by Mirren Hogan
“What’s through that corridor?” He nodded over to one side, where a deeper darkness looked decidedly uninviting. Maybe because if that, he was drawn toward it.
Makani shrugged, “Probably more of the same. It’s really dark back there. Sure you wanna go?” Her beam barely cut through to a pillar covered in peeling red paint, and the tatami mats on the floor had been torn up.
“I’m less scared of the dead than I am of the imaginary,” he replied, starting toward the corridor. It didn’t look too dark down there. A sudden shiver went down his spine. He probably shouldn’t joke about the dead or the imaginary. Given what he’d seen in the last few days, just about anything was possible, including them joining the dead, courtesy of the imaginary.
“You might have a point, there.” They went slowly, watching their feet. As they moved, she illuminated the murals of dragons and firebirds. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Amazing.” He lowered his camera and looked through his own eyes instead of the screen. “It’s a hidden treasure.” The shiver passed and instead, he kicked himself for using such a worn out cliché. It was still appropriate, though. Hopefully, his photographs didn’t increase public interest in the place and lead to its ‘improvement’. He’d hate to have a part in ruining it.
He paused, listening to a scuffling sound on the floor. The hair on his arms stood up, the back of his neck tingling. Mice? Rats? The place would be full of them. Nothing to worry about there. They passed through into another room. “It looks like someone still uses this place. Apart from us and the rodents.” An empty chocolate wrapper lay to one side of the doorway. An empty bottle cap sat discarded in a corner. The whole room seemed a bit less dusty than the others.
“Homeless people probably squat here, when they can sneak past the night guards.” She ran a finger over a swirling vine pattern, and up the wall. Shining her light up to the corner, her eyes grew wide with fear, “Flynn . . . look up . . . ”
“No,” he replied quickly. His mind immediately wanted to reject the idea of anything ruining a productive and fascinating day. The sound of her voice drew him back to reality, back to a place where her worst nightmares had tried to kill them.
“Please tell me there’s a nasty blood stain up there.” He focused on the chocolate wrapper. It was startlingly ordinary compared to his other thoughts. Ordinary was good. Ordinary was safe and sane. “Or brains about to drip on us.” That would be preferable to one of her imaginary monsters come to life. Guts, slime, gore, he could deal with those, they would wash off.
“Seriously, look up!” She backed into the opposite corner and pointed the light up towards the support beams. Her hands slowly reached for her bag’s zipper, eyes never leaving what she saw.
“If we don’t look, maybe it won’t exist,” he reasoned. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her down the corridor into the next room.
Cheery.
It was dank and cold. In the center of the room was an ancient oven, once used to cremate the dead. It was rusting, the solid cast iron door hanging off on one remaining hinge. The hinge was red with rust and looked like it’d give way in a gentle breeze. The lower door, used for removing remaining ashes was obscurely closed and padlocked. The entire oven looked colder than the rest of the room.
A quick look told Flynn that there was no exit apart from the way they’d come. If whatever Makani saw decided to be real, they were trapped.
CHAPTER 17
I don’t know if that’s an option.” Makani backed into the room slowly, suddenly more afraid of what she couldn’t see than what she had. It was quiet. Too quiet. She looked into the shadowy corners and along the walls, but heard and saw nothing.
Flynn must have grabbed his camera and aimed into the darkness. The flash lit up the ceiling like daylight. In that brief moment, the light had clearly shown a mananaggal hanging upside down. Her greasy hair trailed downward. Its eyes had been closed, but they snapped open at the sight of the flash, shining orbs of black.
“I can see it,” he said excitedly, holding the lit screen toward her. “It showed up! That’s a bad thing, right?”
She ducked as the creature disengaged itself from the ceiling, moving painfully slowly in the illumination of the flashlight. “Oh, crap, we woke it up!”
Makami scrambled quickly towards Flynn as the creature’s head swung back and forth, its joints crackling as it started a slow crawl down the wall. Its tongue started peeking out, licking the sharp teeth in its mouth.
“And I think it wants a snack . . . ”
“You didn’t wake it up, I did.” They backed up a few more steps. “The flash must have woken up the one in the karst too. That doesn’t explain the one last night, except—the headlights. Like a moth to flame . . . ” His voice trailed off uncertainly.
“I say we need to get the hell outta here before Mothra eats us.” She took his hand, and started backing them out the room, but the creature lunged for them.
Makani pulled him down just in time to see the tongue swipe over their heads, nearly grabbing them.
Flynn cursed under his breath. “If that was Mothra, Godzilla would stomp in now.” Nothing but uninterrupted silence.
He squeezed Makani’s hand, let it go and jumped up, camera in hand. The flash went off several times, drawing the mananggal toward him.
“Makani, get out of here.” He stepped closer to the oven.
“I can’t leave you!” She yanked the pack off her back and reached for her knife and the salt. “Rule number one in adventuring; Safety in numbers.” She tossed the knife over to Flynn and pressed to the wall, keeping her back protected.
He managed to catch the knife without cutting himself. “Yes you can,” he called back. He let the camera flash a time or two, then glanced down at it. He fiddled with the controls until the camera was taking photo after photo, all with the flash going off repeatedly. He moved toward the oven and, with a wince that showed between one flash and the next, dropped it inside.
A long pause fell, during which the creature hesitated, tongue flicking left and right. Then with a lunge, the mananaggal followed the camera and the light. Flynn shot forward and slammed the door shut.
The bolt on the side was sturdy enough and Makami hurried forward and slid it home. Even the hinge seemed ready to hold, at least for a while longer.
“Makani, look at it, imagine it not existing,” he said insistently. “Try, please. It might work . . . ” He sounded hopeful, if doubtful.
She tried closing her eyes and thinking hard. “That’s not how it works. You can’t unbelieve something like this.” Makani started, and realized she held something important. “Just salt the fucker and get rid of it!” She opened the salt shaker up, handing it to Flynn.
Flynn took the salt and held onto it. “Try, please! Something has to stop this!” He held the salt above the oven.
Inside, the mananaggal butted against the flimsy door, hissing, and growling. Its long nails raked against the door as if searching for a weakness in the design.
“You’ve gotta do it, too. You believe in them, now.” She stepped back, the naked terror plainly written on her face. Closing her eyes, she tried to still her mind, but it was too hard with the thing trying to break loose. Makani didn’t see the tongue slither out of a hole, purple gore dribbling down where it cut itself on the rusty metal.
It wrapped around her ankle and pulled her down, her nails digging into the rotting mats on the floor.
“Crap!” Flynn promptly dumped the entire contents of the salt shaker through a hole in the top of the rusted oven. The tongue didn’t so much let go as it dissolved, along with the rest of the creature. In moments, it resembled nothing more than gooey pink sherbet.
“Oh, sick!” She shook the gritty guts off her leg, and stood up, feeling some of the goo squelch in her shoes. She gasped, “Your camera!” Reaching for the crematory door, she flung it open, the hissing and bubbling deterring her from reaching in immediately.
Flynn sighed. “I can buy a
new camera.” He didn’t sound too certain, but he added, “You can’t be replaced.” He stuck his hand into the goo, felt around for a moment and pulled the dripping, sticky, precious Nikon camera out. It hung from his hand, pieces of pink dropping off at regular intervals.
“Yuck.” He shook his head sadly. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, nothing sucked out or eaten.” She looked at the damaged camera and sighed, “I am so sorry, Flynn! It’s just . . . y’know . . . this sucks!” She took a few steps back and leaned against the wall, dried plaster sticking to her back.
He shook the camera off and brought it up to wipe it gingerly on his shirt. “An imaginary monster shouldn’t do permanent damage,” he reasoned. “What’s the worst that can happen? It’s ruined and I have to go home because I run out of money? Or I have to become a gigolo.” He just couldn’t help interjecting some humor into a situation that was otherwise far from funny. “As long as you’re okay.”
“I won’t be okay if you have to leave because of the shit storm I happened to create.” she stood up and looked around. “Y’think there’s more of those.” She pointed at the spew in the oven, “Flying around in here?”
“As long as I don’t use the flash, probably not.” He pressed a button on the Nikon and it made a sad groaning sound, clicked and was still. “Bloody hell. Let’s get out of here, I need to see the sun. Maybe it’ll dry this out.” The camera looked like it had taken its last picture.
“Yeah, best idea today.” Picking up her pack with one hand, she grabbed up her knife with the other. Then she took the salt shaker and shoved it into a pocket before she reached for Flynn’s hand. “We can get your Nikon fixed, I’m sure.”
He squeezed her hand. “I hope so, I’m actually going to be really screwed without it. If the memory card still works I’ll have what I took today still on there. There might be something I can sell. I bet the one of the mananaggal doesn’t come out, though. That would be too much to ask.”
“I almost hope it does.” They quickly got back out, and Makani had to shield her eyes from the light. “Thank Jebus, sunshine!” She could have rolled in the grass if the entire lot wasn’t littered with thorny weeds and old gravestones. “I want clean shoes, my foot’s all gross.” She took off her sneaker, and clumps of tongue dribbled out.
Flynn actually smiled. “That is so disgusting. Suddenly I’m glad it’s your jeep and not mine.” He shook his camera out again and looked at it more closely in the sunlight. His expression wasn’t positive. Where it had once been black and silver, it now has a greasy, pink sheen, like it had been dunked in thin, puce-colored paint.
“Let’s throw that in some rice. Maybe it’ll sap the moisture out?” It worked to keep her phones alive when she drowned them. Although she wasn’t sure that would help in the event of monster guts.
They made it back to the car, and got in, Makani grabbing her phone to look for a number. “I know a guy who might be able to fix it—maybe? He works at the Dork Squad desk at Best Buy.”
“I understood everything you said except for that last bit,” he raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you always know a guy, no matter what needs doing?”
“No, sometimes I know a chick.” She felt herself blushing. “I hate to tell you this, but most of my friends are dudes. Girls just can’t hang with me. They’re too afraid to break a nail . . . or an arm.” Makani might be a woman, but she rarely understood the modern local female. Clingy, irritating, snobby, high maintenance bitches, all of them. A thought occurred to her, “You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Should I be?” he asked, looking amused.
“Not of the guys, I talk to. You should probably be more jealous of my vibrator . . . if you can find it!” She punched the jeep and started speeding out of the cemetery, her tires squealing as she made a hard left in front of a semi.
Flynn chuckled. “At least I know what I want to come back as when I die,” he joked.
“Eeeewww! I’m gonna be old—” She grimaced at the thought. “—Or probably dead before you. Choked on a Luna bar, or something.” That was a very real possibility. Those things were like cardboard mixed with nuts. She brought them back onto the highway and in the direction of her house.
“No, I’ll be dead first, eaten by the maneating sharks you mentioned a couple of days ago. At least I’ll get famous.” He started laughing. A loud thud from the back of the jeep made him stop abruptly and look back over his shoulder. “Bloody hell. Pull over!”
“Oh, god! Did I finally run something over?!” She cut the engine and coasted to the side. “Please tell me it’s a dog! Or a mongoose! Or a punk teenager!”
“Get out.” He undid his seatbelt and bolted, moments before a long tongue licked out at the seat he’d just vacated. “That’s no punk, damn it! It’s not even an emo.”
“Good lord!” She rolled out her side, the tongue following. It nearly managed to snake around her ankle, but Makani gave a swift kick, pinning it to the open door. “Where’s the rest of it?!” She kicked over and over again, the rusty door hinges squealing in protest at the abuse she was giving. Silently, she apologized to her jeep, and promised to finally change the oil if it survived.
Flynn’s head whipped around. “I have no idea. Wait . . . .the legs . . . ” He winced as a pink convertible clipped a pair of disembodied legs as it sped past. The mananaggal must have left them there momentarily, to more easily chase and kill them. Apparently, they hadn’t adapted well to the modern world and knew nothing about roads.
The rest of the mananaggal slid slowly out of a tree that hung above the road. Its lighter upper body seemed to float for a moment before it fell onto the back seat of the convertible, just before it disappeared around a bend.
“And that’s why you should always keep the top up,” Flynn remarked.
“Yeah . . . wow.” The tongue fell lifeless, just as the door of the jeep fell off its hinges and onto it. “Awww, man!” Makani whined when guts splattered on her clothes, staining them a ghastly pink and purple.
“These things are really starting to piss me off.” Flynn walked around and picked the door up off the ground. “At least this can be fixed.” He lifted it into the back of the jeep. “Time for another shower,” he said.”Or do we just wait for the next one to come after us first?”
“No. Bath! Now! It’s so gross!” She slumped in the driver’s seat and practically pouted. “How many have we killed? Or seen killed?” She started to hot wire the jeep back into life, and tried not to smell herself.
“None, they don’t exist,” he replied immediately. “If we could convince them of that, do you think that stuff would just disappear off my camera? If they don’t exist, then it didn’t happen and all that. Maybe someone could hypnotize us? I’d rather think I’m a chicken than go on believing that those things are actually real.”
“You can try, but it won’t work. Trust me on that.” There was a time when Makani had been sent from the doctor, to doctor, to an exorcist, to kahuna, to Odaisan, to a hypnotist, to priest, all in an effort to stop the first round. “Yeah, it won’t work. They’re alive, now. All on their own.” She sped north, back to her house. Hopefully, it would still be a safe haven from the madness.
“So what do we do? People are going to start noticing these things soon. Charlie probably chalked it up to being drunk. Sooner or later, someone is going to die.” His words hung in the air for a long moment.
“You know what worked last time . . . ” Days, literally, of running and hiding. Playing bait to a gaggle of nasty creatures. It was like something out of a movie she saw.
“Aren’t we doing that now?” he asked? “Run, hide, run, hide. Did it get worse last time too, before it got better?”
“Last time, I watched The Green Lady pace up and down the halls of our house for weeks. But it was only me. Maybe it’s because you believe too, they’re more . . . I dunno, insidious?” She grimaced, trying to think of what to say.
“So a trouble shared is a trouble doubled?” H
e looked thoughtful and not even amused at the inadvertent rhyme. “So if I left, they might leave you alone? They might just disappear again.”
“Are you saying you want to leave? Because that would really suck, if you do.” She took her eyes off the road and stared at Flynn, waiting for his answer. If there was anything she absolutely didn’t want to do, it was watch him leave. Predetermined expiration on the relationship due to lack of citizenship, notwithstanding.
“If it means you don’t die, then yes.” He looked back at her, his eyes sad. “If it would keep you safe, I’d be on the first plane back to Sydney. I’d even finish my law degree if I have to.” He looked down at his slimy camera. “I may not have a choice,” he said. “I only had two classes left to do anyway.” He was obviously trying to sound positive but was failing miserably.
“So, what? You’re gonna go? That’s it?” Pride kept her from screaming bloody murder at him. Logic kept her from stopping the jeep in the middle of the road and causing a ten car pile up. But if she listened hard enough, Makani swore she heard her heart breaking under the sound of the radiator clanking.
“Y’know what? I knew this was gonna happen. So it’s okay. It’s not like I could keep you here.” She bit her lip to stop her eyes from watering. She took a deep breath and sighed. “Let’s just go back to my house, and you can get cleaned up. Then, I’ll take you back to your place.” Already, Makani was performing the usual emotional shutdown sequence. She could keep it together just long enough to see him gone, then there was a long run deep into the mountains waiting for her. She owed him that much, for ruining his camera and the dreams that were attached to it.
There was silence from the other side of the jeep. Then, when Flynn replied, his tone was soft and tight. “Fine, we should do that.”
“‘Kay.” The rest of the drive was mercifully short, but tense. Makani practically ran out of the jeep and unlocked the front door, the usual clowder of cats dispersing before she stepped on them. Kicking off her shoes on the porch, the screen door slammed shut behind her, and she went straight to her room.