Safety (One Eighteen: Migration Book 1)

by Christopher Wiig

I grabbed a few things for Alex from the kitchen, along with some paper and plastic goods for general trading, and then I headed into the basement. I suppose if you're not going to quit when you're ahead, you might as well not quit when you're way ahead.

  If you're asking yourself why a man would descend into a basement after seeing something like that, I blame three things: the gun, the pills, and my God damned curiosity.

  The old wooden stairs groaned and creaked as I descended them into the gloom. The smell of mold and dust surrounded me, and something else. Something bad. Nothing good's ever in the basement. Any six year old can tell you that.

  The basement was dark, so I had to rely on my flashlight. The only other illumination came in through the ground-level windows, places where the dark suddenly ended and just as suddenly began again. One of the windows was shattered, with ominous stains on the broken glass.

  A sensible man would have looked at such a room and walked away.

  Guess what I did?

  I began my search of the basement, finding what I'd expected; next to nothing. The Deputies had been thorough, so I knew there wouldn't be much.

  Emmett has functional basement. It follows the foundation and an unpretentious concrete floor covered with stains I assumed at the time were motor oil and other automobile fluids.

  (What I was actually walking through now... I'd rather not ponder too much. I'm gonna go with oil because I want to keep these boots.)

  There wasn't much down there, honestly; an unused set of free weights, a washer dryer, and lots of boxes from various automotive companies.

  We might need to come back for the auto parts later, I decided, but none of them would be worth carrying back with me now. If we had a car, this was a half hour detour at worst. I didn't want the weight. I hope we won't have to come back.

  Everything in the basement was covered in cobwebs and dust, except for the nest. A nest is the best way I can describe it. Em had an enormous pile of boxes of car parts, and they'd been deliberately stacked in a way meant to look non-deliberate. Casual, but with structure if you looked at it long enough.

  There was a tunnel in the boxes, a gap in the pyramid a few feet tall. It was almost like a child's fort, but constructed with more care. In front of it was a larger box with a long piece of cloth nailed into it. I imagined the inhabitant, pulling the cloth and sealing themselves inside.

  A spider hole.

  With the box in front of the entrance you'd never know the nest was there. Anyone not looking for several dozen boxes of air filters would never bother disturbing it, let alone notice it.

  But now it was open.

  The bottom of the tunnel was covered with pillows and piles of bed sheets. It looked like it might have once been tidy, but not any more. It was filled with filth: candy bar wrappers and trash, blood and excrement.

  Around the entrance to the nest were broken pieces of mirror, pins, and a half-empty bottle of ink. And barely visible in the gloom, all the way at the back, was pile of strange little white objects, spotted with flecks of blood.

  They looked like large paint chips, but smoother. More glossy. And certainly a pile; they'd been put right there. Someone, whoever lived in this, felt they belonged there.

  My curiosity was roused, and though I knew it was a bad idea, I wanted a closer look. I couldn't get to the objects without crawling inside unless I moved the boxes.

  I was afraid to move them for fear of collapsing the whole structure. They were interesting, but not dig a needle out of a haystack interesting. I didn't want to spend any more time in there than I had to, so I figured just pushing down my fear and crawling in there made the best sense.

  The irony of that is just sickening. When considering the best way to accomplish something, always pause to decide if you should even be doing it.

  (That's more a note to self than anything else.)

  The nest was dark, and very deep. Rational Jonas told me to just move on. I had what I needed. Walk away. Knowing what these white little jewels were wasn't that important. They were odd, not important.

  But Curious Jonas had to know. The only way to see what the pebbles were was to go inside. Rational and Curious Jonas argued. In the end, Curious Jonas won out.

  I wanted to know what they were, and I was going to. I very carefully crouched down in the muck. Gun in hand, my flashlight held in my teeth, I duck-walked into the nest.

  Inside, near the entrance I found a photograph of a man, a little girl, and a small yellow tabby cat. The man was smiling, cradling the girl in his arms, while the girl held the tabby and laughed.

  I flipped the photo with my dead hand, not wanting to put the gun away. On the back was written: "Me, Sadie and Thomas - 2006" It was odd in the way the photograph was both pristine and dirty at the same time. It had been an object of great care, since it was structurally perfect, but recently it's importance had changed.

  It was now covered with dirty fingerprints (that my wishful thinking will again assume to be chocolate) and a few drops of ink.

  The smells got worse as I got deeper. And as I went deeper, the tunnel grew darker. The walls were covered with drawings in crayon. A house, a happy sun warming the playground.

  Children playing.

  Happy things. Memories of happy times. I found a small cloth raggedy Ann doll, lovingly patched in places with new fabric, one of the eyes missing. A child had been here, a girl child. Sadie.

  Memories of before, written out the only way a child can, in pictures.

  But I couldn't imagine a little girl living in this... filth. The stench was overpowering, the bedding rancid. Little girls didn't live like this. This was new filth.

  The white flecks shimmered in front of me. Beckoning to me. Curious Jonas dragged me along. Rational Jonas begged me to stop. I went deeper.

  The smell was horrific, and I did my best not to vomit as I crept towards the ivory objects. I stepped on something solid, and metal and stopped. Tools.

  A nail file, bloodstained and covered with white powder. Next to it a pair of pliers. Both good, useful tools but I left them there. They were the nest dwellers property, not mine. Whatever lived here now needed to be left alone.

  The drawings changed. Deeper into the nest they became darker. The happy children turned sad, and there were fewer of them. Even the sun stopped smiling. The change through the eyes of a child. No safety in adults, no bubble of ignorance. Just the dead and the mad.

  One of a billion stolen childhoods; a story told in crayon.

  Blood on the hopscotch. A see-saw with a dead little boy holding the other side in the air. Then there was only one, the little girl with the blond curls, crying by an empty swing-set.

  Sadie, alone.

  The change had been especially cruel to the young. Small legs, slower minds. Easier prey. There weren't a lot of children left.

  The further I crawled into the nest, the filthier it became. The drawings changed, no longer crayon but blood and ink hieroglyphics, drawings of men and women at war, sacrifices, men with the heads of beasts.

  A new artist, angrier. Confused. The girl child, being dragged off by... things. A man trying to hold onto her leg as she was pulled out of a crudely drawn basement window. The man sitting under the window, looking down into his hands at something.

  I slipped, and getting my balance I dropped the gun. Reaching down for it my fingers touched something soft and spongy. Rational Jonas told me to drop it, pick up the gun and get the hell out of the nest. Curious Jonas picked it up and tried not to scream when I realized what I was holding.

  A little girls foot.

  I bit down on the flashlight, stifling a scream and snatched up the J-Frame, trying to keep a hold on myself. I'm not claustrophobic, but between the smell and the dark, my mind started playing tricks on me.

  The walls started to move and twist around me. I watched the drawing, as the Dead Things pulled the little girl out of the window; the father desperately trying to hold on to his little girl.

&n
bsp; He won't let go; won't let his little girl get taken and the foot, the foot comes off and she screams and...

  I closed my eyes tightly, and forced the pictures away. I focused on the white trinkets, blocking the rest of it out of my mind. I'd come this far, even Rational Jonas knew that. Finish it.

  One quick look and then out the door.

  I looked at nothing else as I crept to the back of the tunnel, though the pictures grew more and more intricate.

  The whole story was there, but I didn't want to know it.

  Too many stories. Too many tragedies. The whole God damned world is a tragedy. To try to feel empathy for of them would drive you mad.

  I pushed Sadie and Thomas and her Father to the back of my mind, and finished my task reasoning that if I had time to grieve, I had time to leave.

  I came to the white flecks, lovingly arranged on a pillow like a diamond in a museum. My left hand being useless, I had to put down the flashlight or the gun to inspect the objects.

  Without the light there would be no point to inspecting them, so I put the Smith into my coat pocket. Using a one of the tissues I'd pilfered from Em's kitchen, I picked up one of the chips.

  At first I couldn't tell what it was, but as I turned it over in my hands I saw the root, thin and stringy and wet. Blood. It was half of a tooth.

  They were all pieces of teeth.

  "You'll let them out! They'll get out of the walls!" the Goblin shrieked, and I whirled on my heels to see it crawling into it's cave.

  It's mouth was open, filled with sharpened, bloody teeth some sort of obscene human jack o' lantern. It's hair was missing, and it's face and arms were covered with tattoos; poor imitation's of the art on Sarah. Stringy and malnourished, it was a shell of a man and yet, it used to be a man.

  And it was between me and out, the worst place for it to be.

  I screamed, forgetting that the flashlight was in my mouth, and it fell, rolling across the spongy ground until it's beam was pointed to me me and I could only see the Goblin in silhouette. With the light blinding me, the Goblin just a horrifying shape, crawling through the muck towards me.

  "Can't you hear them!? They're everywhere!" the Goblin babbled, brown drool oozing down it's chin. It was in shadow now, crawling closer. I wanted to grab the flashlight, but I couldn't bring myself to put a hand closer to the thing.

  "They'll come out of the walls! You can't let them out! I won't let you!” I smelled it's rancid breath and looked into the Goblin's eyes. They were wild. I could smell the stink coming off him.

  “I won't let you pull me into the wall!" the Goblin screa-med, and I went for the J-Frame. I found it trapped in a prison of fabric. I could touch it, feel it's weight, trace every inch of it with my fingers, but I couldn't get to it. My heart pounded, flight and fight both on hold as confusion lead to terror.

  Rational Jonas and Curious Jonas were long gone. Neither of them could help me. Neither could tell me why I couldn't get to my god-damned gun. I was on my own.

  But not alone.

  The Goblin's hand brushed the flashlight, smiled, and then the flashlight went out with a 'click.' Suddenly I was in the dark with it, so close I could feel the Goblin's rancid breath on my face.

  I panicked.

  Putting my back against the roof of the tunnel I jerked my feet as hard as I could, bursting out the boxes and into the light and air. The Goblin screamed as the tunnel collapsed on it, and I panic-crawled over the pile of boxes, dashing for the stairs.

  "You're one of them!" the Goblin shouted. "You took Sadie into the wall! YOU ATE HER FLESH!"

  It erupted from the pile, charging at me on all fours; bounding like an animal. But I'd learned my lesson and I wasn't going to stay and chat. I burst out of the basement, and threw the door shut behind me, but the Goblin was too close.

  The basement door didn't latch, and only struck the thing in the head (with an admittedly satisfying thud.) The impact wasn't wasted, it slowed the Goblin down enough for me to get out of reach.

  I tore through the kitchen and into the living room, vaulting the sofa as it crawled after me, nearly as fast on it's hands and knees as I was on my feet; scuttling across the floor like an angry insect. It's tattoos were disorganized, but on the Goblin they fit far too well.

  The Goblin wore his madness on his sleeve.

  As I turned towards the entryway, I realized in horror that I'd locked the deadbolt and chained the door when I'd come in, to keep things from getting in Unfortunately, doing that guaranteed I'd have no quick way out. The Goblin gained as I weight my choices.

  Then the oily, fetid thing was at my feet, sharpened teeth going for my calf. I kicked it, sending it sprawling. But only for a moment. It staggered back onto it's hands and knees and I had to make a decision. The door or the stairs.

  I chose the stairs.

  I was a good six feet ahead of the Goblin, and the stairs slowed it down even more. With that small window of freedom my panic threshold lowered and I realized why I couldn't get to my gun.

  It was in my inside pocket of the jacket.

  I had my hand in the outside pocket, the pocket with my journal. Having no time to laugh at my rookie mistake, instead I reached into the jacket and drew the J-Frame.

  I turned and fired two rounds at the Goblin.

  I was shaking and my aim was off. The noise startled it, and I used the time to my advantage. I got around the corner as fast as I could manage, heading towards Em's bedroom.

  I was just turning to close the door when it hit me from behind, tackling me, and we rolled across the floor into the side of the Emmett's bed.

  I fired twice more as we wrestled, but neither round caught flesh. Then I was trying to get up but it's hands were on my pack, pulling me backwards. I could hear it's teeth snapping together behind me.

  I didn't want to lose my supplies, and more importantly, my ammo, and I struggled against it. Then I felt its hot, fetid breath on the nape of my neck, and the tip of its tongue running across my flesh.

  No more.

  The fuck-it threshold had been breached. I didn't exactly panic, but I shrugged out of the pack. I ran out the door into the hallway, the thing only seconds behind me. I chose the first available door and put it between me and the Goblin.

  The bathroom.

  This time I got the door closed and bolted. Then it stared slamming against the door. An interior door; nothing but cheap wood and lead paint between me and... something. The shell that's left when a broken human cracks under the weight of all this and goes feral

  I braced myself against the bathroom door and shut my eyes tightly.

  "I want her back! Give her to me! You took her into the wall and I want her back!" it screamed through the door. It hit the door until it got tired. Then it came back and it it again... and again and again.

  I guess... I guess I've already recorded what happened then. The Goblin and I spent all night in a stand-off, journalism until the door gave and then- I think I shot it? I must have.

  Honestly I can't remember.

  The next thing I do remember is walking through a field. It's spring and the flowers are blooming all around me. The sun is on my back and just for a moment, I wonder if I'm dead. It's not bad. The field is lush and warm, and peaceful.

  Then the rats come.

  Fat white rats, swarming around my feet, fetid and diseased, licking at my ankle with tiny rotting tongues. Little furry beasts trying to get inside my pant legs, trying to climb up my coat.

  I'm disgusted by them and I start stomping them, but for every rat I crush, two take it's place. One after another I crush their spines under my boot and still they come.

  Fearless... insane(?).

  I can't stop them and their blood fills the field, growing deeper, and deeper. First to my heel, then up over my ankle, the rodents dog paddling in it towards me.

  They come from everywhere. They are crawling over the corpses of their brothers and sisters. All coming for me, a never ending stream of white ve
rmin. I scream, not in fear but in anger, blood splashing with every stomp.

  Then I see her.

  The mother rat, fat and scabby, hair coming off of her in clumps. She writhes on the ground as rat after rat emerges from underneath her, hairless and blind and I know I'll never stop them... not until I crush her.

  Not until she's dead.

  I charge her and she flees, squealing into the blood and gore, throwing her children behind her.

  I woke up to a tiny, rough tongue on my face, and a curious weight on my chest. My eyes opened to something pleasant for once; a thin, fuzzy tabby.

  "Hello Thomas," I said, scratching the cat behind the ears. Thomas purred and nuzzled against my face. He was thin and I suspect he hadn't been properly fed in a while.

  Since his master had turned into that... thing.

  It took me a while to get on to my feet, Thomas walking in figure eights between my shaking legs, purring. But his eyes were clear and calm and lucid, and he moved with more confidence and dexterity than I did.

  My legs were sore and ached from bracing the door so long. I'd been in the same position all night. Stretching my legs felt so good I almost forgot about the pain.

  Almost.

  The blood flowed back into my legs, but as it did it my nerves were suddenly reminded of the kicking the Deputies had given me, and the fire, and the sterilizing.

  The pain needed to be dealt with. I finished the bottle of Tylenol three, and sat on the edge of the tub until the Codeine kicked in and the pain quieted, stroking Thomas' fur.

  When I get back to town, I'll have to visit Sarah again. That god damned witch. If I could just get some down time and heal I could go off the pills all together and be done with her. But every time I get close to that being an option... something happens. I've got to get my mind back, and I can't do it till I escape the fucking pain.

  One problem at a time. Can't lose focus.

  I moved quietly out of the bathroom, examining the blood trail. I tracked it as best I could down the stairs. There was a large brownish pool on the landing where the Goblin must have stumbled. He must have been there for some time, too, because it was the largest and darkest of the stains. He'd lost blood..