by Michael Bray
“I’m coming straight home. I'm not letting you go through this alone.
“No! You can't be here to see this… Alex is…” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
“I’m coming home right now.”
“Don’t bring Tyler.” He said, trying to ignore the raging pain in his arm.
“I’ll leave him here with my mother. Do you want me to call the police for you?”
“No, I’ll do it, better if it comes from me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I killed a man Angie. I... shot him I…”
He couldn’t even finish saying it. His eyes stung, and he would have cried even more if not for the fact he was out of tears.
“Remember how you always tell me that we'll get through whatever life throws at us?”
“Yeah.” He mumbled, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Well, this is no different. I’m bringing dad with me.”
Normally he would have argued against that idea, but not only did he not have the strength, he actually thought having someone there to help would be a good idea, even if it was Angeline’s judgmental father.
“Please hurry…” He said, feeling another wave of nausea sweep over him.
“I’m scared Billy.” She whispered down the phone.
“I’m scared too.” He said, and paused before he spoke again.
I love you.
It sounded like such a simple thing to say in his mind, yet despite everything that had happened, those three little words still wouldn’t come.
No matter how much he meant it and wanted her to know, for some reason, he still couldn’t express it verbally. Instead, he cleared his throat as his phone chimed in his ear to indicate the battery was running low.
“Look, I have to call the police. I’ll call you back in a few minutes okay?”
“Billy? Are we going to be okay?”
“Of course, we are. We'll be fine.” He lied and did it well. Or at least he hoped so. The line grew silent, and he wondered if she too was struggling to formulate a way to say those three words which had been impossible to utter since their respective affairs. His phone angrily beeped again in his ear, and he knew he had to hurry.
“Look, my battery is low. I need to make this call now okay? I’ll call you right back.”
He ended the call before she could protest, feeling like a cold, heartless bastard for not giving his wife the reassurances she needed. But he had another call to make, one which would change his life forever. He looked at the display, which for the third time expressed its demand for power.
He punched in the number for the police, hoping the charge would last long enough for the call to go through. It was then he heard the sound. It was a dull scrape, a subtle noise that would have otherwise gone unheard if the house wasn’t so quiet. Although there was no way to be certain, he knew deep down where that stealthy scrape had come from.
It was in the basement.
He clutched the phone hard as he held his breath and listened, and heard it again, a dull, subtle scrape. In the movies, this was the point where some overconfident teen might go to investigate, but that was completely out of the question. He was too exhausted and too afraid. Instead, he finished his call, waiting for the line to connect to the police operator as he stood and walked behind the sofa, crouching there and ensuring there was something between him and whatever that noise was.
Just in case.
The line connected, and he whispered down the phone.
“This is Billy St John, I need assistance immediately. There is someone in my house... he’s already killed people and now he’s after me. I shot him. I don’t think he’s dead. Please! Send somebody now!”
He waited for the response but was greeted with silence.
“Hello, hello?” He repeated. It was only when he looked at the phone he realised what had happened. Tired of giving warnings about its pending death, the phone had shut down. He knew this, but lifted it to his ear again anyway, because he had to try. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.
“Hello! Please!” He said, desperate and afraid. He threw the phone across the room and pounded his fist on the floor in frustration. It was then the goose flesh climbed up his arms and down his back because this time there was no mistake.
He heard it slithering out of the basement. Impossible as it was, the sound was easy to pick out in the utter stillness of the house. It was impossible because Billy had shot the man in the Trans Energy uniform in the face from close range, sending his body tumbling down there in the first place. Now he was back, and Billy had neither ammo nor the strength left to run. In the movies, the hero always had a plan, always had an idea. In reality, there was only the cold grip of fear and the certainty his life was now almost certainly over.
As he cowered in the darkness behind the sofa, his broken arm and shoulder throbbing in agony, he was grateful at least Tyler and Angeline would be safe, no matter what was about to happen to him.
He could hear it now, the thing from the basement, dragging itself across the kitchen tiles towards where he hid. As if that idea wasn’t surreal enough, it had started to whistle that tune again. The one he was sure was from an old movie or TV show but couldn’t quite place, only now it was garbled and wet, a sloppy half slurped expulsion of air.
Although he knew it was empty, he checked the gun hanging limply in his one good hand anyway, wishing he had saved a bullet for himself. Hindsight was a wonderful thing, and for as much as he could wish to go back and change things, he couldn’t, because what was done was done, and what would be would...
Silence.
The slithering and whistling had stopped, but rather than relief, it brought only fresh terror raging through Billy, as he would rather hear it and know where it was, than not hear it and risk it sneaking up on him. He checked the perimeter of the room, wishing for the lights to come back on, wishing those shadow heavy draped corners of the room were visible enough to give up their secrets. Most of all, he wished he had told his wife and son he loved them before he had sent them away. He supposed they knew, but he still didn’t say it nearly often enough, and if by some miracle he survived this, he promised himself he would make sure that changed.
A thud from the hallway snapped him back to the present, and he licked his lips, which were suddenly dry despite the sweat which was pouring out of him. He knew the man in the Trans Energy uniform was outside the door. He just knew. Billy tightened his grip on the gun, ignoring the little voice in his head told him it was now useless, reminding himself it had been useless even when fired at point blank range because the thing in the cellar had taken it, and come back anyway. But it felt good to be holding it in his hands, and any comfort he could get was worthwhile.
He fought the urge to scream as the door creaked open, and the slithering thing entered. He had just about succeeded when the thing on the floor started to whistle again, that wet throaty sound which reignited his horror, as it sounded even more disgusting from a few feet away. As he cowered, Billy asked himself the same question that had been racing through his mind since the entire thing began.
Why did this happen to us?
The slithering thing stood, extending to its full height. For the first time, Billy wished the darkness was more complete if only so he wouldn’t have to look at the thing standing in front of him. For the most part, it still resembled the man from Trans Energy. The upper half of its overalls were now soaked with blood, and something in its nervous system seemed to be damaged, as it twitched madly. Its face was still recognisable too, although the skull was now misshaped, skewed off centre around where the bullet had entered just above its right eye, which had been pushed out onto the cheek. A flap of skin hung over its ear and Billy could see it was a matted mass of blood, bone and hair. He tried to figure out where that part came from, where it fit in the regular human anatomy, and realised it must be from the back, maybe thrown there when the bullet exited and was now som
ehow hanging down the side of the things face. One of the bullets Billy thought had hit the man in the chest, must have actually hit his face because there was another ugly opening on its cheek, and Billy could see the glistening remains of shattered teeth beyond.
How is he even alive?
It spoke, the sound wet and pulpy as it manipulated its shattered mouth.
“I can still smell you Snifferblob.” It said, even attempting a bloody grin.
Billy threw the gun, watching as it bounced harmlessly off the man’s chest and clattered to the floor.
“Leave us alone!” He yelled. The thing in the doorway didn’t respond or move. It simply watched him.
“I can’t do that, mommy. I have to peel you and look inside. It’s the rules.”
Billy looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon, but nothing came close to being usable.
“Please.” He said. “You have it wrong, there aren’t any Snifferblobs here.”
“Heh!” He snorted, dislodging the flappy piece of skin from his cheek. “That’s exactly what a Sniffer like you would say. I can smeeeeellllllllll them in here.”
“You have it wrong. You need help.” Billy said, knowing he should be trying to escape, but equally aware his body wouldn’t move even if he wanted it to.
The shattered faced thing tilted its head as another flap of skull dislodged from the back and slopped down onto its shoulder.
“I’m not crazy if that’s what you think.” It slurred in its phlegmy, wet, Texas accent. “You people never see the truth until it’s too late.”
Billy’s eyes flicked to the window. Hundreds of westerns he had watched as a child flashed through his brain, and he thought he was now desperate enough to try and jump through the glass and escape. Although it was dangerous, he would gladly take the cuts and bruises over the certain death from… from whatever was standing there in his living room, because he was starting to realise whatever the thing in the Trans Energy overalls was, it wasn’t human. Not fully.
Billy started to laugh, and it frightened him because he had no idea where it came from. Even the Trans Energy man looked puzzled, as Billy’s chuckles transformed into howling laughter.
“What’s so funny Sniffer?” It slobbered as crimson drool ran down its chin.
“This.” He said, flicking his arms in an exaggerated shrug. “This whole situation is… is…” he couldn’t get the words out such was the intensity of laughter. His stomach ached and his eyes streamed with tears. “This is so… fucking absurd, you have to laugh…”
The thing across the room seemed to relax slightly, perhaps thrown off by the unexpected reaction, and that precise second was exactly what Billy had been waiting for. Still cackling, he lurched to his feet and charged for the window, wondering if something inside him was broken, perhaps his brain was now permanently damaged beyond repair, because although he wanted to, he couldn’t stop laughing. Whatever it was, he would deal with it later. Right now, escape was his only thought. He was almost at the window and went over his actions in his head.
Jump hard and fast, protect the face, roll through on the other side. On the good arm if possible.
He estimated there was perhaps a two-foot drop to the flowerbeds outside the house, and unless he was unlucky enough to twist an ankle or slit a vein, he was sure he could escape. He tried not to think about what could go wrong, and convinced himself he was owed a little good fortune. He took a deep breath, covered his head as best he could with his good arm and leapt at the full-length plate glass window.
In the movies, the windows would always explode in a satisfying symphony of glass and wood as whichever hero or villain was exiting landed gracefully on the ground, perhaps in glorious slow motion. Billy found out the hard way life didn’t always imitate art. He had pushed off well and hit the window with everything he had. Rather than exit gracefully and land in the soft earth like some John McClane, Rambo or Schwarzenegger, the window stubbornly bounced him back, mangling his nose against the glass. He crumpled to the floor, landing with all his weight on his injured shoulder, screaming out in agony and frustration. All he wanted was one lucky break, one chance to try and survive, and even that had been denied. Rather than break and give him a chance at freedom, the window had knocked the fight right out of him. He waited, moaning softly on the floor and watching as the thing approached him.
“Just relax sir.” It slobbered. “I’ll have that Sniffer right out of you.”
The thing in the Trans Energy suit shuffled into the room towards where Billy lay on the floor. He instinctively moved back, trying to push himself through the wall. He knew he was trapped. The shambling thing knew it too, and reached into its tool belt, casually unhooking the claw hammer.
“Those Snifferblobs live deep,” it slurred, as it shambled past the sofa. “I’ll have to dig to find it.” It added, testing the weight of the hammer in its hand. Billy dragged himself to his feet, leaning against the window which had so stubbornly refused to break. He could see a bloody smudge where his face had impacted the glass and was reminded of a photograph he had seen of a pigeon that had left a similar pattern when it had flown into a window.
“Please… I have a family…”
“You have a Sniffer. That box of yours will find another dick in time. Don’t you worry.” It said with a shrug. The thing swung the hammer, claw end first at Billy’s face. He heard the distinctive whoosh as it cut through the air inches from his nose. Relying on what had been effective earlier, he swung a kick at the things knee, but the thing saw it coming, this time, twisting away out of range. Billy saw his opportunity and charged past the man, this time, willing to push past the two corpses outside if he could only get to the front door. He was free and clear, with open ground between him and the shambling horror behind him.
I’m going to make it.
The thought had barely had time to register when pain exploded through his cheek. He felt his teeth crumble and shatter as the claw end of the hammer took purchase on the inside of his mouth. He was pulled backwards, smashing into the floor half in, half out of the lounge door. He rolled onto his front, crawling desperately as he spat up broken teeth and blood. The hammer was still embedded in his face, its handle dragging across the ground as he crawled on his belly.
The Trans Energy man began to whistle again, but Billy barely heard it. He was concerned only with survival. His one working hand shook as he tried to drag himself out into the hallway and towards the door. The thing shambled to him and put a heavy boot on his back, then flipped him over.
“One day you people will realise I’m only trying to help you.” It said wetly. “Sneaky those Snifferblobs. Sneaky, sneaky sneaky.”
It pulled a screwdriver out of its belt, the steel blade some eight inches long and tapered to a point at the end. It deftly spun it in its hand as it approached. Billy tried to kick and scramble away, but it was no use. The thing began to stab at him, and even though he threw his hands up to protect him, the agony of the steel piercing his skin was like hot fire as it scraped against his bones and punctured into his body. After a while, he couldn’t feel the pain anymore and stopped fighting, and when that happened, the Trans Energy man tossed the bloody screwdriver aside and took a moment to catch his breath.
“Don’t fight it now.” It said softly, almost soothingly. Billy trembled as his punctured body screamed in agony.
“I... do…do.... pl…”
“Shhhh.” The man said gently, smiling at Billy lovingly with its broken mouth. “It’s time to get that Snifferblob out of you now. I have to open you up I...”
“No... Please...” Billy gasped as he spat up more blood and broken shards of teeth.
“You are going anyway Squeaker. There ain't no changing that. Death is on its way to you one way or the other. I can make it easier. I can make sure you don’t hurt anymore.”
Billy couldn’t answer. His body was like an inferno of agony. But he did want the pain to go away. There was no denying that. H
e managed a nod, barely perceptible, but there all the same.
The thing in the Trans Energy uniform saw it, and Billy watched as thin black tendrils began to push out of the back of its skull, each slick and glistening in the darkness. There was no fear in Billy, not anymore. He had gone to a place far beyond that. Instead, he watched the shambling thing grow further tentacle like appendages from its fingertips, the sound of its skin splitting all the more awful in the otherwise heavy silence of the hallway. Billy was overcome with a calm acceptance, an inevitability from knowing his time was at an end.
The thing leaned over Billy, and even so close to the stink of blood and sweat, and the sight of those mottled, slick tentacles probing the air like blind snakes, still he didn’t shy away. The tentacles reached down, attaching like leeches to Billy’s arms and face. Others still snaked out of the creature’s bloody overalls, pushing Billy’s t-shirt up and attaching themselves in a rough circle around his stomach.
The pain in his body began to subside, replaced with heady, liquid warmth which began to envelop him. He could see the tentacles pulsing as they pumped him full of whatever was numbing his pain.
“Thank you…” Billy mumbled, even managing a smile as the thing carefully removed the hammer from his cheek and tossed it aside.
“I... I don’t want to suffer…”
The pulsing tentacle clad beast didn’t respond, it only watched. Waiting for the right time to do what it needed to do. As Billy sank into his hazy euphoria, he saw nothing in the things eyes. No kindness, no compassion, no empathy, no humanity. It was a beast. A creature with a task to complete.
“It’s time.” The thing said, and although such a statement should frighten him, Billy barely acknowledged it. The warmth was so good, so comforting, that nothing else mattered. He barely noticed when the ring of tentacles attached to his stomach retracted, taking the circle of skin with it. Blood pattered on the floor as the flap of skin and muscle was set aside, exposing his stomach cavity. There was no pain, or perhaps he was too far gone mentally to acknowledge it.
That was part of me once. Billy thought absently as the thing reached its arm into his stomach. He could feel his innards being pushed aside, manipulated as the thing began its search, its remaining teeth gritted in determination. There was no pain. Instead, he saw flashes of his life, memories of things which had gone before. He saw his wedding day, how beautiful and full of hope Angeline had looked. He saw the day Tyler was born, quickly followed by the first day to his new job. All times when life seemed full of hope, full of possibilities.