Cave Crawlers

by Alex Laybourne

  Every step he took, Declan felt Justin slip further from him, further from his life and deeper into his new place in his memories.

  Tears came and went, moving in waves, but Declan didn’t notice. Everything blended into a blur. So much so that he didn’t feel the breeze or the smell of the forest as it hit him.

  It was a strange sensation, as the tunnel twisted and opened up into a large cave, as if the earth was yawning, granting him the chance to escape. It was like awakening from a dream, finding yourself in unfamiliar surroundings and uncertain as to whether you are awake or still dreaming, lost or merely confused by the changing state your brain was processing.

  It was getting dark, the fading light cutting through the trees with an orange glow, making it look as if Declan was surrounded by fire, the flames of hell coming to engulf him. He paused, wondering with his conscious mind if he had died and the rest of his journey had merely been the passage of his soul, rising to reach the hellish forever he had earned the day he murdered his father.

  Declan stumbled as he reached the threshold of the cave, the notion of escape teasing him like a carrot dangled before a stubborn mule. Catching his balance, he looked down and saw two sets of dead eyes staring up towards the heavens. He recognized the faces, even with half of their flesh torn away. Ben and Trevor, the couple they had met the first night of the camping adventure. They had been the ones to tell them the campfire tale of Crawleigh; a spooky story, a legend filled with tales of magic and death as a means to keep children in their tents and discourage anybody from wandering off alone. It had been a tale of fiction, a legend, or so they had thought.

  Declan crouched down and looked the two bodies in the eyes. “How much did you know?” he asked, his words thoughtful rather than accusatory. “Rest softly.”

  Declan bowed his head, and reached out to close their eyes, leaving them to their slumber.

  Behind him, something moved, hidden by the darkness of the tunnel. Declan spun around and stared into the dark mass, and for the first time in his life, Declan feared the dark. It was no longer a shroud, but it was a presence, a menacing entity that spread like cancer, eating everything it touched. Sure, it could be beaten back one day at a time, but it was a certain eventuality that one day, darkness would encroach for the final time. It was always the victor in the long war.

  He thought he could see something, some form engulfed by the shadow. He could feel them all watching him, but what were they waiting for? He asked himself as he backed away, keeping one eye cast over his shoulder, watching the cave mouth. Was it a trap?

  The shadows moved, the sun setting at a visible pace, allowing the darkness to stretch, expanding its reach and tightening its hold. Only tonight was temporary, and Declan was not ready to concede defeat. Not after this. Justin’s life was worth more than a few moments of fear.

  Then it dawned on him. They were keeping to the dark, waiting for night to fall so they could hunt. His mind sprang back to the first night at camp. Justin had told him about some critter they had heard stalking their campsite. They had heard something later too, from inside the safe confines of their tent. It all came together. They had been hunted from the very beginning and had the bridge not collapsed, then they would have been taken at some other point.

  Fueled by the knowledge that the setting sun was giving him a head start but working against him at the same time, Declan made his move. His legs felt as if they had been engulfed in the flames of hell he so feared, as the acid in his muscles burned through everything it touched.

  He fled through the woods, ignoring the trails and the snatching branches, thorny arms shooting out to grab at him, attempting to hold him back. Undeterred, Declan pushed on. The darkness fell and he could hear the screams as the Crawleigh flood was let loose onto the world.

  He tripped, and stumbled, and ran for short bursts. Declan did everything he could to put as much distance between himself and caves as possible. The one thing he did not do, was look back. He would never look back again. There was no use to fear what was behind you when there was such a wide-open space ahead. The ground changed underfoot, the forest floor growing harder before spilling him onto a road, the winding tarmac looking like a river in the heavy evening light.

  The pain ate away at his side, bringing him to a halt. Nausea made him want to vomit, but he forced it down. Declan took a moment to collect himself, resting on his knees to try and fight off the faint that was threatening to claim him. He had no idea where he was, but following the road would lead him somewhere.

  Determined not to stop, he followed the twisting and turning tarmac, and even as the cries of the Crawleigh faded into echoes before being absorbed by the night, Declan refused to rest.

  His feet burned and it was only then that he realized he had lost one shoe at some point during the whole adventure, the exposed sole reduced to nothing more than a bloody mess. Limping, refusing to allow himself the luxury of stopping, Declan rounded a corner and saw the lights of a town. The road moved along a steady decline bringing him to the outskirts of a town whose name marker he missed. His eyes had locked on the first building he saw. A light burned in the upstairs window, and the closer he got, the more he allowed himself to give in to the lapping waves of relief.

  Declan had long since lost the concept of time, but the night was thick and surely turning towards dawn by the time he reached the house. The light still burned and Declan realized what it was: a rectory. The small graveyard appeared to his right, the gravestones rising like bone fragments from the ground.

  Declan limped to the door and rang the bell, listening to the musical chime that played out. It sounded wrong; such a building, surrounded by the memories of those that were lost didn’t warrant a merry jingle. Declan waited a moment, clinging to the doorframe, which was the only thing holding him on his feet, before ringing again, and then after, a third time.

  Just as he considered giving up, Declan heard something, the clink of a lock being moved, followed by another, and then a third. The door started to open, and a friendly face emerged in the crack that the safety chain allowed.

  Declan opened his mouth to speak, but as soon as he did, darkness flooded into him, consuming him and dragging him down into the depths of sweet surrender.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Declan woke with a fuzzy head, a feeling that spread over his entire body, a drug-induced haze that robbed him of the pain he knew he should feel.

  When he looked around the room, he saw bare walls with two crucifixes mounted to them, one a simple cross while the other, larger one had a screaming image of Christ etched into the wood. His face was contorted in agony as the crown of thorns dug into his head, while the polished finished made the wound in his side glisten as if still wet with the blood of the Lord. For the rest, the room was bare. The floor was made of polished boards, and even the bed was a simple wireframe, a solid mattress, and a dark woolen blanket serving as a quilt.

  Declan sat up in bed, his body slow to respond to the commands he gave. Taking it slow, he pulled back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His foot pounded, pulsing with the beat of his heart.

  As he got to his feet, Declan tried to recall what had happened to him. He could remember very little since leaving the caves. He couldn’t remember arriving at someone’s home. Moving gingerly, he was aware that the throb in his foot would be pain had he not been so full of meds.

  The room was only small, and the flooring creaked with every step. Declan was not surprised when the door opened before he reached it and a woman walked in carrying a fresh blanket and some clothes. She saw Declan standing in the middle of the room, as naked as the day he was born, and she screamed, falling to the floor in a faint.

  Not wanting to wait for permission, he grabbed his clothes from the floor and got dressed, watching the woman who was starting to stir. He pulled the shirt over his head just as another presence came into the room, an older man, whose face he recognized, his brain playing back a portion o
f his lost memory. He remembered walking, finding the rectory.

  “You, you saved my life,” Declan said, the drugs keeping his words dull and his tongue heavy.

  The man nodded and walked towards him. “I am glad you are awake. Please, sit down on the bed here.”

  Declan did as he was told. “We need to call the police. How long have I been here?” The words came faster as his mind cleared.

  The man’s expression changed as he prepared to give the answer. It was subtle, but Declan noticed it immediately, his body tensing in response.

  “It’s been four days since you arrived. Your injuries were severe, and we kept you sedated to help ease your pain,” the man started, but Declan sprang from the bed.

  “Four days … four days. My brother is out there and you let me sleep for four days?” His outrage was all-consuming, the rush of emotions and memories cane charging at him, hitting his brain with such a force that Declan expected himself to stumble.

  “It’s alright, son, it’s alright. The sheriff and his team are out there right now, looking for others.” The man remained sitting on the bed while his female counterpart stood in the corner, leaning against the wall, watching on nervously.

  “Listen, um …”

  “Father Michael,” the priest replied.

  “Listen, Father Michael, I need to get out there, help them find my brother.” Declan was insistent, yet the priest remained impassive.

  “Son, you have taken quite a beating, and from what you were rambling before we put you under, you had quite a trek once you got out too. Just lie back here and rest. Everything will be fine. The sheriff is a good man. He looks after this town.”

  Declan refused.

  “If you won’t take me there, I’ll just walk back myself.” Declan turned and walked out of the room.

  The rectory house was small and neat, the walls largely bare save for a painting here or there. The hallway was carpeted, and it felt soft and delicate beneath Declan’s feet. Stumbling down the stairs, he reached a hallway that fed into three rooms; a kitchen area, the main sitting room which was again sparsely decorated with a picture of Jesus above the fireplace, tall candles standing either side of it. A two-seat sofa and moderately sized television provided the main rest and entertainment, while a dark wooden bookcase stood stretching along the wall, filled with volumes that all looked as if they belonged in the reference section of a library rather than a rectory living room.

  There was a third room, but the door was closed, a large handled key sitting in the lock. Moving towards it, Declan jumped when Father Michael’s hand landed on his shoulder.

  “I’ll drive you. I don’t want you walking out there in your condition. But there is nothing you can do, son. Trust me.” There was a kindness in the older man’s eyes.

  The passage of years had wrinkled the man’s face, but there was a youthfulness behind it that shone through. Declan looked at him and nodded, noting the tinge of sadness that lurked behind the steel blue gaze.

  “Thank you. I just need to find my brother.” Emotion boiled up inside of him.

  “I understand,” Father Michael said, defeated.

  As they got into the car, Declan’s stomach started to twist and churn. He didn’t want to go back to the caves. He wanted to turn and run as fast as he could, but he owed it to his brother. Justin had saved his life, and he could not let his body remain lost. His family deserved to say goodbye to their father.

  Tears stung his eyes as he watched the landscape change through the passenger side window. The woods became thicker and the ground they sat on started to rise. It took twenty minutes in the car before they turned off onto a small side road.

  “How do you know where they are?” Declan asked, noting how Father Michael had not once asked for directions.

  “The sheriff has been out here for days. He drops by in the evening to give me an update, so that I could tell you if you woke.” The answer came naturally, and Declan felt himself ease a little more into the seat. He felt safe with Father Michael on his side, even if the man was twice his age and half his size.

  The side road was an unpaved and bumpy affair that shook the suspension of the old car as well as the bones of the people inside it.

  It didn’t take long before they saw the first car, a sheriff’s car, the word emblazoned along the side like a label. A few more vehicles stood gathered around the side of the road a few hundred yards further ahead.

  Declan didn’t recognize the area, but it had been dark, and he had fled in a straight line, not looking for any road or pathway. His only goal had been to escape.

  A group of people stood beyond the cars, half-swallowed by the trees. They had a table set up with coffee and sandwiches spread over it. Declan counted half a dozen men, including the sheriff who stood to one side talking into a comms unit.

  “That’s the sheriff. I’ll introduce you to him, but let me do the talking,” Father Michael said, his words carrying an undertone that Declan heard, but did not process.

  Nobody batted an eyelid as the car pulled up, clearly used to seeing Father Michael out and around the town. They did all turn when they saw Declan with him, marching towards the sheriff like a man with a greater purpose.

  “John, this is Declan,” Father Michael began, after tapping the sheriff on the shoulder.

  Sheriff John Tucker turned around and smiled. He was a few years younger than the father, but his face was stern, the wear and tear signs of a hard life. His eyes were dark and serious, and the heavy black stubble that covered the lower half of his face only added to his imposing appearance.

  “Why did you bring him here, Michael?” The man’s voice was as gruff as his exterior suggested.

  “He insisted. He wants to help find his brother,” Father Michael said, his voice shaking, as if nervous.

  “You should be in bed. Don’t need nobody making things worse up here,” the sheriff growled.

  “Making it worse?” Declan asked, outraged and hurt by the man’s words.

  The sheriff didn’t give an answer for his radio burst into life with a loud shock of static. The noise gave way to voices, and while the sheriff turned and walked away, Declan followed him, eager to hear what was going on.

  “Son, no,” Father Michael began, trying to grab at Declan and pull him back.

  Declan was not to be deterred, however, and shook the man’s hand away, following the sheriff like a rookie during his first day on the job.

  “Sir, sir,” the voice crackled over the radio.

  “I read you, Jones, what have you got down there?” the sheriff asked, his expression deepening into a scowl when he saw Declan still so close to him.

  “It’s a bloodbath, sir. There are bodies everywhere,” the nervous voice on the other end of the radio said.

  “Shit.” John glared at Declan, hate the dominant expression. “How many do you reckon?”

  “I count at least eight, including Grandad.” The words made Declan freeze.

  “Grandad?” Declan thought back to the old man who had been talking to Justin, the one he had beheaded before trying to escape.

  “Fuck, sweet fuck. Talk to them, tell them I’m handling it. They will have their fresh blood soon, and I’ll even make sure there is one or two for the menfolk too.” The words chilled Declan who looked over at the sheriff, who returned his gaze with a slow smile.

  Declan turned, his heart thundering, his vision darkening as his mind processed what he had heard. The men from the coffee table stood behind him, spread out in a line. Their faces were set with the same stern look as the sheriff, while behind them, Father Michael looked on.

  “I’m sorry, son,” he said as the men closed in.

  Declan tensed, ready to fight once more, but there were too many for him. He dodged the first two blows, but a shot to the kidneys sent him to his knees. The attack didn’t stop and blows rained down on him, and with the pain medication out of his system, all Declan could do was howl in agony.

  “Yo
u almost ruined everything, you little shit,” Sheriff Tucker said as he twisted Declan’s hands behind his back and tied him with rope.

  Declan mumbled something, his face too broken for the words to be discernable, but the sheriff made a good guess.

  “Why? That’s simple. You always look after your family. The first family has powers, and they make sure our community stays well and prosperous. We all live long and happy lives down there. All we need to do is keep the first family bloodline going strong and we will be rewarded.” The sheriff continued speaking as his man hauled Declan to his feet and marched him back to towards the cave entrance.

  He recognized the yawning mouth, which no longer looked to be offering him freedom, but rather, it was not stretching in anticipation of the offering coming its way.

  The man dropped Declan to the floor, and the sheriff delivered a strong, punt-like kick to the small of Declan’s back. His legs shot out in response to the pain and were immediately grabbed and tied.

  “We all have too much invested in this to stop now, and you, you little shit, were supposed to just be another meal, but now … well, boy, you killed my grandpa, so I’m gonna pray that they take their time with you.” A series of hoots and grunts rumbled from the darkness, and the sheriff laughed. “Brace yourself, tough guy, this is going to hurt.”

  Declan heard the men walk away, but his eyes were fixed on the darkness. He could see the shapes standing there, waiting to claim him. He was trapped and helpless. Tears streamed down his face as he thought of his brother and Justin’s family. They would never know what had happened to him. Would his little girl grow up thinking their daddy abandoned them? It hurt his heart to think of such suffering.

  The first creature emerged from the shadows, quickly followed by another, and another. Hungry hands grabbed Declan, dragging him back into the darkness he had fought so hard to escape. He looked back and saw the sheriff standing in the cave mouth, framed by fang-like rock formations on either side. The man raised a hand and waved, sealing Declan to his fate.