Hell Pit

by WR Armstrong

  He recalled the muffled scream that had come from this vicinity whilst he’d been outside, and tried not to think of what had been going on the other side of the inner door. A number of disappearances had been reported on the news and in the local papers during the past week. It seemed highly likely that they had ended up here. He turned to Kate. The torchlight illuminated one side of her face, highlighting the neck injury she’d sustained.

  “How do you feel?” he asked her.

  She ignored the question and stared at the door. When McGrath trained the torch in that direction he saw that it was slightly ajar, which hadn’t been the case on his original visit. The gap was just wide enough for a person to squeeze through. Fresh sounds came from behind prompting McGrath to enter. He found himself in a long corridor from which other corridors led off. The ex-soldier was gripped by the uneasy feeling he had just stumbled into the world’s most dangerous maze. He listened for a telltale sound, aware that they didn’t have much time, for others were close on their tale. He looked for some sign of movement up ahead, but there was nothing. Everything was perfectly silent and still. Taking his courage in both hands he started along the dank corridor, until he reached an intersection. He shone the torch left and then right.

  And saw the skulls.

  “What is this place?” he whispered.

  Behind him Kate was silent.

  The skulls lined the corridor like macabre sentinels. Suddenly, seemingly of their own accord, candle flames burst into life, bathing the harsh stone walls in an eerie ochre glow, redefining the skulls, giving them the appearance of fleshless faces whose deep black eyes stared blindly ahead. McGrath scanned the corridor to his left to see it ended abruptly, as if the architects of this subterranean world had been interrupted before their work was completed. Straight ahead and beyond, the torchlight there was impenetrable darkness.

  This part of the tunnel sloped downwards sharply as if destined to travel deep into the bowels of the earth. McGrath had at first likened this place to a coalmine, but was fast changing his opinion, for it more resembled the interior of an Egyptian pyramid. He could imagine finding annexes and vaults as he ventured deeper into the labyrinth.

  The temperature suddenly dipped causing him to shiver involuntarily. His breath left his mouth in small vaporous clouds. He stood at the intersection debating which direction to take: ahead and into dark oblivion, or to the right where the skulls lay illuminated by candlelight on narrow stone ledges, like perverse decorations. The skulls’ were an ominous sign. McGrath knew they signified cannibalistic worship. It all fitted: the crucifixions, the cannibalistic murders, the statements given by eyewitnesses and suspects alike. It all fitted in so cleanly with Kate’s theory, which maintained someone or something had found a way to resurrect the dead.

  He turned to her.

  She stared blankly ahead, seemingly out of it.

  He tried a question, hoping it would bring her round. “Any ideas on which route we should take?” She failed to answer.

  “Kate: talk to me!”

  Nothing...

  He was losing her: shock was taking hold. Shock....or was there another reason to explain her behaviour? He studied her vacant expression, her injuries, the blood soaked clothing she wore. Had she really beaten Chrichton off and escaped with her life earlier that night? He refused to think about it. The idea that she hadn’t was too horrifying to contemplate. Besides, he presently had no way of knowing for sure, either way. He quickly refocused on the job at hand, which was to find some means of escape from this nightmare scenario.

  He shone the torch onto the bony skulls unbelieving of the situation he was in. Already he had killed, if killed was the correct word, three individuals who might have just climbed from a mortuary locker. And here he was, faced with the remains of people sacrificed to some pagan deity in the dark distant past. It beggared belief! The foul stench McGrath had noticed before was more intense now, making him feel nauseous, light headed. He stole another quick look at Kate She remained unmoving, her expression vacant; unreadable. She reminded McGrath of a shop window mannequin. Concerned and out of patience, he stormed over and grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “Why did you bring us here,” he demanded to know. “Answer me for God’s sake!”

  She blinked her eyes, the spell seemingly broken, and opened her mouth as if to speak.

  Just then a sound from behind grabbed McGrath’s attention: he put a finger to her lips, calling for her to stay silent. Gritting his teeth determinedly, he turned and started along the corridor flanked by the skulls, with Kate bringing up the rear, his footsteps amplified by the enclosed space. He tried his best to ignore the unseeing gaze of the skulls. But it was impossible. He couldn’t help but wonder about their identities and the purpose behind their ritualistic murder? But if what Kate said was true didn’t he already know the answer to that question? They’d been slaughtered to feed the living dead, to ensure their regeneration and ongoing survival.

  The corridor seemed endless. He moved the flashlight back and forth. Up ahead lay stygian blackness. He really did feel as if he were embarking on a trip into the bowels of the earth. He willed something to happen to take away his trepidation. Nerves before battle were always the worst. You had time to think and that could be dangerous. Your mind ran away with itself, created non-existent problems, doubt and fear, which in turn weakened your resolve, debilitating you. A seasoned campaigner, McGrath knew not to let these feelings get the better of him but it was difficult. The torchlight illuminated the clean white bone of the naked skulls in grotesque fashion.

  He thought he glimpsed something up a head, a sign of movement within the thick darkness, but couldn’t be sure. A faint sound drifted from that direction, as if someone shuffled around blindly. He stopped in his tracks, shining the torch directly ahead before finally glimpsing a bald emaciated shape stir restlessly in the shadows. He thought at first he was looking upon an enfeebled old man. The figure in fact belonged to a painfully thin boy. Any pity the ex-soldier felt for the child was negated by the brooding look of hatred contorting its features, and the low threatening snarl rising from its throat.

  His feelings of confusion and revulsion were matched only by his sense of disbelief at what he witnessed. Plainly the child was dead yet managed to defy the laws of death, trapped in an unforgiving twilight world in which the corporeal body existed without conscience or reason. The boy’s spirit was gone, replace by what, McGrath had no idea. All he knew was the boy was a boy no longer, but something essentially evil.

  Aware they were still being tailed from behind he advanced cautiously, keeping the torch trained directly ahead. Others stood behind the child forming a ragged line. It became a standoff with McGrath scrutinising the boy closely, whose expression indicated some kind of inner turmoil existed within, as if two wills were in conflict. All of a sudden, as if that conflict was resolved the child advanced in a low threatening crouch.

  McGrath issued a warning for him to back off, whilst raising the Taurus in readiness to fire, but he kept coming, lips parted in a chilling grimace. About to take aim and shoot, McGrath was suddenly distracted by movement from behind. He turned and was just in time to see a dark skinned man push Kate roughly to one side. In one deceptively quick, controlled movement McGrath darted forward, jammed the gun barrel inside his adversary’s mouth and squeezed the trigger.

  There followed a muffled report and the Negro’s head exploded in a messy cloud of blood and gore. He remained standing momentarily, before slowly collapsing to his knees, the top of his cranium gone, along with the threat he presented. McGrath found himself suddenly at odds with the boy who flew at him like a crazed animal. Instinctively he sidestepped the attack and managed to force the child into a head lock, at which point he was mortified to see others emerge from the darkness, most shuffling like cripples, drooling with perverse expectation.

  He tried desperately to think, knowing if he was to have any chance of surviving, he must get rid of the
boy! Kate, where was Kate? Why wasn’t she helping, or at least making some kind of sound? Had she been knocked unconscious, and why he wondered, had the Negro bypassed her in order to reach him? Had it been simply a case of attack whatever posed the biggest threat?

  The boy was making frantic attempts to wriggle free. Using his superior weight and strength McGrath swung the child round crushing its insubstantial body against the wall, cracking bones, repeatedly slamming the small hairless head against the stonework, rupturing the skull, crushing the possessed brain within. Blood flew sickeningly, splattering McGrath’s face and clothing. The body fell limp, and a prolonged groan of what might have been merciful release escaped its gaping mouth. McGrath released his hold, and it flopped uselessly to the ground.

  Free of the threat of the child, still painfully unaware of Kate’s whereabouts, the ex-soldier acted quickly. Turning to face those closest to him he fired a volley of shots, head height. The leader of the group caught it in the forehead, dropping instantly. A second and third reacted similarly to a bullet to the brain, falling in a crumpled heap, hindering the progress of those bringing up the rear. McGrath was aware of more figures advancing from the opposite direction, effectively trapping him. He quickly reloaded the gun, knowing his only option was to fight his way out. The figures shambled and lurched along the corridor, climbing over those who had succumbed to the bullets, their eyes wide and manic, teeth bared like hungry wolves.

  He fired another shot. Again his aim was true, and another of the walking dead fell, temporarily slowing the progress of the others. Encouraged, McGrath aimed again, fired, but missed his target. He repeated the action, this time in the opposite direction, blasting the nearest figure in the neck. It reeled from the impact; its larynx blown apart, but it kept coming. The brain, McGrath reminded himself, it had to be the brain or the effect was minimal! He looked one way, and then the other. They had him cornered. Escape seemed impossible. Even with the aid of the flashlight and the glow from the candles, it was still too dark to calculate exactly how many there were, although it seemed significantly fewer approached from the direction by which he’d come.

  He suddenly spotted Kate further down the corridor. Once again she wore a vacuous expression. At various moments she looked completely out of it. It was up to him, it seemed, to rescue them from the mess she had got them into with her crazy plan to enter this deadly subterranean world. Why the hell he’d gone along with it he didn’t know. Misplaced loyalty, he supposed. Protecting her as best he could, he emptied the last of the bullets into the nearest figure, a large woman with tight Afro hair, and wide bulging eyes. The first bullet missed, ricocheting off the wall, causing sparks to fly, but the second caught her directly between the eyes, felling her on the spot.

  The figures continued their threatening advance. McGrath stood his ground, noting the degree of physical degeneration in the creatures varied greatly. Two of those who had attacked as he and Kate had entered the crypt really were weak shambling wrecks compared to their female companion, and some of those now confronting him. He withdrew the golok from its sheath, brandishing it in the direction of the nearest figure, a teenage girl whose face was covered in wicked sores and open wounds. She smiled lewdly, lifting the filthy nurse’s tunic she wore, exposing herself in a misguided attempt to weaken McGrath’s resolve. He waited until she was within range, before suddenly springing forward and ramming the knife blade deep into her temple, piercing the brain. Thick dark blood erupted from the wound. The girl uttered a small shocked cry, and then dropped.

  Another sprang at him, clawed hands outstretched. He countered easily with a powerful uppercut to the jaw before stabbing at the thing’s eyes using the knife, popping the bulging orbs, thereby eliminating the threat. Bundling Kate along the corridor he somehow managed to give the others the slip. Together they hurried along the tunnel, travelling deeper into the dark subterranean world using the flashlight to light the way, painfully aware the creatures were hot on their heels. McGrath, ahead of Kate as they turned a corner, collided heavily with a figure of gigantean proportions. Thick powerful arms grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him back and pinning him against the wall. He reacted instinctively, gouging at his aggressor’s wide staring eyes with rigid fingers, before plunging the long lethal blade of the jungle knife into the crazed face. The giant reeled back crashing against the wall opposite, rendered momentarily helpless. McGrath rushed in for the kill stabbing his assailant repeatedly in the face and head, lancing the vulnerable brain before fleeing with Kate and with no real idea where he was going, or what he was going to do when he got there.

  He reached another corner. This time he exercised caution, making sure no one lay in wait before continuing. The air was thinner and smelled utterly rank. The tunnel was also narrower, its ceiling lower, creating a claustrophobic atmosphere. McGrath came to what at first glance looked like a dead end, but was in fact a sturdy wooden door. It was either locked or stuck in its frame. Raising a knee he landed a powerful snap kick, sending it crashing inwards. He shone the torch into the deep black void beyond.

  And saw others.

  Feeding.

  Saw too the decapitated head, the top of the skull cracked open like an egg, empty, and the severed hand, delicate fingers curled inwards, not quite a fist, as if the victim had not had time to mount a defence before being mutilated, dismembered and then cannibalised.

  Leading Kate firmly by the hand he inched towards another door standing at the opposite end of the room, never once taking his eyes off the ghouls, certain that at any moment they would notice his presence and come for him. They continued to feed, oblivious.

  And then, just as he was about to pass silently through the inner door he noticed the small fleshy shape crawling towards him, and felt his sanity tip dangerously towards the edge of madness.

  The baby gurgled happily, moving on chubby hands and knees, while staring into his face with the twisted expression of a lunatic. McGrath stepped forward and kicked out, catching the infant firmly beneath the chin, sending it careering backwards to hit the wall behind with a sickening thud. It righted itself with some difficulty to sit clutching its injured jaw, dislocated by the violent force of the blow, which was now misaligned, distorting its once cherubic face. It glared furiously at the ex-soldier: tiny fists clenched tightly at its sides. Slowly it rose to its feet, no more than twenty inches tall, weighing less than ten kilos, a dwarfish monster.

  McGrath fired the gun without hesitation, producing a brief though blinding explosion of light that illuminated the whole room. The ghouls in the far corner finally took notice of him, turning to face the intruder as one. The gut wrenching feeding sounds became muted, and the figures slowly rose. McGrath paid little attention for his focus was directed at the toddler, reduced to a headless corpse by the gunshot, which fell forwards onto the floor, finally at peace—maybe.

  “Paul.”

  The voice was horribly familiar. It drifted from the darkness beyond the baby’s corpse. McGrath fought hard to retain his self-control. When the ravaged figure of Bill Wilkinson stepped from the shadows he again worried for his sanity. Wilkinson’s ashen face bore the smile of the friend he had always been, though the deadness of the eyes told a much different story. McGrath reached blindly for Kate’s hand and started to back away, but to his utter amazement Kate resisted. He looked at her in confusion, and to his horror saw that a faint, twisted grin touched her lips.

  In a flash her odd behaviour that night made total sense to him. The neck wound she bore was far worse than it looked he now realised, for it had proved fatal. Deep down he’d maybe sensed that all was not right with her. She was different but in a way he could not fathom. He should have followed his instincts and acted upon them. Foolishly he had allowed himself to be led into a trap. Love had blinded him to the reality of the situation. It wasn’t Kate he had found in Chrichton’s garage, but a cunning imposter.

  He wrenched his hand from her grip and stepped back, suddenly revolted by
her touch. Her reaction was to smile. She inched forward, narrowing the distance between them and extended a hand, which he refused to take.

  “Keep away from me,” he warned, but she seemed not to hear.

  Suddenly, she spoke. “I was so happy to see you tonight,” she told him, “I had just finished with Abe. It was all very confusing. I was having difficulty coming to terms with what had happened to me: seeing you made the transition easier.”

  “Chrichton, what did you do to him?” McGrath asked, edging away.

  She ignored the question. “With your arrival, everything suddenly made perfect sense. Don’t you see; we can be together for eternity.” She smiled but the smile was unconvincing. “I tried to make it quick and painless for you earlier, but it wasn’t to be, so I had to think of another way of achieving what I had in mind.”

  “All that stuff you spouted in the car,” McGrath sneered. “You were simply biding your time.”

  “On the contrary,” she replied, taking another step towards him. “By sharing our beliefs with you I had hoped it would give you an insight into our world. The information will help you to adjust when you join us. Trust me.”

  Those two little words again, McGrath thought bitterly. He had already fallen for them once tonight. He wasn’t about to let it happen again. He glanced back over his shoulder, and saw that an open doorway stood there. He returned his attention to Kate. She had crept closer.

  “I love you Paul,” she whispered, but the words were hollow, devoid of true emotion. McGrath momentarily found himself mourning what could and should have been, but would never be. It wasn’t Kate standing before him, but a puppet controlled and influenced by another. In that instant he accepted all hope for her, and for them, was gone.