by Tim McBain
Liquefying.
And he pulls his hand away from his cheek, brings it out in front so he can look at the skin turned to a puddle in it. And now the fear shows in his eyes, the disbelief, the despair. Still squatting, he looks at me through his uncovered eye, sees me watching him, makes eye contact. His chest balloons and shrinks over and over, his shoulders bobbing up and down with the movement of his breathing. Little whimpers huff out of him every so often.
And then his forehead and the cheek on the other side kind of slide off of his face all at once, flopping to the floor. Even the stringy muscle mostly goes this time, leaving him an exposed skull for a face, smeared red with a bit of flattened flesh on the nose. He gasps, a little high-pitched choke of dismay. And his hands pick at the pool of flesh on the floor next to him, congealing into the carpet. He tries to scoop it up, but it falls to pieces and goop in his fingers, disintegrates into a gel that dribbles away from his grasp.
When he goes back to pick up what he’s lost, he only succeeds at grinding his face deeper into the carpet fibers, smearing his flesh into an oval shaped stain on the floor. And still his fingers swipe and scrape their nails at the discolored spot, trying to peel his face free to no avail.
And then his back jerks into an upright position and his hands go to his neck and he coughs, a barking cough, wet and oddly muffled like his throat is clogged. And a bloody chunk hacks out of the skeleton face, tumbling down the bone chin and slapping the floor, pink strands of tissue trailing back from the carpet into his mouth. And I think his throat is liquefying, too, that he’s coughing up his insides now.
And he leans forward, wet coughs rattling his ribcage, and more fleshy pink ribbons cascade out of him, strips of human tissue gone soft enough to fall apart like pulled pork, trailing out of him though the ends are still caught in his mouth.
And I shake all over, my whole body vibrating. I think I’m too shocked to vomit, but I can’t keep the words “falling off of the bone” out of my mind.
And the coughing stops, though the skeleton head still spasms like he’s trying to whoop and hack and clear his throat. But the jerking cuts off, the body in sort of a girl push-up position, leaned over, resting on his hands and knees. With the pink worms coming out of his mouth, he looks like a regurgitating bird feeding its babies.
But his shoulders sag then, all of the pride draining out of his posture. His head hangs.
And he slumps forward into the pile of his flesh and blood. He lies still. I watch the torso for any signs of breathing, but there are none. He is dead.
Even so, I watch the body for a long moment, the skull resting in melted face. And after a time I stand, and I see the others lying in their own face piles around the room, Randy, Woods, and Cromwell. All of their faces dissolved to carpet smears, their exposed skulls still housing eyes pointed in the wrong direction, chunks of throat and lung caught in their open jaws.
And I touch my face, frigid fingers pressing into the soft flesh under my eyes and that muscly spot at the crook of my jaw. With that secure, I reach down for my chest, verifying the smooth skin there as well, all soft and warm. Everything seems to be in place.
And I just stand there, the silence somehow hard to take, the candlelight still flickering everywhere, the shadows still undulating on the walls.
And I look at the limp arms and legs stretching out from each corpse, and I smell the blood in the air, the strange metallic odor, and I listen to the nothingness settle over the room, the still and the emptiness.
And death sprawls everywhere around me.
But I’m still here.
The Awake in the Dark Series
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Thank you to our awesome band of Advanced Readers. These guys are the effing best, and we'd be nowhere without them: Steven Hill, eden Hudson, Jeff G., Gypsy, Kit Power, Melissa H., Georgiann, Brandi O., Heather D., E. Branden Hart, Lisa W., Michele M., Billie Jo, Amber, Anja, Shelly, Ashley, Michael, David, Sherry, Angie, Adam, Drunkle Dan, Liza, Jessica, Rachelle, Dawna, GC, Jon, Julia, Jessica and those who wish to remain unnamed.
- About the Authors -
Tim McBain writes because life is short, and he wants to make something awesome before he dies. Additionally, he likes to move it, move it.
You can connect with Tim on Twitter at @realtimmcbain or via email at [email protected].
L.T. Vargus grew up in Hell, Michigan, which is a lot smaller, quieter, and less fiery than one might imagine. When not click-clacking away at the keyboard, she can be found sewing, fantasizing about food, and rotting her brain in front of the TV.
If you want to wax poetic about pizza or cats, you can contact L.T. (the L is for Lex) at [email protected] or on Twitter @ltvargus.
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- Books by Tim McBain & L.T. Vargus -
Casting Shadows Everywhere
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Fade to Black (Awake in the Dark #1)
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Bled White (Awake in the Dark #2)
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Red on the Inside (Awake in the Dark #3)
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Back in Black (Awake in the Dark #4)
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