls again, but this time I simply let go of the lead and start making my way up the stairs.
“Paula! No!”
He keeps shouting, but I barely even notice. His barks seem to be fading into the background, and all I know is that Mr. Seymour is waiting for me on the top floor and I have to get to him. Every second I take is another second that he's waiting, another second that I'm not giving him exactly what he wants. If he's angry, it'll be my fault, so I have to get up there as fast as possible.
He's hungry.
“Paula!”
Suddenly I feel a sharp pain in my right ankle. Startled, I look down and see that Larry has grabbed the bottom of my jeans, and in the process he's managed to catch my flesh with one of his teeth. I open my mouth to tell him to stop but, before I can get a word out, he pulls hard and I fall, crashing down against the steps and gasping as I feel Larry starting to drag me back down to the hallway.
“You don't understand,” I murmur, turning to him as I bump down to the bottom of the stairs. I grab the railing to steady myself. “I should have gone to him already. He's up there waiting for me.”
“I don't care who's waiting for you!” Larry yells. “I'm not going to let you go up there! You'll die!”
“Die?” I stare at him for a moment, before starting to laugh. “What are you talking about? Mr. Seymour's hungry, that's all. He wants to feed.”
“Feed on what?” Larry asks.
I hesitate, and suddenly I realize that I don't know.
“Well,” I stammer, “on...”
My voice trails off.
And then, before I can come up with an answer, I hear a sudden creaking sound coming from high up in the building, as if someone just opened a door.
I look up the stairwell, and I freeze with fear. I don't even know why I'm scared, but a moment later I spot the faintest hint of a shadow moving way up in the building, and I instinctively pull back against the wall.
“What does he want to feed on?” Larry asks. “Or who does he want to feed on?”
“Well...”
“Think, Paula! Why are you suddenly filled with an urge to go up there! You didn't mention it last night. Then the room filled up with the spores overnight and now you're acting like a maniac!”
I turn to him, and suddenly all my desperation fades. I was determined to go up and deliver myself to Mr. Seymour, like some kind of sacrificial offering, but now I realize that I was consumed by some kind of mania.
“You said earlier that we had to leave,” Larry continues, standing with his lead handing from his collar, “and you were right. Please, Paula, we can figure everything else out later, but right now we have to get out of here!”
“You're right,” I whisper, before getting to my feet. “You're completely right!”
Grabbing his lead, I hurry to the building's front door and try to pull it open, only to find that it's locked. I turn the silver handle that's supposed to allow it to be opened from the inside even in emergencies, but to my surprise even this doesn't work.
“Come on!” Larry says. “Hurry!”
“I'm trying,” I tell him, “but someone's done something to it. It's like we're trapped in the building! There's no -”
Before I can finish, I hear a faint brushing sound. I turn and look toward the stairs, just in time to hear a bump coming from above. Someone's slowly coming down, and by the sound of things they're already on the third or even the second floor.
“I don't get it!” I hiss, as I try the door again and again. “Why won't it budge?”
“What about your key?” Larry barks.
“That's in the flat!”
“Then get it!”
“But I -”
Suddenly I hear another bumping s
ound. I spin round and look toward the stairs, and to my horror I see a shadow against one of the railings.
“He's coming!” I gasp.
“Into the flat!” Larry yells. “We can't let him get us!”
I hesitate, and then I rush back into my flat. Once Larry's safely through the door as well, I slam the door shut and put the chain in place, and then I step back as I hear another bumping sound coming from the door's other side.
“Someone's out there,” I whisper.
“No kidding,” Larry barks. “I think that way's blocked. Can't we go out the window?”
I turn and hurry to the front room. The window's still open from last night, but only by a couple of inches. I start fumbling with the security latch, trying to get the window open wide enough for us both to climb out, but spores have settled all around the mechanism, forming a kind of thick paste that's stopping me sliding the safety clip away.
That must be why the front door wouldn't work, too.
“Hurry!” Larry shouts.
“I'm trying!”
“Hurry!”
I try with all my remaining strength to get the window open, but there's just too much of this strange paste dried all around the various moving parts.
“I need a knife,” I stammer, before turning and hurrying through to the kitchen, where I start rooting through the drawers. “I need to scrape it off and -”
Suddenly I hear a jingling sound, and I turn just in time to see that the front door is opening. The chain is still in place, to keep it from opening fully, but I'm filled with fear as I realize that Mr. Seymour is finally here. Grabbing the largest knife I can, I race through to the hallway just as Larry starts barking furiously, and then I slip and slam down hard.
I manage to avoid landing on the knife, and then I turn and raise the blade as I look at the half-open door and see a pair of eyes staring back at me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“What the -”
It's not Mr. Seymour.
For a moment, I can only stare in shock as Mrs. Morgan's white cat stands in the doorway, staring at me. I open my mouth to ask what's happening, but I'm actually speechless.
And then, suddenly, the cat flicks his tail and pushes the door shut.
“Get out!” Larry barks. “You're not allowed in here!”
“Oh please,” the cat says, somehow meowing in dog language, “will you shut the fuck up for a moment?”
Larry starts to bark, but then he falls silent.
“Are you two complete fucking idiots?” the cat continues, turning to me. “Seriously? I know humans and dogs aren't exactly the smartest creatures in the world, but I'd have thought that the pair of you together might have managed to figure this shit out by now.”
“What?” I stammer. “How...”
“How are you understanding what I'm saying?” the cat replies, sounding distinctly unimpressed. “I'm bilingual, bitch. Everyone else might be fucking stupid, but I've noticed you and this dumb little puppy nattering away to one another. I thought it was cute at first, but now I realize it's the same as everything else that humans and dogs do. It's tragic.”
“But -”
“Shut the fuck up!” the cat shouts. “I'm talking here, and you two morons need to listen!”
I turn to Larry and see the shock on his face.
I turn back to the cat.
“I'm not in a good mood,” the cat continues. “In case you two idiots missed the memo, my owner died last night. And I use the word 'owner' in the loosest possible sense. I'd say she was my slave, but then she used to say that jokingly and I never thought it was particularly funny. Regardless, she died and there was nothing I could do to save her, so now I'm out of here. I was going to just walk away, but then I heard you two getting yourselves all worked up.”
“You're talking?” I gasp.
“Oh, try to keep up,” the cat sighs. “Damn it, I knew I should have just left without saying anything. The problem is, I started to worry that one day I might hear that the pair of you had died, and I might actually feel a smidgen of guilt. Unlikely, but hey, I figure I might as well future-proof my conscience. Plus, I really don't like what's happening here. I don't want to do anything that plays into the hands of the monster that killed my Mrs. Morgan.”
“I don't understand,” I stammer. “I think I might be having a stroke.”
“No stroking today,” the cat replies firmly. “I'm here on business. Do you two seriously not understand what's going on here?”
“There's a crack in my wall,” I reply, “and spores in the air.”
“No shit.”
“And there's a bog out there, on the other side of the road.”
“Oh, so you do know how to use your eyes. Well done.”
“And there's a root, connecting the bog and the building.”
“I'd clap if I could. You're actually smarter than I thought.”
“And...”
I pause for a moment, as I try to work everything out.
“It's feeding on us,” I stammer finally.
The cat tilts his head.
“The root!” I continue. “Somehow it's spreading mold from the forest into the building, and it's feeding on us!”
“Lean closer,” the cat replies.
“Why?”
“Just lean closer.”
I lean closer, but suddenly the cat swipes at me, catching the side of my face with a claw. Startled, I slam back against the wall.
“Just when I was beginning to have a little faith in your intelligence,” the cat sighs, “you go and demonstrate your fucking stupidity all over again.”
“Watch it!” Larry barks, lunging forward. “I told you, you're not -”
Suddenly he squeals, as the cat swipes a paw at him and sends him rushing back out of harm's way. Clearly terrified, he scurries behind me, while whimpering frantically.
“The forest isn't using the root to feed on the building,” the cat continues, with an air of frustration that makes it sound as if he's explaining things to a child. “The building is using the root to feed on something in the forest. Or rather, something in the building is doing that. And the supposed bog out there is really a wound that the forest is constantly trying to heal.”
“What?” I stammer. “But -”
“Zip it, fuck-wit,” the cat says firmly. “This building is filled with some kind of moldy disgusting thing. I don't fully understand it myself, and I don't need to. But you, lady, seemed not to notice that it was killing your dog.”
“My dog?” I reply. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” the cat mutters. “Your previous dog, the one that chose to throw itself under a bus instead of spending one more millisecond enduring its miserable existence. The spores were causing its cancer. They're carcinogenic to dogs, and they're not very good for humans, either. Cats seem okay so far, although I've been spending a lot of time outside in an attempt to minimize the damage. Frankly, I should have left sooner.”
“None of this makes any sense,” I point out. “What exactly do you think is feeding on the forest?”
“I can't say for sure,” the cat replies, “but whatever it is, it's in flat 5a.”
“That's Mr. Seymour's flat.”
“Bingo. Everyone else has either left or died, and now you're the only one left.”
Next to me, Larry is slowly creeping out of hiding, and now he's growling slowly at the cat.
“Can it, short-ass,” the cat says.
Larry immediately rushes back to hide behind me.
“You both need to get out of here, rapidly,” the cat says, before stepping past us and then jumping up onto the sill next to the open window. “That's what I'm doing. I'd say I might see you two fools around, but to be honest that's unlikely.” He chuckles. “Look at the pair of you, staring at me with those moronic expressions. One of you needs to go find something big and heavy that you can throw.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Seriousl
y?” He sighs again. “To break the window! So you can get out! Then again, maybe don't. Maybe the gene pool would benefit from you two being removed from it. Now I'm out of here. Good fucking luck, you fucking assholes.”
With that, he squeeze through the tiny gap between the window and the frame. It takes a moment, but finally he manages to make it outside, and then he jumps out of view.
I stare for a moment, struggling to understand what just happened.
A moment later, I hear a sudden, ominous creaking sound coming from high up in the building.
“I think we should take his advice,” Larry says, his voice filled with fear. “I know cats are assholes, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to be cautious.”
“I think you're right,” I reply, before looking around and trying to figure out what I can use to break the window. Finally, spotting the table next to the TV, I realize that I've found my best chance.
I grab the table and swing it around, slamming it against the window.
The glass shatters, and for a moment I'm stunned that I succeeded at my first attempt.
“So much for that strengthened glass we were supposed to have,” I mutter, before grabbing Larry and hauling him up into my arms, and then climbing onto the sill. “Okay, boy. Hold on tight. We're getting out of here.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
It's at times like this that I'm actually glad I live on the ground floor.
Jumping down from the window, I land on the grass and immediately drop to my knees. I feel shards of glass digging into my legs, but I ignore the pain and immediately get to my feet.
“Okay, Larry,” I stammer, “we're going to get help.”
“I can run!” he barks.
“Let's get away from the glass first,” I reply, picking my way through the worst of the window's debris before reaching a clear patch and setting Larry down. “We have to be -”
Suddenly I hear a loud creaking sound over my shoulder, and I turn just in time to see that another huge split has appeared, this time running all the way down the side of the building. As I take a step back, I see that the entire wall is shuddering slightly, as if the building is in danger of coming crashing down. A moment later there's another loud creak, and the building groans as it shudders slightly.