by David Greske
The clergyman opened his cache and took out the leather-bound book with the gilded pages. On the cover of the book was a symbol that resembled a pair of lightning bolts piercing a multiple-sided, eight-pointed star. It was stamped into the leather in an ink that was the color of blood. Timothy opened the book, the binding crackled, and dust poofed from the ancient pages.
Jim looked over the pastor's shoulder. Even though the text was gibberish, riddled with unfamiliar and alien symbols, he was able to read it as simply as he read the morning newspaper: To hold in bondage that which is forever. This was going to be an exorcism.
Next, Timothy took out a small bottle of Holy Water and placed it in the book's crease. As soon as the glass touched the pages, the water glowed a brilliant amber.
Cal, Jarvis, Jim, and the preacher joined hands. Like an electric current, they immediately felt a surge of energy tingle through them as their life forces became one. Tendrils of wispy light weaved around their fingers until their hands were encased in a ball of brilliant blue.
Pastor Timothy began chanting, and the floodgates opened. The laughter turned to screams of agony. A gale wind howled within the chamber, bringing an icy touch. Clouds formed at the ceiling, and lightning flashed inside the billowy bodies.
Timothy raised his voice as the howl of the wind increased. Then, Timothy let go of Cal's hand.
Even though the chain was broken, the energy that flowed between them did not decrease.
Timothy picked up the vial of Holy Water, brought it to his mouth, and uncorked it with his teeth. He sprinkled a few drops of the water into the hole.
The cavern bellowed in agony. The floor quaked. Thick, black smoke boiled from the hole. A putrid stink filled the room.
The reverend spilled more water and chanted more of the text.
Shimmering like heat on black top, thousands of golden eyes peered at them from within the stone walls. Something dead and dry slithered across Jim's feet. Something else brushed across his cheek. Then came the ancient, papery smell of the three dead whores.
Two of them flanked Jim where Cal and Jarvis stood. The third was on her knees in front of him, toying with his zipper. Jim felt his will fade away. The light that surrounded him began to diminish.
"We can take you to your son,” they whispered into his ears. “Just come along with us."
"It's not real,” Jarvis shouted. “It's all an illusion! It's lying to you, trying to get you to break the chain!"
But Jim paid no attention to Jarvis's rants as the whores caressed his groin and made their promises. Oh, how sweet they were! Like lemonade on a hot day. Jim wanted to taste their nectar, to melt into them. He felt his mind reach out to them, searching for their sweet kisses—longing to see his son again.
Jim moaned and tossed his head back. His eyelids fluttered; a string of spittle hung from the corner of his mouth.
"Travis,” he croaked as the conscious world slipped away, fading like an old photograph. “Daddy's coming."
"Reverend!” Cal yelled. “We're losing Jim! He's slipping away!"
Without breaking chant, Timothy sprinkled Jim with Holy Water. Like finely honed knives, the water sliced the moldy, wrinkled gray skin of the whores. Black fungus boiled from the cuts. Yellow foam bubbled from their twisted mouths. Their bodies steamed, and they melted into the rock, becoming part of the cave once again.
Jarvis squeezed Jim's hand. “Are you all right?"
"Yeah. I'm back. Sorry.” His will returned, and he was again blanketed in the warmth of the aura.
* * * *
Timothy hesitated. He reached the point in the ceremony that if the next phrase was mistranslated or misspoken, the ground would open, and they'd be swallowed up. That's what happened in the summer of eighty-three.
(Zamba, toit, izpac, allah, ichnow)
That's why the twins were taken. He would not make that mistake again.
Trembling, Timothy spoke the words: “Zamba, toit, izpac, allah, ichknow."
A thunderclap cracked through the cave. Bright white light filled the lair.
Beginning at the rim of the hole, tiny fissures fingered outward. The cracks thickened, becoming wider at the base and tapering to jagged points. A look down at the hole revealed that it now resembled a sun as drawn by a child.
The ground rumbled again, and the pulsing light within the hole grew so bright the men had to turn away so their eyes wouldn't melt.
"When it shows itself, contain it with the Blessed Rope,” Pastor Timothy shouted above the bray of the banshee wind.
Cal nodded, reached for the burlap sack at his feet, and a look of panic spread over his face.
"It's gone,” Cal croaked. “I don't have it.” He paused. “I sat it down when we were in the stalactite room. Then came the rain of stones and I forgot all about it. It must still be in there."
"Oh, Merciful God,” Jarvis whispered. It was too late to retrieve it.
They stared into the glowing abyss. It was coming, and there was no way to stop it.
* * * *
Darkness covered the town like a thick wool coat.
The raging fire scorched everything it touched. Main Street buckled from the intense heat. Water mains beneath it snapped like toothpicks, and geysers of water sprouted from the huge fissures in the black top. The ultra-heated air instantly turned the water into steam. Sidewalks melted and flowed in the gutters like lava. Black skeletons of burned buildings toppled like broken Tinker Toys.
People, bewildered, confused, and in all states of dress, abandoned their homes. While some found shelter elsewhere, flames consumed most, as the insatiable fire devoured the neighborhoods.
But the walking dead paid no attention to the inferno that burned around them. Their bellies full of meat, they shuffled down a broken and flooding Main Street, determined to reach the house on the hill.
They wound their way up the serpentine drive. Those that were unable to make it collapsed and were trampled to dust by the others.
The dead gathered on the front porch, stared straight ahead, and waited. A moment later, the door creaked open and they were welcomed inside by the mistress of the house.
* * * *
The ground shook, the cave screamed, and the hole puckered.
"When that thing emerges, we have to get it away from here,” Jim said. “Otherwise, it'll just drop back into the hole once the bombs start exploding."
"What do you propose?” Timothy asked.
"That we use ourselves as bait. When it rears its ugly self, we run and get it to chase us. We'll draw it far enough away from here that it won't have enough time to retreat once the explosions start."
There was a flash of green light as a jagged lightning bolt stabbed from the clouds. Then, it came up from Hell.
Covered in a placenta-like slime, it forced it gelatinous body through the small opening like a newborn from the womb. It opened its slit of a mouth and displayed triple rows of triangular teeth in its rotten-apple head. Blind, it sensed the intruders by sniffing the air. Deaf, its body was keen to any unfamiliar vibrations.
Now, a dozen spiked tentacles clawed at the perimeter of the hole, making it large enough for the rest of its body. Then came the stink, a rancid mix of sour cream and sewage.
It was about twice the size of an average man, with a scaly, double-forked tail and leathery skin. The tail seemed to have a mind of its own as it swished from side to side. On its back were a pair of nubbins that, if unfolded, would become wings. It had no sex or feet, and moved by expanding and constricting the lower half of its body, slithering more like a snake than walking like a man. Inside the folds of its skin were the golden-eyed children—its children.
Sniffing the air, it parted its mouth and screamed. The screech rebounded off the chamber walls, shook the floor, and caused rock to fall from the ceiling. Timothy, Cal, Jarvis, and Jim felt the scream vibrate their bones.
"Run,” Jim whispered. “Now."
The men ran toward the chamber opening, but somehow, it was diff
erent.
"It's smaller,” Jim shouted. The opening was closing like a mouth; stalactites and stalagmites coming together like teeth.
Sensing movement and smelling the ripe warmth of blood, the creature lumbered forward.
Jarvis, Cal, and Timothy darted through the shrinking entrance, but Jim tripped over his feet and fell.
A spiked tentacle gripped his thigh, pierced his heavy blue jeans, and stabbed his flesh.
Jim screamed as searing pain tore through his leg. His pants turned black and sticky with gore.
The thing from the hole began to pull Jim back into the chamber.
Then, Bobby Stevens sprang from the shadows.
From the trek through the woods, twigs and burrs were entangled in his hair. The hospital jumpsuit was torn and bloody. An insane grin took up half his face. But there was victory in his eyes.
"Leave him alone, you motherfucker!” Stevens threw himself at the wrinkled and putrid face.
Startled by such an attack by the madman, the creature lost its grip on Jim.
Free, but with a leg that throbbed like a Saturday morning hangover, Jim crawled to the pair of arms that were shoved through the closing exit. Pale, terrified faces peered at him through the darkness.
"Hurry up!” Jarvis yelled. He tried to stretch his arms further, but found it impossible. “Move your ass, Jim!"
From behind, Jim heard Stevens grunt and groan as he battled the creature. Then came the breaking of bone, a yelp of pain, the wet sound of tearing flesh, and through it all, Jim heard Bobby mumble a single word over and over again: Salvation.
Jim reached the entrance, where a grappling of hands hooked under his arms and pulled him through the opening just before it closed.
"Can you walk?” Jarvis asked. Jim's leg had swollen to twice its size and infection already oozed from the wound.
"I don't think so.” Jim tried to massage the wound, but each time he did so, fresh blood seeped from the punctures. “You'll have to go on without me."
Jarvis shook his head. “No way. I'm not leaving you to die down here.” He stood on one side of Jim. “Cal, you wanna give me a hand?"
The two men lifted Jim to his feet and wedged a shoulder in each of his armpits. They brought their hands across his back and hooked their thumbs in his belt loops.
"Lead on, Reverend,” Cal said.
Jim lifted his injured leg an inch or two above the ground, and supported by Jarvis and Cal, shuffled across the stalactite room. Managing the navigation with little difficulty, they reached the beginning of the corridor, where a new challenge greeted them. They'd forgotten the narrow tunnel could only accommodate them if they walked single-file. By walking abreast, they were too wide.
"Shit,” Cal spat, staring into the dark maw. “We won't fit."
"We will if we go in sideways,” Jarvis replied.
"Yeah, might work. But it'll be slow going. You know what the footing's like in there."
"You guys go on,” Jim wheezed. “Just leave me here."
Jarvis was annoyed. “I said I wasn't going to leave you here and I meant it."
"Boys, boys,” Pastor Timothy interrupted. “We gotta move. Can't you smell it?"
They could. It was the rank stink of the monster.
Turning themselves sideways, they maneuvered into the waiting mouth of the dark, narrow corridor.
* * * *
The sealed chamber did not contain the creature. Its gelatinous body simply flattened and oozed between the cracks and crevices and reformed on the other side.
Sniffing the air, it once again caught the acrid smell of the humans and lumbered across the room. Their musty stink was stronger here at the tunnel's entrance. The creature stuck its head in the opening. Sniffed. Yes, they had gone into the tunnel.
Dropping the bulk of its body to the ground, the creature changed. Its body grew long and snake-like. The head narrowed to a point. Four of its tentacles fused to the side of its new body, and the ends flattened to dolphin-like flippers. The other two waved in front of it like insect antennas. Now it looked like a kind of mutated squid.
Transformed, it slipped into the tunnel and slithered down the corridor as it had done for thousands of years.
* * * *
Cal was right. Their journey was painstakingly slow. They almost fell once, but somehow managed to stay upright. The second time, however, they weren't as lucky.
Cal slipped on a rock, his knee buckled, and because Jim's weight pushed on his shoulder, he lost his balance. He'd gone down hard, pulling Jim with him. Jim, of course, took Jarvis with him. They collapsed to the rough, stony ground—Cal on the bottom, Jim in the middle, Jarvis on top.
Pastor Timothy turned and shined the flashlight on the human sandwich. The flashlight was one of the few things he held onto when they bolted from the creature's chamber.
"You guys okay?” Timothy asked. “Is anyone hurt?"
"No, we're fine.” Jarvis huffed as they struggled to right themselves.
But they weren't fine. Jim's face was twisted with pain. The fall had re-opened the wound on his thigh and he was bleeding again.
The sharp rocks had torn Cal's cheek, the same one that was attacked by the bat earlier and the open gouge throbbed with hurt.
There was a huge bump on Jarvis's left forearm where it banged against the tunnel wall. By morning, the injury would become the biggest bruise he'd ever seen.
Standing again, they traveled another three hundred feet when Jim finally said, “Stop, I need to rest a minute."
Jim was feverish and sweating like a man with an acute case of influenza. The sore on his leg was loaded with infection, and yellow-green pus pumped from the wound with every heartbeat. His breathing was short and raspy. The creature had poisoned him, and both Cal and Jarvis knew what was happening, even though both refused to acknowledge it.
Jim Anderson was dying.
"Come on, Jim, it's only a few more feet. Then, this'll be all over and we'll get you to a hospital,” Jarvis encouraged. He tugged on Jim's arm, trying to get him to move.
"I can't, Jarvis. I just can't anymore."
"It doesn't matter anyway.” Timothy shined the flashlight beam on the taut faces of the three weary men. “The way's sealed off. We can't get out."
There was a collective groan from the group that was cut short by the roar of the beast. Its scream traveled the length of the corridor. Somehow, the creature had escaped the chamber and was coming up behind them.
The men couldn't move forward. They couldn't move back.
They were trapped.
Chapter 35
Jim saw the shimmering first. He thought his eyesight was going—just part of the dying process. But when the others saw it, he knew it wasn't a death hallucination.
The twins appeared next to the men. Apparently, the narrow width of the corridor was no problem for them. And why should it be? They were spirits. They had the ability to bend time, widen places, and materialize from rock. They were from another plane, where human rules didn't apply.
Sad, mournful looks were etched across the specters’ faces, and without saying a word, the men knew why the spirits were so glum. The four of them were going to die, and the twins came to help them cross over.
But they were wrong.
Rusty looked at Jim and spoke. “My brother and I were unable to save your son. For that we are sorry, but, perhaps, we will be able to save you.” The twins looked at the other three men. “To save all of you."
Ronald stepped forward. The twins criss-crossed their hands on top of each other and placed them on Jim's wounded thigh. Electric blue sparks jumped from finger to finger until Jim's leg was encased in a soothing, blue-white light.
As the light pulsed, Jim felt the infection being drawn from him like a sponge soaking water from a basin. The muscles and sinews snapped and popped as they mended. His skin itched as it weaved itself together. His fever broke, and his strength returned. The black shroud that covered him dissipated. Color ret
urned to his pasty face. His eyes sparkling once again, he shook the rest of the sickness off him.
Smiling, the twins turned their attention to the others. They raised their arms and swept their hands across the rock. The walls shimmered and an exit opened.
From the other end of the tunnel came the enraged scream of the creature.
"Hurry,” Rusty instructed, “the Beast is close. You haven't much time. You must go. Now."
The twins joined hands, took a step backward, and became one with the wall.
Another scream filled the tunnel, shaking the men from their astonishment and pushing them into action. One by one, the men ran through the opening and—
* * * *
—straight into the house.
There was no yard to cross. No door to open.
"What the hell is this all about?” Jim whispered. The house and woods had merged to become one.
Vines and branches twisted across what were once kitchen walls. The floor had turned to a thick bedding of pine needles; the ceiling, a heavy canopy of leaves.
The creature roared behind them, and its scream shook the ground.
"We can go out the front.” Jim rushed across the room. He tore at the flowering vines that blocked the archway into the once living room.
Here, the staircase was overgrown with a carpet of bright green moss. A beetle bug, the size of a softball, scurried down the banister that had transformed into a twisted appendage of an ancient oak. Halfway down the rail, the beetle hissed, and popped up on its hind legs to reveal the face of Travis on its red belly. The windows, like those in the kitchen, were covered with a thick growth of ivy. Spanish moss hung from the rafters. Trees sprouted from the peaty floor. The stained-glass window at the top of the first landing was covered with hanging vine, but instead of white flowers, hairy, brown spiders dangled from the ends of their shoots.
Jim led the men around the changed stairs and down a short hallway cloistered with Morning Glories. But these blooms were not the bright blues and purples associated with such plants; these blossoms were black. The corkscrew shoots reached for the men as they ran by.
Behind them, the roar of the creature grew louder as it squeezed its bulk through the archway that separated the kitchen from the living room.