Infernal: Emergence

by Ricky Fleet

  “Shall I try and stop him?” Paul asked, until the words sank in, “Wait, did you say he made her pour it over herself? You mean he held her arm while she tipped it.”

  “No, I mean I watched as he somehow controlled my friend with his mind. He made her walk over, boil it, and then scald herself.”

  “But that’s just not possible,” Paul whispered, fearing he was being taken for a ride in some elaborate ruse.

  “A month ago I would have agreed with you,” Malachi said, thinking back to the extraordinary events he had witnessed, “Now I’m not so sure.”

  “You’re nuts. I am going to find a way to contact the police, they will get to the bottom of this.”

  “Listen, Paul. I understand how crazy this all sounds, but humour me for a moment and look out of the window. Tell me what you see,” aske Malachi.

  The supervisor hesitated, certain this was a trick to corner him inside the tiny apartment. The look of grief on Malachi’s face was impossible to fake, so against his better judgement he approached the glass and threw back the drapes.

  “See,” Malachi said quietly.

  There was no mistaking the faint purple glow on Paul’s skin, the way it danced and flickered in reflection of the sphere. He opened the window, leaned out and looked in every direction before slowly closing it. Doing a great impersonation of a statue for a few seconds, he turned to Malachi in disbelief.

  “What the hell is it?”

  “You will think I’m even more nuts,” Malachi answered, gently lifting the body of his beloved neighbour.

  “Try me,” Paul urged. The shimmering surface left little in the way of doubt.

  Malachi refused to speak as he carried Miss Cortez through into his small bedroom. With hot tears coursing down his face, he lay her head onto his soft pillow and covered her with the duvet in respect. Before he pulled it over her face, he kissed her on the forehead and brushed a loose strand of hair away. Feeling the anger growing like a pressure cooker, he turned to Paul.

  “If you believe that murdering bastard, and I have no reason not to after what I have just seen, we are trapped in this… bubble. I need to try something because I was able to come and go at will. Maybe he has sealed it now, or I’m stuck because of the time spent inside. Would you mind coming with me?”

  “This has to be a nightmare,” Paul muttered, shaking his head.

  “Careful,” Malachi cautioned, “I thought exactly the same thing and it got Miss Cortez killed.”

  “Ok, let’s go.”

  Malachi paused by the entrance and carefully removed the picture of his beloved parents from the frame, before leaving his apartment. They ran to the stairwell and Claire was still hiding from the violent argument her parents were engaged in. Instead of beating on each other, they chose to smash and throw things. It was just as traumatic for the poor girl nonetheless.

  “Honey, do you think you could go and fetch your mum and dad for me. Tell them to knock on every door and gather all the residents, then meet us downstairs. We have a bit of an emergency,” Malachi explained.

  “Ok, Mal,” she answered without hesitation, jumping up and heading to her own home.

  “She’s a great kid,” Malachi said to Paul who just grunted.

  Malachi would have gone into a rant about the joy to be found in actually taking an interest in the building’s occupants, but time was running short. He could feel something in his bones, like the vibrations on a track as a locomotive thundered towards you. It was out of sight at present, but when it hit things were going to get really bad. They hurried through the foyer towards the entrance until a door slammed open behind them.

  “What the fuck is going on?” slurred a female voice. It was Zelda, the resident hippie alcoholic and she could barely stand up without the aid of the wall.

  “Just get back inside,” Paul tried to take charge, “We have a situation which we are trying to deal with.”

  “Don’t you try and tell me what to do!” she shrieked, wagging a finger at whichever of the several Pauls had spoken.

  “Zelda, we don’t have time to argue with you. If you don’t go back indoors, I will bill you for the vomit I had to have cleaned out of the carpet,” Paul shouted back.

  Realising she would be sacrificing cash that could buy more cheap wine, she relented, “Ok, no need to be so grouchy.”

  “Thank you,” Paul replied, “We will collect you shortly so leave your door on the latch.”

  They left her fumbling with the mechanism which, judging by her condition, would keep her occupied for at least five minutes. Pushing through the entrance, the view of the orb was breath-taking. It rose and curved over the roof by at least thirty feet so they wouldn’t be able to reach the top in any way.

  Malachi hesitated by the crackling surface. If they were trapped it would mean a confrontation with whatever was coming, and there was no way on earth it would be pleasant. If his dreams were linked to this, then the monstrosities he had seen rise would devour them all screaming.

  “Here goes nothing,” he whispered, poking a finger out. The digit sunk straight through with no resistance and he whooped with joy. Stepping through, the night outside was still frozen like a photograph. He could just make out Amaris in the driver’s seat of the vehicle from the streetlight. With a quick fist pump, he jumped back into the sphere.

  “Fuck you, Clarence!” Malachi shouted, wishing the degenerate could see as he ferried everyone out of the building to safety.

  “That’s great, now my turn,” Paul beamed, eager to be away from this insanity. He reached out with both hands, confident he would meld through the surface. He would have had greater luck trying to push through solid concrete.

  “I don’t get it,” Malachi whispered, pushing his whole arm through.

  “We’re trapped,” Paul said, trying one more time.

  “Wait a second, hold on to me while I go through. It may work if we are linked.”

  They clasped hands and Malachi hopped through. He could still feel the warm, clammy grip on Paul and tried to draw him through. As soon as the other man’s skin made contact with the energy, it stopped dead. He tried to adjust his grip and pulled again, but it wouldn’t penetrate the surface. He could feel Paul frantically tugging, desperate not to lose contact with the only person with knowledge of what was going on.

  “Think!”

  How could anyone be expected to fathom the madness that was taking place? The feeling of responsibility became a crushing weight and a familiar enemy probed his resolve. You could just let go, get back in the car with Amaris and wait for whatever was coming to do what it desired. You wouldn’t even need to listen to the carnage; it will all be over in less than an hour. You could even have a quick nap.

  “Go fuck yourself!” Malachi shouted into the night, silencing the whispers.

  He knew they were evil. What he wasn’t too sure of was whether it was his own dark nature, or that of the other being who wanted to control him again. The power was wasting its time trying to convert Malachi, his parents had instilled a virtuous nature incomprehensible to the evil entity. Clarence had been human once, and understood his quarry on a deeper level though. He knew that Malachi wouldn’t leave innocent people to suffer. With one final scream into the nothingness to vent some of the bubbling hatred, he re-joined the trapped people.

  Paul let out a shuddering breath with relief, “I thought you were going to leave us.”

  “Never,” said Malachi, “I was trying to think of a way out of this thing.”

  “And?”

  Malachi didn’t need to spell it out and shook his head instead.

  “Shit!” Paul shouted, punching the sphere. His knuckles came away bloody, confirming its solidity.

  Malachi slapped his forehead, a new idea coming to him, “If we can’t go up or sideways, maybe we go down.”

  Searching the ground, they settled on a recently tended flowerbed. The disturbed soil gave way under their frenzied digging and with their posture they
resembled two dogs trying to bury a bone. At a depth of eighteen inches they sat on their heels, gasping with exertion. The orb curved away underneath them too.

  “Maybe if we go deeper?” Paul asked, standing up and wiping the mud from his hands, “I can see if we have a shovel in the maintenance room.”

  Malachi knew in his heart it would be fruitless, “There’s no point. I have a feeling this goes all the way under us.”

  “How can you be sure?” Paul cried, grabbing Malachi by his t-shirt.

  “I just am,” Malachi gently eased the terrified hands away, “We need to get everyone together and get ready for what’s coming.”

  “What do you mean, coming?”

  “We have been sealed in here for a purpose,” Malachi explained, then paused. How could he tell Paul that all life would need to end before the energy would disappear?

  “Why are you looking at me like that? There’s more to it, isn’t there?” Paul asked.

  “You want the truth? Clarence said that everybody would need to die or we are trapped in here forever.”

  “Are you shitting me?” Paul laughed morbidly, “If we are trapped we die from starvation anyway.”

  It was a good point, except dehydration would do for them long before the hunger could end their existence. Malachi thought about the inconsistencies and outright insanity of their predicament. It wasn’t beyond Clarence’s cruelty to inflict a slow, agonising death on them. He certainly had the power. Was it the time the murderer would need to spend in a world of suspended animation? He was immortal, so it was unlikely impatience would be an issue.

  “What am I missing?” Malachi pondered.

  “Whatever it is, you better figure it out.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Malachi replied, “I’m trying to save your lives, so cut me some slack.”

  “Ok, I’m sorry,” said Paul, “Let’s get inside and we can put our heads together.”

  Out of the seventy occupants of the building, only twenty were waiting in the lobby. Claire was stood with her mother and father, guilt etched on their faces from the stares they received for the latest commotion. Most of the others were unknown to Malachi and he felt a pang of sadness that they had all lived so close together, but shared nothing. Except death, perhaps.

  “Why have you called us all down here?” demanded Claire’s father, Anton.

  “There is a problem,” begun Paul, trying to choose the right words, “For some reason we are trapped in the building.”

  “Are the locks broken?” asked another young woman, “Just call a locksmith for God’s sake. I now have to try and get my baby back to sleep, thanks a lot.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Get out of the way,” Anton barrelled through the group. Taking hold of the handle, he wrenched it and fell flat on his ass when it offered no resistance.

  “Honey!” Claire’s mother shrieked and ran forward.

  “Fuck off!” he shouted as he stood back up, pushing her away and marching towards Paul, “I thought you said the door was broken!”

  Malachi stepped in the way and stared him down. Throwing objects was totally different to a physical altercation, especially against someone in shape. Anton himself was unkempt and overweight, which only served to illustrate his deficiencies.

  “Please, calm down and take a look outside. That’s what Paul meant when he said we were trapped,” Malachi said calmly. He pitied the whole family and certainly didn’t want to get involved in a scuffle in front of Claire.

  The group moved off through the door and Malachi followed. The oohs and aahs wouldn’t have been out of place at a firework display as the tenants surveyed the purple wall. An older lady reached out a hand, but the others hissed and warned her off.

  “It’s harmless,” Malachi explained, “Just impenetrable.”

  “What do you mean?” Anton sneered, fear and hurt pride triggering his false bravado.

  “Try it,” Malachi urged, “You can’t get through and we need to work together to figure a way out of here.”

  Anton huffed, then looked at the others. They all thought he was a waste of space and he knew it; the way they would scowl as he passed and whisper when he was out of earshot. Opting to put on a show and prove it was all bullshit he walked forward, until his face mashed flat and sent him reeling. The shock wore off and he flew at the barricade, punching and kicking.

  “Daddy, please stop,” sobbed Claire, hugging her mother.

  “Anton, come on,” Malachi placed an arm across his shoulders, trying to be supportive, “Let’s get back inside.”

  “Get your fucking hands off me!” Anton snarled, throwing his arm off. “I don’t take advice from a psycho who screams all day and night.”

  “There’s no need to be like that, Anton!” Paul shouted.

  “You can fuck off too. We haven’t had a working toilet for weeks,” Anton marched toward the supervisor, “We have had to use a bucket. Yeah, a fucking bucket!”

  Murmurs of support were forthcoming from several in the group and Paul lowered his head with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. They don’t give me anywhere near enough money to look after the place.”

  Anton wouldn’t let up and started prodding him painfully in the chest, “I bet your place is like a palace though, and you don’t even pay rent.”

  “I pay exactly the same as the rest of you, I volunteered to take on the role as I wanted to help others,” Paul replied quietly, massaging the tender spots, “I don’t even have a working boiler. I have to shower in cold water.”

  All of the righteous anger fled Anton and he took on the same pose; eyes down to avoid the recriminating stares. His wife went to his side but Claire wouldn’t, the alienation was already forming in their relationship.

  “Can we go under it?” slurred Zelda. She had miraculously joined them without breaking her neck navigating the steps and stood swigging from a half empty wine bottle.

  Impressed by her lucidity in the drunken state, Malachi replied, “Already tried over there. It goes under as well as over.”

  “Well you can’t have dug deep enough!” she declared in the absolute certainty that only alcohol could provide.

  She reached out carefully, trying to stand the bottle on the low brick wall which surrounded the building. Missing completely, it dropped inches wide of the edge and shattered on the ground. Her mind was made up and she dropped to her knees, burying her fingers into the soil and throwing it over her shoulder. The loose clods rained down on the group and they stepped back out of range.

  “Should we stop her?” Paul asked.

  Malachi didn’t answer. In fact, he couldn’t answer. The locomotive loomed in his vision, the light blazing and growing in intensity. The darkness rejoiced and finally the truth of why they wouldn’t be left to starve was revealed. Like everything else which had haunted Malachi’s sleeping, and waking world, they were to be sacrifices. They must be made to suffer excruciating agony in their final moments to please a being not of this world. Satan? Lucifer? The Devil? Impossible. They were all titles used to control the gullible, to trigger the imagination with fear of eternal souls and damnation. But all the pieces fit. The imaginary train hit Malachi, hurtling through like an apparition in his mind.

  “They’re here,” Malachi whispered.

  “Who’re here?” asked Paul, looking around and seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

  “I don’t know, but whatever they are, I know that they are utterly evil. We need to get inside and fortify the place. Now!” Malachi started to hustle people to the precarious safety of the building and Paul attempted to pull Zelda away from her task.

  “Leave me alone,” she snarled, pushing him away, “I said you hadn’t gone deep enough. Just look, the soil is moving now so I must be close.”

  The alcohol had numbed any common sense, otherwise the sight of the rising mound of earth would have rung alarm bells in her mind. Paul was backing away, riveted on the sight as Malachi rushed over to see what was caus
ing the delay. He could only point at Zelda who was clapping with glee until the surface broke. From the hole poured a stream of vileness which made Malachi’s blood run cold. A mixture of insect, arachnid, and multi segmented creatures scurried over one another. The resemblance to earth’s critters stopped there as they were all the size of a small dog, their sleek, black carapaces reflecting the orb light. Catching a glimpse of something, Malachi nearly vomited with revulsion. Each and every one of the things had the head of a baby or small infant. Now free of the ground, they gave vent to their screeching wails and it sounded like a nursery from darkest nightmare. Claws and pincers snapped at each other in their desperation to reach the tender flesh of the drunken woman.

  “Oh my God!” screamed Paul, turning to run for the door.

  Malachi wanted to help, but they moved with incredible speed and in seconds Zelda was buried under their weight. Their razor sharp mandibles went to work, severing through joints and bone, dismembering the woman in a welter of blood. Her agonised shrieks were cut short as an abomination resembling a scorpion took her head, raising it high on the stinger in triumph. Momentarily satiated, the horrors started to feast on their bloody meal, feeding it into hideous, fanged maws.

  “I’m sorry,” Malachi whispered to her ravaged head until it was lowered and the pincers started to crush through the skull to reach the soft, grey meat inside.

  “We have to go!” Paul squealed, pulling on his sleeve.

  More monstrosities were rising from the hole, scurrying to reach the two men. They bolted and raced for the door which was the source of a wrestling match between Anton and two of the other tenants.

  “We have to fucking close it you idiots!” he shouted, trying to prise their fingers away.

  “Wait, they are nearly back!”

  “We can’t take that chance!” Anton cried, pushing for all he was worth.

  Hitting the door hard, Malachi drove him back and he fell to the floor again. Resisting the urge to kick the coward, he flung the door closed and turned to the terrified group. Anton hugged his daughter tightly and Malachi felt some of the animosity melting away; he was only trying to protect the young girl.