House of Scarabs

by Hazel Longuet

  The scarab turned to face her as she spoke, as if she were in the company of a sentient being. It was a beautiful thing, not solid, yet not transparent. It gleamed like the palest blue opaque crystal with an outline of striking turquoise. Rising majestically, it stood on its back legs for a moment and then stretched its wings and swept off to circle her head. It brushed against her cheek in the gentlest caress before swooping off, leaving a ghostly blue vapour trail behind as it followed the path. Ellie jotted this down, checked her mobile for any messages, and saw the guys were on the move again.

  She searched around for the scarab, but it had vanished. As she walked on, the night became quieter, but the change was too subtle to be definite. Ahead, at the vanishing point of her vision, she sensed a presence, a darkness. Her pulse rose and her body tensed. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn't define the form of the presence, but her body reacted strongly, advising her to turn away.

  Her hands became clammy, and her breath caught in her throat as the quiet, dark, ominous presence urged her away. Seizing all the courage she possessed, she strengthened her back and noted down the data and that both the guys were also stationary.

  Come on, Ellie. Your body's reacting to your anxiety. There is nothing to fear except fear itself. Calm down and observe. Spectate, don't participate. Breathe.

  Ellie tried to talk herself down from the clawing hysteria that grabbed at her throat. She stepped up her stride and moved forward with purpose, attuning her senses to pick up any tiny changes around her. It attacked from the flank, unexpectedly, throwing darts of razor-sharp ice in her path. One barb sliced through her regatta overcoat, narrowly missing her arm. She shied away, pulling backwards instinctively.

  "Jesus - that was close."

  She took a cautious step forward and then another. Nothing happened, so she took another. The barbs were immediate. They shredded more of her jacket but missed her. As she retreated, she sent a quick message.

  Watch out for ice darts. Will test a theory. Don't continue till I come back to you.

  Taking off her backpack, she pulled out her spare bobble hat and tossed it forward into the dart zone. The hat was shredded in seconds. "Impressive! Let's see your worst," she muttered into the darkness, rolling up her sleeve.

  It won't hurt me. It's making too much effort to keep us together to hurt me deliberately, she thought, extending her arm inch by inch. The barbs whizzed past, so close that she felt their tailwinds. Not one hit her, although her sleeve was tattered into ribbons.

  "Ha, I've got you pegged. You're full of fancy tricks, but you need us for something. You'll frighten us, but you won't hurt us, will you?"

  Shrugging out of her overcoat and waterproofs, she stripped down to a close-fitting layer and stowed everything in her rucksack, which she put to one side. She took her GPS location and then peered forward and lifted her chin.

  "Okay, buster, I'm coming through, and you will not stop me." Gulping, she stepped forward.

  Her pulse beat erratically, like the pounding of waves in a shell, and then came a shower of barbs, careening down, whistling as they flew by. They came from every angle: vertically, horizontally, even from the ground, materialising from nothing. The noise and the sensation were terrifying, but Ellie moved through it without being hit.

  At first, she moved with caution, but gradually, she became braver and danced around, taking a video of the spectacle. Nothing touched her. Then, just as quickly as the storm started, so it stopped without a trace. Although thousands of barbs had passed Ellie, there wasn't one anywhere on the path.

  Ellie's Fear

  Ellie was elated. She felt that at last she understood what she was facing a little better. After texting the guys with her findings, she sped up a little, partially as she now felt the night’s chill but also because she felt confident that whatever they were facing wouldn't hurt them. It needed them.

  Speeding along, she scanned ahead, waiting for the next smokescreen, confident she could outwit whatever they were facing. What she hadn't expected was to hear the raucous laughter and rumble of conversation from a group of men. She felt her stomach drop. She was exposed on the path, and the group sounded large and drunk. She searched around for anywhere to hide, but she was in an open area with large, rolling fields all around. She saw the outline of the group, numbering around eight, staggering towards her.

  "Hey, what do we have here?" one of the group shouted.

  Ellie was conscious of her form-hugging leggings and tight, cashmere sweater. She had no options. She had to walk on confidently and hope they were harmless. As they neared, the cat calls became more graphic.

  "Tom, look at her. She's just your type. Give it a go."

  "Aw-right, darling, fancy something big to warm you up?"

  "Come and give us a West Country welcome, babe. Come to papa..."

  Her pulse rocketed, her mouth dried, and her body tightened like a bow. Every instinct screamed, “DANGER!” She was acutely aware of the group's movements and felt them move in a pincer movement to surround her.

  "Don't be unfriendly. Give us a kiss," said a stocky man in his mid-twenties, stumbling towards her. He grabbed her and pulled her towards him. Struggling, she searched for the pepper spray only to realise she'd left it in her rucksack.

  The man stunk of stale beer and kebabs and was built like a bear, strength rippling through him as he suppressed her struggles. She kicked with all her might against his shin, but he didn't even register her efforts, anaesthetised by alcohol and the adrenaline of a successful hunt. Sheer terror jumped from Ellie's stomach to her brain. She ramped up her struggles, fighting to save herself. This was real. She was in danger of the worst sort.

  She felt the rub of her assailant's stubble against her cheek as he clumsily sought her mouth and shook her head back and forth to avoid his advances. She gasped with shock as he kicked her legs out and threw them both down onto the path. His full body weight pinned her down as he found her mouth and bit down on her lips, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and drawing blood.

  His hand pushed up under her sweater and found her breast, pinching her nipple and pulling her bra down, gaining access to the erect nipple. Her attacker's friends whooped and cheered him on, getting him ever more excited. His attack on her mouth became more ardent, and he pushed her sweater up to expose her to his friends, one of whom reached down to pull the other breast free of its cover and then proceeded to kneel and suckle his freed treasure.

  Ellie's vision slowed her mind, registering images as if a shutter were closing between one image and the next. Flash - a ginger man jeering down at her. Flash - her original assailant pushing off the second. Flash - his friends holding her down whilst he unzips. Flash - his teeth biting her nipple. Flash - her leggings being pulled down. Flash - a huge penis against her bare stomach. Flash - thick fingers rubbing her most intimate areas. Flash - his tongue circling her nipple, tugging and pulling. Flash - another man, blond-haired, is lowering his trousers. Flash - faces staring down, eager and hungry for action. Flash - a sharp upward thrust and hands everywhere, pulling and pinching. Flash - her assailant heaving up and down, hurting her with every thrust. Flash - a grunt and he collapses heavily on top of her, squeezing her nipples painfully. Flash - "My turn," the blond swaps in, turning her over, pulling her hips up, and thrusting in from behind like a dog on his bitch. His hands biting in everywhere he touches. Flash - the next one slaps his way to erection. Flash - he ejaculates over her face.

  Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash.

  Each took a turn. Each had his preferences and foibles. Through it all, they cheered and laughed. Some used their mobiles to take videos of the action for future entertainment.

  They left her, throwing down five ten-pound notes and some change, thanking her for finishing their trip perfectly, and walking away laughing and whistling. She laid where they left her, a silent scream tearing her apart.

  Realising her state of undress, she forced herself onto her knees and crawled aro
und, searching for her clothes. When she found them, she pulled them on, crossing her arms across her chest and dropping again to her knees, rocking silently. She was lost inside her head, on another plane. Eventually, the ping of her mobile registered, and she pulled it from her pocket.

  Be very careful. It knows our deepest fears, and it will play them out.

  She dropped her head to one side and read the message. Numbly, she stared into the distance, seeing nothing. It knows our deepest fears. No… She shook her head, gasping, unable to breathe, panting. It can't be. Last time, it threw random weather events at us. No! It can't be. It happened.

  She'd felt it, every movement, every punishment. They'd burned it into her mind. There couldn't be more to face. There couldn't. Her strength expired, she wanted to be safe at home, to take a shower and cleanse every touch away. Pulling herself into a ball, she mewed, half-crying, half-screaming, unable to release the pain locked inside her.

  Ben's Fear

  Ben walked across the field, stumbling every now and again. He whistled quietly, jumping as a pheasant trumpeted its distress and took flight in front of him. Keep it together, man. It’s just a bloody bird. The field was dark and silent, stretching out into the distance. He walked for a few more minutes undisturbed.

  He heard a rustling and saw the field’s ploughed earth undulating. Staring into the darkness, he tried to focus on what was making the soil move.

  “Sweet Mary, mother of Christ.” Ben shied away from the carpet of seething arachnids that blocked his path. Millions of spiders of every size, colour, and shape clamoured over each other, creating a turbulent wave that tossed and curled at the leading edge. The noise of an ocean of tiny legs scurrying across the grass grew louder, rumbling and resonating like a deep bass; their hairs mewed like an out-of-tune violin as they rubbed against each other. He felt his pulse rocket, and his chest tightened as a wave of clammy terror raced from his neck down to his fingertips and, for just a moment, paralysed him.

  The spiders advanced at a frightening speed, flowing across the entire field as far as the eye could see. As they neared, they curled into a grotesque form that writhed and stretched, changing from an army of individuals into a solitary, monstrous creature that towered over him, at least twelve feet high and gargantuan in its proportions. Now every step it took, moved it forward six feet. It covered the space between them in seconds. As it neared, it raised its two front legs and long fangs high over its head, exposing rows of expressionless eyes and a pincer-like mouth.

  Ben's legs had turned to clay, weighing him down. He couldn't think or move but felt compelled to stare into its eyes as its eight hairy legs moved ever nearer. As he stared, it shimmered back and forth between its solid entity, never fully losing its form. Stumbling backwards, he tripped over an unseen snake of thorny bramble and landed heavily on his back.

  The tarantula jumped the remaining distance and landed lightly, its legs forming a prison within which it trapped Ben, who stared up at its huge abdomen. Instinctively, he scuttled backwards, feeling blindly behind himself. Never taking his eyes off the spider, he searched for a gap in his living cage. His fingers brushed a leg, releasing a flood of spiders that swarmed up his arm. With a guttural scream, he frantically brushed them off and pulled away, watching in horror as they merged back into the leg. What could he do? If he continued searching for an exit by touch, he would risk a swarm again, but if he took his eyes off his nemesis, he would be fighting blind.

  Fear numbed his mind, making his thoughts laboured, slowing his desperate search for solutions. He stood gingerly and realised his safest place was directly under the flat, black abdomen high above him.

  The spider slowly rotated, and Ben followed suit. Always keeping his eyes towards the front, he watched the fangs probe the ground, searching for him. He stilled his breath and moved as silently as possible, desperate to keep his location hidden. And then it jumped, twisting in midair, and landed in front of him within touching distance. It flicked a leg under his, knocking him down and trapping him. Slowly and malevolently, it bent towards him until all eight of its eyes were only centimetres from his face. He felt the heat from its grasping mouth and a damp, musty, earthy smell.

  Without warning, it lifted its fangs and speared him straight through his chest. The fangs didn't deliver venom but instead funneled a myriad of spiders into his labouring lungs, filling them in moments before spilling out and filling his screaming mouth, his nose, and his ears. He felt the writhing and realised they were moving closer together to allow more to enter. The pain ripped through him as they passed down his gullet to fill his stomach and colon. Mercifully, he faded out. Grey to charcoal to black to silence.

  ELLIE. The thought screamed through him. GERHARD. They needed him. But why? He couldn't remember, but he knew he couldn't fail them.

  He forced himself to focus and found he could still breathe. With both lungs pierced and full to capacity with a host of squirming arachnids, he shouldn't be able to. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to ignore the clamouring mass within him and focus on why he was in a field in the dark.

  Again, the thought exploded into his consciousness: Ellie and Gerhard need me to finish the task. We must know the boundaries. Yes, that was it. We were testing the field that contained them, and last time, it threw a false storm to stop us breaching it. A false storm. False. This is another carefully crafted illusion.

  He focused all his attention on his breathing. Inhaling... and exhaling... in slow, measured breaths. He gradually reclaimed his body. Thank God for that dippy ex-girlfriend who forced me to learn meditation, he thought as he used cleansing breaths to clear the illusion. Opening his eyes, he saw the huge body disintegrate back into millions of spiders, which swarmed towards him again. But this time, he stood and thought, You're not real. Not remotely real.

  The swarm subsided, those closest to him disappearing whilst the rear vanguard became transparent. They withdrew and reformed, advancing again in a pincer formation, trying to surround him. Taking a deep breath, he again denied their presence and moved towards them. His mantra – you’re not real, you're not real – repeated continuously as he strode forward. Those spiders close to him again disappeared, and a path cleared in front of him.

  Taking more deep breaths to maintain his composure, he removed his mobile phone from his pocket and sent a warning to Ellie and Gerhard. He noted down his GPS position and took photos of what he saw. He moved on again.

  The Vision

  After a five-minute walk, during which he'd repelled wave after wave of attacks, he stopped in his tracks as a vibrant blue bolt of energy shot from the ground, moving to create a wall that extended out as far as he could see. After a few seconds, the wall rose and curled inward, creating a perfect dome, miles in diameter, that shone brighter than a lit stadium. He approached the wall, sliding his foot forward inch by inch, panting as he eased onward. It appeared highly charged and potentially dangerous. When nothing happened, he slowly reached out with a stick he'd picked up and touched the barrier. It was solid and unmovable. Dropping the stick, he took photos, plotted the location, and then gingerly touched the wall with his hand. It felt as solid as a brick wall and gave a warm tingle.

  As he pulled away, the dome brightened. A strand of energy danced sinuously towards him. It split into multiple fronds that wrapped around him, much as an ivy climbs and embraces a tree, gripping strongly and incapacitating him. A frond weaved up his body, circling his neck and opening into a large mesh in front of his eyes that slowly merged into one solid skin and encased his face. He moved his head, trying to evade the skin, but it wrapped tighter with every movement he made.

  Think, Ben. Think! Can I still breathe? Yes. Okay, so it doesn't want to kill me. Maybe this is an illusion again. He tried the mantra to no avail. It had trapped him with no way to call for help or warn the others.

  The skin changed, subtly at first, fading from cerulean to duck egg until it faded out to white. From the snow-like scene emerged Gerhard
, striding confidently, as was his wont, towards Ben. When he was about four feet away, he stopped and turned to face the direction from which he'd come. As if a fog had obscured it and was now peeling away, slowly, a pyramid emerged. It was not a standard pyramid as a child would draw, with four clean, shining sides but a pyramid constructed of several steps. Around it was a temple complex, breathtaking in its beauty, the walls awash with vibrant colours and images.

  A cat of vibrant blue ambled towards Gerhard and weaved around his legs, pushing in close and stretching in feline pleasure. Gerhard bent to stroke the cat behind the ear. It purred contentedly and then sat and lifted its paw to clean it. Once satisfied with its work, it extended the paw into a strand of energy that captured Gerhard's left hand and walked him towards the temple. As if watching a film, Ben remained with Gerhard.

  The cat took them into a large room. Shafts of light played lazily against row upon row of papyrus and lotus-topped columns. The columns shrieked out for attention, covered with two-dimensional depictions of Egyptian life washed in vivid reds, turquoises, greens, yellows, and whites. Ben tried to study the temple, ever an archaeologist, but the screen continued to shadow Gerhard. He walked farther into a curtain of incense smoke that drifted throughout the building, stirred by the hot, gentle breeze.

  Gerhard lifted a long, bronze tube with a scooped-out end. Taking a dried reed, he lowered it into an oil lamp and, guarding the fledgling flame, lit the incense in the censer bowl. He continued on deeper into the temple, swaying the censer as he went, wafting the delicate fragrance in his wake, moving steadily towards the temple’s most holy of holies. The temple’s spiritual heart rested in this inner sanctum.