Alexios sighed. Lord Oswald’s voice was calmed, the same as always. In one year, the man had lost his father-in-law, brotherin-law, his eldest son, and his wife.
A tragedy.
“Alexios, you fought with honor.”
He found that the others looked at him with admiration and newfound respect. He ignored them. His eyes focused on his Lord’s. The gaze he was so familiar with looked different. Instead of calm, in control, it looked cold. The blue orbs he knew so well hid nothing, for there was nothing to hide.
Alexios stared at the man in front of him as if he saw him for the first time.
The eyes of a demon stared back.
ANDY LOVE
Andy Love was born, raised and lives in Scotland, where he works as a Project Control Officer in Edinburgh. He lives with his wife and two cats. He has two children and three (almost four) grandchildren.
Andy has published his first book titled Short Shocks Volume I and aims for Short Shocks II to be out in December this year.
T HE CRAWLER A majority of people have worked beside someone they just can’t stand. Most people would like more money, recognition or even respect in the workplace. George craved promotion more than anything and hated everyone else in his life. What would he do to be top dog? His life changing decision made everyone happier.
What lengths would you go to get promotion, what you deserve? Beware of what you wish for.
http://Stores.Lulu.Com/AndyLove
The Crawler
Andy Love
Copyright © Andrew Love 2009 George Cyril Pendleton stood in front of the bathroom mirror. His drab striped pajamas hung loosely on his wireframed body and the blackness of the winter morning pressed against the frosted glass. George was in the middle of his morning ritual of blackhead spotting. He paused for a second, contemplating how he could best impress his bosses today, what projects he could get his name on without getting his hands dirty; just to have the recognition he thought he deserved.
He scratched his beard which, incidentally, was there only to obscure his lack of chin and pallid complexion. He’d sometimes wished for a beard when he attended school. It would have helped hide the severe acne over which he had been relentlessly teased. Being called “Pizza face” hurt back then. He had also heard himself being referred to as the “Chinless wonder of weirdness,” more times than he cared to count.
“Hell, I wish I could get promotion. This lower management thing is driving me nuts. I would do anything to get to the top.”
George moved his face to the left, then right, checking his nose for any squeezable spots.
“Hell, I’d sell my Grandmother for a raise. Hell’s teeth, I’d even sell my soul for a promotion.”
He paused in remembrance, then confirmed in his mind. ‘That twice in the dark derelict building doesn’t count as selling myself. Those five big guys forced me at knifepoint. I just won’t take shortcuts from work again.’ He pushed out his chest and breathed deep.
“I don’t need to act like I’m an executive hard-nose; I’m already there. Nothing scares me and nothing phases me. I can take it all.”
As George continued to massage his ego, the overhead light flickered, like a pulsating dance floor in the wee hours. The light above the vanity mirror flashed on and off. The overheard light emitted a buzzing sound, then popped. George just about wet his pants and a little girly squeal escaped his lips. He immediately put his hand over his mouth in case anyone heard his moment of weakness.
The light on the mirror dimmed to a dull glow. George’s face appeared to change in the mirror. He could see his beard disappear and a chin developing. His eyes bulged, then changed colour. This isn’t me, he thought.
George took a sharp intake of breath when the face in the mirror spoke in a gravely voice, “so you would do anything for a promotion, George? Why should you stop at just being higher management, why not go for the top? I can help you.”
George stared at the face in the mirror, blinked his eyes a few times in disbelief and then quickly turned around to surprise whoever was behind him. He was more shocked to find the room bathed in an eerie yellow glow. He was the only human there, with his now weak and feeble mind and his pyjamas trouser leg visibly shaking. When he turned back to the mirror, the face was still there, clearer and grinning.
“Come on George, you know it makes sense to let me help you. I can make all your dreams come true. What have you to lose? What do you say, George?”
“I don’t need your help to get on. I’m great at what I do.” The face laughed hard, flexing the mirror and distorting its features.
“George. I can’t help if you’re not honest with yourself. You know you’re incompetent in all you try to do, that’s why you use other people, to stop you looking a complete arse. The only thing you’re half decent at is lying.”
There was a small silence as George thought, then the face urged a little more.
“Come on George. Just confirm my help. I’ll get what I deserve, you’ll get what you deserve and I won’t bug you, ever again.”
George pursed his lips. He thought this was all a trick or in his mind. “Yeah. OK, let’s go for it.”
In a flash, everything returned to normal. He wondered if what he saw and said had really happened.
He brushed off this abnormal morning and rushed out the door to his work. He dreaded having someone on the bus fall asleep next to him, then drooling on his shoulder. Common people really turned his stomach.
Kevin Watson was in the office kitchen, reflecting on why he had received a bad appraisal in the last reporting year, even though it was because of him that George completed projects on time. When his boss entered the kitchen, Kevin confronted him about this exploitation. George had replied that he couldn’t give Kevin credit for the work he had done, as he wasn’t meant to be tampering with that type of work at his lower grade. He also implied he was doing Kevin a favour by giving him better quality work.
George constantly complained to Kevin, that the boy needed a haircut; get his curly, shoulder length blonde hairs chopped off and joining the world of men. He should be portraying the appropriate office image, instead of parading around the office with hair like a girl.
Kevin couldn’t contain his frustration any longer. “Why did you mark my report down this year, when I finished your work for you?”
“You didn’t really expect me to credit a plebe with that calibre of work, did you? The best I can do is put you forward for more intensive training in that field of work. Have a look through the available courses and we’ll see if there’s anything suitable. Remember, it has to be free.”
George raised his hand, turned his palm upward and deliberately called Kevin by the wrong name, in a lame attempt to distract him from the confrontation.
“It’s the best I can offer, Karl.”
George opened the kitchen door. “Keep up the good work. We can only try harder the next time.”
George smiled as the door closed behind him.
Kevin bared his teeth and bit down on his lip. “The name’s
Kevin, you slimy moron. What an arse.”
Fiona breezed into the kitchen at that moment and saw the
look of anger on Kevin’s face.
“What’s the matter Kev, who’s been upsetting my pet
poodle?”
Kevin’s grimace turned into a smile.
“That’s better, Kev. Now, tell Auntie Fiona what’s wrong?” Fiona continued with her morning creation of herbal tea, as
Kevin told her of his conversation with George.
Before Kevin and Fiona returned from the kitchen, George had used his bad TV-show-inspired chat up lines and inept body language on Leila Montgomery. She was the only woman in the office he had a chance of bedding, as he was incapable of achieving this in a social environment. Leila was not the best catch, as she smelled of old chip fat, had crumpled and dirty clothes and wore a brace to support her visibly rotten teeth. The girl tried to cover her rancid
odour with cheap perfume, which created a more pungent smell that assaulted everyone’s senses. She had an irritating habit of trying to scratch through her layers of clothing, some people would say excessively. Most of the staff that worked beside Leila strongly disagreed when she wanted to open a window, as the draft often blew her stench around the room. The summer was almost unbearable.
Leila was happy and feeling like a young girl again, because George had showed her some interest. This made it easy for him to ask her back to his apartment for a meal and drinks, which she agreed to eagerly.
Next morning, George awoke with a hangover and the sickeningly stale stench of sweat from Leila lying next to him. He shoved her arm.
“Hey, you need to get out of here. Now.” Leila looked at the bedside clock and groaned, then turned to face George. “It’s only six; we don’t start ‘till nine.”
George thought he was about to puke over the bed, as her breath hit his face. “You’re leaving now. I can’t be seen with you in public. I’m in the middle of a promotion board and you’re a lower grade than me.” George turned around and stuffed his nose into the pillow, sucking in the floral smell.
“But George, I thought we could go in to work together?”
Once the dirty woman’s smell had left his nostrils, he took his face out the pillow. “Get up, get dressed and get the hell out.”
Leila felt the anger swell up inside her as she quickly got dressed. The body lice within her clothes felt her warmth getting closer and became excited to be so close to feeding. The others had been transported on to George’s bed and their new host.
“You know something, George. I thought you were a nice guy; misunderstood, but you’re just a total creep.”
She picked up the hairbrush from the tallboy and aggressively attacked her hair, embedding grey and brown lice into the brush.
“Yeah, well. You won’t be the first or last to find that out. Life’s a bitch. Now, put that down and leave.”
Leila slammed the apartment door hard and George squeezed his eyes shut, as if it would make it quieter for his neighbours. A grin spread across his face, as he scratched his hairy chest and sang. “Another one bites the dust.”
On getting out of bed, George decided that only wearing boxer shorts to bed was not warm enough in winter. He shivered and checked the room thermostat, which was just below body temperature. He cranked up the heat and put his dressing gown on. His bare feet smacked a little on the tiles of the bathroom floor. His face in the mirror seemed to have turned grey-white.
George opened his robe to discover that his whole body was a corpse colour. When he pressed his cheek, the skin almost felt spongy to the touch. He frowned deeply. “Well, that’s not right now. Is it, George?”
He showered in water that seemed to jag his skin with every drop. While he was getting dressed and fastening the top button on his shirt, he noticed the collar was two sizes too large. “Hell, I’m losing weight again.” He looked at his watch. “Shit, I’m going to be late.” George grabbed the hairbrush and raked it across his head a few times and left his apartment.
George’s morning at work was filled with meetings, which he couldn’t concentrate on. Every drink of coffee made his stomach turn over even more. He passed on breakfast and lunch and in the afternoon, had already been sick three times. He sat at his desk; his eyes becoming increasingly yellow and heavy. His stiff body kept shifting inside his clothing., He had to focus in order not to scratch, but the sensation became too irresistible. He started rubbing his sides and shoulders vigorously. Ten minutes later, he was scratching uncontrollably at his biceps and forearms.
Fiona looked over at George. Leila and Kevin also peered over the top of their monitors, curious at the grunting sounds. Fiona leaned on her desk. “Are you having a problem there, George?”
“Get on with your work.” He replied, then looked up and saw everyone examining his behaviour. “All of you. Work.”
He grabbed both arms of the chair with his hands and raised himself up. George felt the sliding sensation of material on his hips, as his trousers dropped to his knees. Kevin smirked and Leila laughed loudly as both hid behind their monitors, but Fiona was disgusted.
“Not on, George. I’m taking this to personnel. I’m also informing them of your lack of hygiene.” She leaned closer and whispered. “You smell, really bad.”
George pulled up his trousers and tightened the belt. “I don’t feel too good” He lifted his jacket from the stand and left the office. He could hear the laughter all the way down the corridor.
That night, before George went to bed, he prodded the hard and crusty skin on his arm. He applied too much pressure and burst the skin. The top of his finger disappeared into his arm, and a creamy-textured yellow pus leaked out. He cleaned up the mess, bandaged what he thought just a simple boil and slept.
His sleep was tormented by visions of working with a team of insects, with one goal. No leaders, any one part willing to die for the common goal of warmth, blood, food and always ready to breed.
What a nightmare for George; no promotion, no looking after himself, no using other people to bolster himself up from the lower class morons. No discussions or lies required, just the uncontrollable instinct to feed on blood and multiply for the forty days of a very short life. He would then have an unnoticed death, where his carcass was washed away in a soapy torrent, but the rest of your kind cling on, to live, feed and breed. The remaining throng would excite an itching frenzy on their host. What an existence for George: the rest of the mass don’t know or care who you are, were, or even when you died. You end up an unknown and insignificant piece of dust.
The Saturday post clattered through the letterbox, but the Sunday newspaper also lay at the door. For George, the time seemed to drift by in another dimension. He awoke to a moist bed and a massive shell-like thing surrounding him, broken into four rough pieces. He noticed the scattered pile of newspapers and mail behind the front door, but he could hear the rush of workday traffic outside.
He looked at the clock, 09:47; panic set in his head: He must get ready for work. I need some food. I need to shower for work. I crave food. His insatiable appetite grew rapidly, but not for bacon and eggs.
George motioned to run into the bathroom for a quick wash to save time. His hips didn’t quite work the way he intended. He forced himself forward and heard his feet clicking on the floorboards. They were hard and had hooks jutting from the sides. When he reached the bathroom and looked in the mirror, he didn’t see his own face that he’d always hated. A mouth, protruding a long tube and gelatinous saliva dripping from it, replaced George’s face.
He lifted his hands and found only hard casings. He panicked and his mind raced. He smashed the hard casings against the bathroom sink, cracking open to reveal two very sharp and twitching claws.
George took a while to find clothing that would conceal his metamorphosis. He used the front door to push his normal life of mail and newspapers to one side and left for work.
He arrived late this Monday morning and unaware that he’d been off work the last six days. George stood outside the office building and looked up at the sky. The clouds seem to rest on the top floor where he worked. The automatic doors opened silently, as if they knew he was trying to approach with stealth. No one seemed to notice him dressed in the long coat, a hat, a scarf wrapped around his disfigured face and his hands concealed under the cuff of his coat.
George saw all the warm-blooded humans begging to be fed upon, as he crossed the marble floor in the foyer. He fought the urge to rip off his restricting garb and fall down onto the floor and crawl on his new hooked appendages. He tried to resist and make it to the elevator, but his body still craved food. He knew he must feed, now.
He reached the lift and stooped toward the buttons, extended a claw and clicked the up button. The irritating ting sound announced the approach of the metal box.
The thing shuffled into the lift and headed up toward the top floor, standing beh
ind an unsuspecting woman. His juices flowed quicker and his body ached for her warm fluid. He extended his mouth through the scarf, sucked onto the back of the woman’s neck and injected his anticoagulant saliva. He sucked her blood into his now primitive digestive tract and began filling his body with rich, warm blood. The being excreted dark red stinking waste all over the floor of the lift as he fed. The woman’s neck and face swelled into a red balloon shape, ready to burst. When the doors opened, there were a lot of people waiting to go down and five women started screaming. Three security guards rush in and beat George off his bloody and swollen food.
His appetite raged as he moved toward the security men. His four claw-like arms burst from his coat and buttons flew in all directions. The security guards jumped on George and beat him with batons. He screeched as his hardened body cracked. The compression in his being was released and his body exploded, spraying everybody with partially liquefied human organs and pieces of bug crust. Billions of lice now infested the interior of the lift; from floor, to three feet up the walls. One of the security guards vomited into the white and red mass and the lice begin to search for their first feast.
The last thing that George could see and hear was his boss Jonathan and Fiona his colleague, at the front of the crowd forming around the opening of the lift. Jonathan noticed Fiona standing beside him and nodding toward George’s remains.
“Hi, Fiona. That’s pretty disgusting, eh? Have you seen or heard from George Pendleton this last week? This absence is just not on, ill or not. He hasn’t even phoned in. He should know better and follow the rules for absence.”
“No, I’ve not seen him for a while. The last I saw, he looked a little bugged out about something. Maybe you should ask Leila. You know about George and Leila? She’s pregnant and there seems to be a problem. I’m sure George knows. Maybe that’s why we can’t find him? Why are you looking for him?”
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