Terror Town

by James Roy Daley

  The dog kept bleeding. The poor thing was lying in a red lake.

  Cameron fought like a rattlesnake backed in a corner. Her eyes were sunken. Her neck muscles bulged beneath her skin like tightly wound cables. Blood and puss hung from her mouth as her fingernails dug into Daniel’s shoulders.

  “Don’t just stand there, Will!” Dan shouted, struggling to keep Cameron from ripping his head off. “DO SOMETHING!”

  The trapdoor bounced up and down.

  William threw the crowbar in the corner. It banged off the wall and hit the floor with a clang, leaving a skid mark in the dust. He took two quick steps forward and kicked Cameron in the face just as hard as he pleased. Red and white dots puffed the air as her lips split open. Sounded like a kicker punting a football.

  Cameron tumbled back in a daze with both hands in the air.

  If Will could see into her head, he’d know that a million tiny shimmers of light sparkled before her eyes.

  2

  “WILLIAM!” Beth screamed, shocked by the unexpected violence. “STOP IT!”

  William ignored her, which was okay with Daniel.

  Beth clearly didn’t understand the situation and neither of the men had time to explain. Truth was, William wasn’t trying to hurt Cameron. He was only trying to stop the insanity. Dan knew it; Beth needed to know it too.

  It seemed to Dan that William’s anger had subsided, his outrage had settled (as much as it could in such a short amount of time, anyhow), and with a moderately clear mind he made an assessment and came to a conclusion that was both simple and straightforward: he needed to change the current situation, and knocking Cameron out would accomplish that. Dan couldn’t have agreed more.

  Yes, he felt bad for Cameron. She was obviously hurting and leaving a wake of blood everywhere that she went. Worst than that, she was out of her friggin mind. However, Cameron was dangerous and impulsive, a threat to herself and those around her. She needed help. She needed medication. She needed treatments and supervision––even if that meant putting the boots to her.

  Cameron sat up like Dracula in his coffin, arms across her chest, snapping her teeth like an angry wolf. Irate. Her eyes had turned black, completely black. Her skin looked bloodless, like fair paper.

  Daniel couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He said, “Oh my––”

  Then Will stepped past him, hoisted a leg and blasted Cameron in the face a second time. Cameron’s head snapped back, smashing against a large piece of broken drywall. Her feet lifted into the air.

  The trapdoor rattled beneath Beth. She screamed.

  The creature, less than six inches from where she stood, clearly wanted in.

  Beth said, “I need help!”

  Cameron sat up again.

  William tried to kick her in the face a third time but it didn’t work. Cameron grabbed Will’s foot, squeezed it, and twisted.

  William huffed, lost his balance, and fell on Daniel.

  Daniel threw up his hands. Then, with William sprawled out on top of him, he looked Cameron in the face and felt his assessment of the situation change. Cameron’s eyes were cold and emotionless, like an insect, like she had no soul. For a moment he wondered if she was possessed by the devil but quickly dismissed the thought. Possession was out of the question.

  The situation was obviously fantastic, Daniel accepted, but it was also uncomplicated. They had encountered a species that was either previously unidentified and unknown to today’s scientific community, or, known, but not publicized. If he were a gambling man he’d put a thousand bucks on unidentified. In today’s media savvy world, things didn’t stay unpublicized for long. But even if he was wrong on this account, the point was this: the creature––mammal, he assumed––had poisonous stingers, like a wasp, and Cameron had been stung. Nothing more. Shame the poison was giving her a violent reaction.

  Dan heard himself say: “Get the crowbar!”

  “What?”

  “You heard me! Get it! Get it now! You’ve got to take her down before this gets worse! She’s not right!”

  “She’s my cousin!”

  “She’ll kill us all!”

  William, slightly shocked by Daniel’s suggestion, seemed to acknowledge the fact that they needed to end this pointless battle before the trap door blasted apart and the real danger showed itself. Because Cameron wasn’t the real danger––the real danger was below Beth, trying to get in and eat them alive.

  He crawled off Daniel and made his way across the floor.

  He reached for the crowbar.

  Beth felt the door shake. A clumpy string of hair fell in front of her eyes. A bead of sweat dropped from her chin.

  With an unsteady voice, she said, “Don’t you dare hit Cameron! You leave the iron on the floor!” Murder––was that really happening here? It couldn’t be. Things were happening too fast.

  Cameron fell forwards. She was on all fours, eyes wide, mouth agape, puss and blood dribbling from her lips, crawling towards Daniel like a creature at war.

  Daniel, still sitting on the floor, tried to move away from her. He pushed away with his arms, sliding back a few inches. He didn’t get far before Cameron grabbed his leg, yanked the pant leg up, and bit into his shin. He didn’t have a chance to stop her. She was too quick and he was too overwhelmed by her actions. As the skin tore open, he screamed. His eyes watered and a pain he had never known made him yank his leg away. The skin tore apart more, spilling a splash of blood across the floor.

  William stood up with the crowbar in his hand. He approached Cameron, pursed his lips, raised the iron above his shoulder, and did what he had to do: he brought the weapon down hard and fast, hitting Cameron in back of the head, closing his eyes as the connection was made.

  Cameron went down, arms wide, face against the floor. Bleeding now, not just from her leg and back, but from her skull too. And this time, the assault came from someone that loved her.

  3

  The room fell silent.

  Seconds passed.

  “Did you have to do that?” Beth’s voice was composed and calm, given the circumstances. She thought Cameron was dead. “Was there no other way?”

  “No,” William said, panting and shaken. “There was no other way. I had to do it. She’d gone mad.”

  Beth looked at Daniel for confirmation.

  Daniel nodded. He was holding his wounded leg with both hands. Blood ran through his fingers; he’d need stitches for sure. Almost apologetically, he said, “Cameron was trying to kill me. I know it’s crazy but it’s true.”

  “But why?” Beth asked, on the verge of crying.

  Daniel looked at the trapdoor before answering. There were no noises now, just the sound of the room. Everything was eerily quiet; he wondered how long they had until the next attack. “I’m not entirely sure, but I’m guessing that thing in the basement poisoned her. She needs a doctor.”

  William crouched beside Cameron and quietly placed the crowbar on the floor. He took her by the hand, feeling for her pulse. He wasn’t sure if blood pulsed through her veins or not but she looked alive and that made him sigh with relief.

  Gently, oh so gently, he put a hand to the back of her head.

  There was a goose egg, a big one that would likely grow bigger as the evening wore on. Blood ran through her hair, making the strains clump together. There was a chance that Cam’s skull had been fractured. With this in mind, William started to weep. He’d never forgive himself if he literally cracked her head open.

  “She seems okay,” he whispered between sobs. “What about you Dan? Your face is bleeding too, you alright?”

  “Yeah,” Dan said, touching the marks on his cheek. “I’m fine. What about Cameron, she all right? That thing stabbed her, you know. Poisoned her too. She needs the hospital.”

  William’s face seemed to sag. He didn’t know she’d been stabbed, poisoned, and throttled with the crowbar. He knew she was bleeding and acting crazy but he hadn’t put it all together.

  He decided
to have a look at Cameron’s wounds. He pulled Cameron’s shirt up a few inches, exposing her back. Her destroyed muscles looked like chopped liver. On a positive note her bleeding had all but stopped. It was almost like the gash had been cauterized.

  Daniel wanted to call 911.

  He said, “Do you have a cell phone? I left mine at home.”

  “I don’t,” William said, eying Cameron’s suspicious looking wounds.

  “No,” Beth responded. “The reception in Cloven Rock sucks so I don’t own a cell, probably never will.” She looked at her feet and the door beneath it. Referring to the trapdoor, she said, “I want off this thing.”

  “That’s understandable,” Dan said. “Let’s take Cam to the hospital. Get off the door, but do it slowly and quietly. The last thing we need is that thing in here with us.”

  Beth did just that. She pulled one foot off at a time, trying to be noiseless. At one point the door sounded like a rusty door hinge squeaking. Thankfully, the beast never stirred, never pushed its way into their sanctuary.

  “Where’s Roger?” William asked, looking like he had aged twenty years in the last ten minutes. “Was he here?”

  A shiver crawled down Dan’s spine as the memories of Roger being devoured came rushing in. He was eaten like a cookie, he thought. Like a fucking cookie!

  “Daniel?”

  “He went to the store.” Dan lied, looking at the floor, avoiding William’s eyes, ashamed of himself for evading the truth. But he didn’t want that conversation. Not yet. Not so soon.

  William sighed with relief. “Thank heaven,” he said. “I figured he was in that well with you guys.”

  Desperate to change the subject, Dan grabbed Cameron’s feet. “It’s not a well, it’s a bomb shelter. Now take her other end, will ya? Let’s get Cameron upstairs. And for God’s sake, do it quietly.”

  “A bomb shelter,” Beth said, surprised. “Really?”

  “Upstairs,” Dan repeated. “Let’s go. Now. We need to talk.”

  Beth said, “Are you sure we should move her?”

  “I’m positive we shouldn’t leave her here. Enough talk. Let’s walk.”

  William lifted Cameron, holding her beneath the arms. It was a struggle to move her but they managed. She made it upstairs without too much trouble. Once they were in the living room they placed her on the couch carefully. Daniel slid a pillow beneath her head. Beth closed the basement door.

  “There’s no lock on this door,” she said. “Should we board it up?”

  “I don’t know,” Dan replied, thinking about Roger. “Most of my tools are lying near the trapdoor, and I don’t want to go down there to get them. Making lots of noise with a hammer might be the wrong move anyhow. Leave the door for now. We’ll deal with it later.”

  William looked across the room. “Dan, where’s your phone?”

  Dan drew a deep breath. “The phone is in the kitchen, but it isn’t turned on. We disconnect the service every winter, what with us not being here. And this summer we were thinking about living without the home-line. We own cell phones, Sandra and I. The home phone seems like a waste of money these days.”

  “Oh,” Beth approached the men. “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay then. No phone. So what’s the plan?” William sat on the coffee table with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his hands. “Are we going to take her to the hospital? What do you think?”

  Daniel considered the situation: Pat was in the pit somewhere. Maybe he was alive. Maybe he was dead. It was hard to say.

  We went down a quartet and came up a twosome, Dan thought. And Roger is gone for good.

  But Patrick, that was the sticky wicket, no doubt. What to do about Patrick Love?

  William said, “Daniel? Hello? You with us?”

  “Yeah,” Dan said. “I’m here. Let’s load Cameron into a car and take her to the hospital.”

  4

  Pat was alive. He had been knocked to the floor by the beast, and by the time he knew what was happening he had a giant claw crushing his chest. The enormous pressure was not anticipated and as a result he couldn’t breathe or sit up. All he could do was wave his hands and kick his feet, mouth gaping like a fish, but what was that doing for him? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.

  He needed air and he needed it pronto.

  Something began raining in charitable portions. Not a trickle, not a sprinkle, not a drizzle or drop. Buckets. Buckets and buckets fell generously all around, splashing everywhere, making him wet. But what was it, blood? Was it blood?

  Yes! It was blood!

  Oh God.

  Pat didn’t know whose blood was falling. But it was blood.

  Someone was dying.

  The blood didn’t belong to Cameron; Pat knew that much. Cameron had walked away from hidden room. That only left Dan and Roger unaccounted for. But who was being butchered? Was it Roger or Dan?

  The animal shifted its weight and lifted its claw.

  Air rushed into Pat’s lungs. He coughed several times, stopping only when he saw a human leg fall.

  “Holy shit,” he said, feeling his jaw slink away from his face like it had a mind to crawl into a corner and hide. With his heart rate accelerating, his eyes widening, and his stomach muscles clenching, he whispered, “What the hell is that?”

  But he knew. Oh God, it was a leg. A human leg, severed high upon the limb. It was white, nearly hairless and pathetically thin. There was a scrap of denim bundled near the shoe.

  Eyes shifted. He saw the creature’s head dip towards the floor, sniffing like a dog. He could see tiny holes surrounding each mouth, opening and closing in unison. They looked like miniature moon craters, crusted with a thin line of gray. Bugs crawled in the creature’s fur. Flies circled; some went insides the mouths never to be seen again.

  Pat watched in awe as three mouths were chewing at once, and the moon craters were sniffing, blowing, expanding and contracting. In many ways they were remarkable.

  Then he realized something:

  Very surprisingly, the beast hadn’t noticed him. Yet.

  This was a strange and nearly impossible certainty, which lifted Pat’s spirits once he believed it. But luck could change quickly, so he tried to improve his situation by holding his breath and bringing his arms to his sides. He pulled his legs together and sucked his stomach in, making himself smaller, if only in his mind.

  The beast shuffled its limbs.

  He figured one of two things would happen. Either A) The creature would notice him and that would be the end of his story, or B) the creature would return to its home, giving him a chance to escape. Seeing things this way, he gave himself a fifty/fifty survival probability.

  But then something happened, something he hadn’t anticipated: the creature chased his friends. The scenario may have seemed obvious to the others, but for Pat, the notion had eluded him. Perspective is everything.

  The stampede of legs moved in waves. Two clawed limbs trampled Pat’s left arm, causing him to release a sharp scream. He was lucky. If either limb had been armed with a stinger the outcome would have been worse. Like Cameron, he would have been poisoned. His judgment would twist into hatred and his compassion would become violence. Fortunately for him, this wasn’t the case. His arm wasn’t pierced, nor was it broken. It wasn’t even sore.

  The stampede of limbs was terrifying, nothing more.

  The threat was gone, for now.

  Lying in Roger’s remains, Pat lifted his head. He rested on his elbows on the floor and watched the beast scurry up the ladder in a centipede-like motion. The creature was incredible, a true wonder of the animal kingdom.

  He sat up, shocked and stunned but not truly frightened. His hands trembled slightly, although he didn’t notice. He looked at the shadows on the ceiling, the unpainted concrete walls, and the flies buzzing in the air. He looked at the florescent lights that hung from thin, sturdy wires, and at the ductwork that seemed more complicated than efficient. He loo
ked at the floor and at the distance that separated him from the small hallway on the far side of the room. And finally, he looked at Roger’s blood on his hands. Only then did he realize he didn’t know what to do.

  5

  William lifted Cameron by the legs and Daniel took her beneath the arms. Beth cleared a path, and held the front door ajar as they brought her outside, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. They placed her inside Daniel’s car, stretching her across the back seat with one arm lying across her chest and the other hanging to the floor. Knees were folded together, almost prayer like. Her face had turned white, making her look more frightful than ever.

  Dan said, “You guys should drive Cam to the hospital. I’ll stay here.”

  “Why?” Beth asked. “It’s your car.”

  “Someone should wait here for the police. It’s my place. And the car is full.”

  “My ride is right there, man,” William said, pointing at his car. “I drove here with Beth, remember? We can all go.”

  “True, but I want to wait here. I’d like a few minutes to myself, a few minutes to patch my leg up and think things over before the cops get here asking a million questions, you know? Plus Pat’s still down there somewhere. I don’t want to leave him.”

  Beth eyed Dan suspiciously. “You sure?”

  Daniel handed William his car keys. “I’m totally sure. Now go. It’s a twenty-five minute drive to the hospital so get going before Cameron dies on you.”

  “Okay.” William said with a reluctant nod. “We’ll send the police ASAP.”