by David Wood
She dug through more tools and found a machete. She needed something more sophisticated. Though she didn’t want to go anywhere near the ogre’s den necessity dictated she risk a trip to the kitchen. She cursed herself for having left the scalpel with Willy at Inkenstein.
She crept across the yard, up the cedar deck and opened the back door. She paused and listened. She heard the sounds of some sporting event coming from the television upstairs in the ogre’s den. Good. She slipped through the door and tiptoed across the tiled floor to the utensil drawer.
A gentle touch stopped her. She looked around. Nobody there. It came again like an invisible finger poking the back of her skull. She shook her head, chalking it up to a heightened state of anxiety. She opened the drawer and pulled out a clean butcher knife.
As she made to leave the touch returned, an insistent pressing where her spinal cord met her cranium. She spun around. Still nobody there. She stuck her head into the adjoining hall. Empty.
Puzzled, she returned to the back door. Just as she prepared to step out into the wet air a burst of static shot through her skull like a million bugs scampering across her brain.
Dear Jesus.
She didn’t stop to think about how much time she had. She jumped into motion, leaping down the deck steps and sprinting to the tool shed. The camp grill had heated in her absence, raising the temperature in the shed by a few welcoming degrees. She ripped off her faux leather blouse.
Adrenaline dumped into Kelly’s blood stream as she prepared for the unthinkable. She heated the knife over the flame, sterilizing it as best as the circumstances allowed.
She fought to keep her over stimulated mind disciplined and controlled. She needed something to bite down on. She rummaged around and found a pile of red shop rags on a workbench. Gasoline fumes rose from the rags but they would have to do. She rolled up one of the less smelly ones and placed it between her teeth, biting down hard.
Glancing down at the flickering tongue, she paused. Could she really do this? Even if the tattoo didn’t end up protecting her the way Willy had envisioned at least she would have the aberration removed from her skin once and for all. Her actions would finish what the laser removal had failed to do.
Biting down harder on the oily rag, Kelly brought the sharp knife point to a spot just beyond the flickering tongue. She pressed hard enough to produce a teardrop of blood. She feared seeing the red fluid would dampen her enthusiasm. It didn’t. The sight of the scarlet drop encouraged her, bolstered her resolve. She dug in deeper; pushing the tip deep enough to get under the black magic tat.
Kelly screamed. The rag in her mouth muffled the sound and prevented her from biting her lips or tongue. Tears of pain leaked out the corners of her eyes.
She kept cutting her flesh. The butcher knife proved to be a clumsy tool in comparison to her scalpel. She hadn’t envisioned this being easy, but the sheer scope of the job threatened to derail her intentions. Swirling dots filled her vision as she fought to keep consciousness.
Through the pain she wondered how it had gotten to this point. Her expectations for piercing through had been higher. She had believed she would enter some magical realm to replace the pain and turmoil of her everyday existence. Instead, she had been reduced to hiding in a storage shed like a hunted animal, pursued by ghostly wraiths who wanted to take her back to a world of darkness and a living tower of imprisoned human bodies.
To hell with them.
Taking a deep breath she chomped down on the red rag and resumed cutting around the tattoo.
Her mind pictured a butcher carving out a flank of beef; only she was the butcher as well as the meat. She had cut a good five inches of the Ouroboros loose. She had three more inches to go when the tat sprang into motion, its head and upper body flapping like a flag in a stiff breeze.
Kelly jumped, startled by the sudden animation. She recovered and focused on completely severing the tattoo from her body. She dug in and sawed until she had cut around the entire outline of the Ouroboros. The strip of skin jumped from her grip, landing on the shed floor, slithering towards the open door like a garden snake seeking escape.
The abrupt movement caught her off guard. She jumped forward, stomping down and squishing the flap of skin with the sole of her boot. She lifted the boot and pinched the edge of the fleshy tattoo with her finger and thumb. Grimacing in disgust she lifted the freed tat in front of her face.
It hadn’t been a clean cut. Curtains of flesh and skin hung off the outer edges of the Ouroboros. Its underside looked like a wet raw flank steak. She fought to keep it under control. It squirmed and writhed like an earthworm on a fish hook.
She stared at the wiggling piece of flesh. Willy had insisted the black magic tattoo would come to her assistance, protect her from the Perforators. She still couldn't see it. How could this absurd piece of mutilated flesh come to her aid? It made about as much sense as relying on herself to be a pallbearer at her own funeral.
Kelly felt the heat from the camp grill and smiled. She tossed the flapping tattoo onto the hot grill grate. An explosion of smoke filled the air as the flesh contacted the grill surface. The smell of burning ink and blood assailed her senses, causing her to double over with a strong desire to retch.
The invisible touch found her again, caressing the nape of her neck like an insistent lover’s stroke seeking entrance to secret places.
She swatted at the prodding presence, looking around to see if she could spot the culprit. Instead she spotted a fleshy looking mass side winding between her feet. She grabbed it before it could escape through the shed door.
Grill marks marred the flap of skin like seared meat. The Ouroboros struggled against her grip, fighting for its freedom.
She tossed the squirming mass back onto the grill. This time she locked the lid in place in hopes of getting rid of the abomination for good.
Chapter 25: Battling The Perforators
Smoke poured out the side vents and the lid rattled as the Ouroboros flipped and flopped, clamoring for escape.
Having contained the offensive tat, Kelly refocused on the prying presence she fought so hard to keep out. Eventually the invisible finger found its way inside, filling the confines of her skull with a blast of crackles and pops. Her knees wanted to buckle under the intensity of the static burst.
Kelly knew what usually followed. Sure enough, she could see their forms through the billowing smoke. The ghostly wraiths hovered by the shed doors, blocking the only exit.
“Are you finished running?” the first wraith asked, its metallic voice grating Kelly’s nerves.
“You’ve had your fun and now it’s time to surrender,” the second voice commanded.
A portion of the smoke cleared enough for Kelly to see two sets of orb shaped eyes. The white sockets danced with hundreds of frantic black dots. She turned away from their hypnotic gaze, all the while her mind racing to devise an escape plan.
She assumed the Perforators chief purpose was to protect and guard the living tower of flesh; chasing escapees their secondary role, and one they seemed ill equipped for. Sure they could induce paralytic fear with their appearance alone. The staunchest of heart would quiver at the piercings, the chains and the hooks that sported mottled meat. However, they moved with the deliberate slowness of a sloth. If you could prevent your mind from being scrambled by the crippling bursts of static you stood a good chance. Their unhurried approaches had enabled Kelly to escape on several occasions. This time she was truly trapped like a dog in a kennel. There were no windows on the shed and the only door stood blocked by the wraiths.
She thought about diving through them. After all they were ghosts of some sort. Then she remembered how the wraiths were able to turn windows and doors into dancing molecules. She did not relish passing through their insubstantial forms only to have her physical body disassemble into a billion bouncing particles and atoms.
As she racked her brain for a means of escape, she heard the Ouroboros struggling against the grill li
d.
The grill rocked back and forth so violently it reminded her of a Mexican jumping bean. She had learned about the odd little beans in biology class. She knew that a moth’s larva inside grew and as it matured it fought to escape, causing the bean to jump. It made her wonder what was happening to the flap of flesh she had trapped under the lid.
Another round of static shot through her head like an electric jolt.
“What the hell do you want?” Kelly screamed at the wraiths.
“What we want should be obvious by now,” one of the Perforators said. Kelly cringed at the eerie voice, the crackle and pops similar to speech being broadcast on an AM radio with bad reception.
“Well, call me thick-headed then because I just can’t figure it out.”
The second wraith spread his hands wide as if the answer was more than obvious. “We’re taking you back where you belong.”
“Back to the tower? I don’t belong there. I’m not dead.”
“True. If you were dead your spirit would be allowed to roam the shadows freely. Those who venture into the shadows before their time, however, must be contained. Flesh corrupts the spirit as gas does water.”
The grill rocked and hopped across the shed floor. She gave it a quick glance. “I’m not there now, in the shadows as you say. I’m in the real world. What harm can I do?”
The Perforators peals of laughter ravaged Kelly’s nerves like metal scraping metal. “You now know how to access the shadows. You’ve figured out how to open its doors.”
“Then I’ll make you a deal. I promise to never pierce through again. Never. Just let me go.”
“Humans and their promises. The flesh is weak, I’m afraid, and not to be trusted. Sorry. There are no bargains to be made. You must come with us.”
Kelly coughed. Smoke filled her lungs and stung her eyes. “If I surrender what will happen?”
“You’ll take your place on the tower. Your body will grow weaker by the day until it eventually gives up and the spirit flourishes. Then, and only then will you have your freedom. Only then will you be permitted to explore the shadows.”
“Basically I die.”
“In the flesh only.”
“Well I refuse.”
“You can’t.”
“I’ve escaped you before. I can do it again.”
“Perhaps, but surely you’ve noticed your foul smell. What do you think will eventually happen should you continue to avoid capture?”
“So I rot on the tower or I rot running from the two of you. I prefer to take my chances running.”
“It seems you won’t go without a fight. So be it.” The Perforator barked the words in its strange metallic voice.
The two pierced villains spread their arms wide and their white radiance intensified, breaking through the waves of smoke like headlights cutting through fog. The decomposing meat on the chains and hooks bounced like marionettes controlled by a maniacal puppeteer.
At first Kelly assumed the new antics were nothing more than elaborate posturing meant to intimidate, like a dog baring its teeth or raising its hackles. Then an invisible stream of energy collided with her, causing every hair on her body to stand erect. A fresh load of static dumped into her mind and she staggered, fighting to keep from fainting.
She felt herself moving but when she looked down her feet were locked in place. She inched towards the Perforators like freight on a conveyor belt. The pierced wraiths kept their arms spread wide, ready to welcome her into their revolting embrace.
Kelly attempted to work her feet in the opposite direction but they slipped and slid as if she was trying to sprint on a sheet of ice. She dropped to her butt, hoping to break the invisible connection between her and the wraiths. No such luck. The unnatural energy continued dragging her towards their open arms.
Turning onto her hands and knees, she clutched at the pressboard floor of the shed, attempting to find a crack or crevice in which to purchase a hold. However, her fingers failed to find anything to grip.
The Perforators’ close proximity cast a ghostly radiance across her body like the cold shadow of a psychopomp. Prickly sensations erupted across her frame as if her skin was being perforated in a thousand places.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Kelly prepared for the worst. Before the Perforators could pour their ghostly essence into her soul an explosion jolted the shed. A solid object painfully bounced off her left shoulder. She opened her eyes to see the grill lid laying beside her on the pressboard.
A thick cloud of fresh smoke filled the air with the stench of blood, burnt flesh and ink. The din of static in her head shut off and her forward momentum ceased.
She looked towards the shed entrance. The Perforators still stood like uncompromising sentinels by the open door. Something had changed. Their posturing had diminished. They even floated backwards a couple paces, looking confused, even a bit wary.
Intrigued, she turned back to the interior of the shed. Copious amounts of smoke obscured her vision but she could still discern a vague form knocking over tools and equipment. The thrashing shape appeared much larger than the tat Willy had inked on her forearm. What else could it be, though? The creature forming in the clouds of smoke had risen from the ashes on the grill like a phoenix from the flame.
Was this what Willy had intended? Was this her protector?
Kelly checked the Perforators’ status. They still looked confused, but continued to guard the exit. She turned towards the thrashing beast in the smoke.
So much smoke clogged the air that her airways started to constrict. She crept forward on her hands and knees. She strained her eyes through the haze, eager to catch the smallest glimpse of what was taking shape in the shed.
Something resembling a scaly tail whipped out of the smoke and came so close to her head that she could feel the wind from its passing brush her cheek.
Jesus almighty.
She hurried forward, smoke inhalation driving her to the verge of passing out.
She clung to just enough consciousness to get within what she deemed to be earshot of the mysterious beast. Using the last of her strength, she cupped her hands to her mouth and managed to utter two words she hoped the growing creature would interpret as the command they were intended to be.
“The ogre,” Kelly said through a lungful of smoke. Her head fell to the floor as she blacked out.
Chapter 26: Ouroboros
William reached under the illustrated maple desk and pulled out the Hello Kitty duffle bag. He unzipped it and pulled out the drill and scalpel.
Self-trepanation was again on the menu. What other option did he have? If he wanted to rescue Kelly he needed to perforate his skull and pierce through to the Shadowed Forest. The thought churned his guts as it had before.
If he could at least make contact with her, confirming she hadn’t been recaptured, he wouldn’t have to go through with his demented plan. Picking up his cell phone, he dialed her home number for the umpteenth time. He had long ago given up calling her cell. It always went straight to voice mail. At least by calling the house he had the opportunity of talking to her stepfather should he decide to pick up the receiver.
As always, the answering machine clicked on.
Why the hell didn’t somebody answer the damn phone?
William waited for the cue then spoke to the recording device. “Look, I know I keep calling over and over again, but I really need to talk to Kelly. Alma, I’m a good friend of hers. Please, if you’ve heard anything…”
William heard a click as somebody cut into the line. A surge of hope sent tingles down his limbs. “Kelly?”
“No you dumb jerk,” the voice on the other end said with a pronounced growl.
“Alma, thank god. Have you heard…”
“What did you do to her you sick twisted twit? Where is she?” The growl in Alma’s voice transformed into a shrill shriek that could have come out of the mouth of a frightened girl.
“I don’t know. That’s why I’ve been calling you.�
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“You killed her. You mutilated her. How did you do it? A gun? An ax? Oh no, nothing but the chainsaw for you, right?”
“Alma, calm down. We need to talk like rational men.”
“Screw your rationality!” Alma screamed. William sensed the hysteria in his tone. “I’m trapped in my own damn house. How do you explain that, you jerk?”
“Listen man. I know you’re upset. I am too. These senseless accusations aren’t helping any.”
“Senseless accusations? I think not. I’ve boarded up all the windows, barricaded all the doors. I don’t know how long that will keep it out. Christ in a bucket, where the hell is Kelly?”
Alma continued venting like a lunatic. Furthering the conversation would produce no results. William dropped the cell phone and rubbed his forehead.
Walking to the entrance, he flipped the sign to OPEN. He needed a flux of customers to create a diversion. If he kept dwelling on guilt the ache in his heart would lead him to trepanning. He would mimic Apostle Peter and figure out a way to drill holes in his own head though it violated every principle of his tattooing constitution.
He sat at the desk, taking frequent sips from the bourbon flask and staring towards the entrance, willing somebody to enter. He didn’t even care if it was some doe-eyed teenage girl so sick with puppy love that she wanted her boyfriend’s name inked on her ass cheeks; anything to distract him from his reckless gravitation towards trepanation.
Sweat broke out on his forehead. His hands trembled. A nervous tic caused his left eye to twitch. He poured a large amount of Woodford Reserve down his throat. It burned. He coughed, spraying some of the alcohol onto the maple desk.
He placed a hand on the Hello Kitty duffle bag. He gazed at it through liquor hazed eye. The black outline of the kitten logo swirled and began to run like wet paint in rain. He rubbed his twitching eyes, remembering how the bag had contrasted with Kelly’s Gothic Lolita look.
Where was she?
William looked with watery vision to the front entrance. His bourbon infused mind reeled in circles. He stood and nearly fell, catching himself on the arm of his leather office chair.