The Left Series (Book 7): Left Amongst The Corpses

by Christian Fletcher

  The staircase doglegged right then left, masking the green light and plunging us in total darkness for a brief moment. I thought Ralph would be gone when the shadowy light returned but amazingly, he still plodded down the staircase in front of me. Call me a paranoid cynic but if the situation was turned around the opposite way, I would have made a move on him in those short lived, split seconds of entire blackness.

  We finally trod onto solid ground at the bottom of the staircase and moved into a large open space, illuminated by the electric green light. Smith and Burland stood a few feet away from the staircase and Smith gazed around with a strange expression on his face.

  Ralph hurried to stand alongside Burland and they both stood in what looked like hunched, guilty schoolboy stances. My eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the weird green light and I took a glance around the area when I was ready. The breath seemed to be sucked from my body at what I saw.

  The green lights upwardly illuminated several figures clustered in bunches on raised plinths around the floor space. The figures were small and hunched and posed and dressed in themed costumes. It was one of the most horribly fascinating and freakiest scenes I’d ever observed.

  Motionless and obviously lifeless children stood on the various themed plinths dotted around the room. To the immediate left was a scene from ‘The Wizard Of Oz.’ A small girl wearing a blue and white dress, with glittery red shoes stood between dressed up boys in the lion, tin man and scarecrow garb. The four figures were linked arm in arm, perched on a painted yellow curve that signified the yellow brick road. Their eyes were closed and their expressionless faces looked pale and sordid, a far cry from the joyous movie they portrayed.

  I gasped, turning to the right. A horizontal line of equally dull expressional young boys, dressed in pin stripped suits and brandishing wide barreled Tommy guns aimed across the center of the room. A girl in a long blonde wig stood between the line of boys with her arms draped across the shoulders of the two figures each side of her. She wore a black dress tightly around her thin frame and white pearls around her forehead. I guessed this was a scene from the musical movie ‘Bugsy Malone.’

  I shuffled around, aware my mouth hung open like a goldfish in a tank. A small male and female couple were entwined in an embrace further around the room. A black wig in quaffed style sat on top of the boy’s head and he was dressed in black 1950’s style jeans and t-shirt. The girl wore a frizzy blonde wig, skinny black pants and a black top. A painted backdrop on the brick wall behind them depicted a flame red, 1950’s style American car. I guessed this display was supposed to be from ‘Grease.’

  I spun around and took in modeled scenes from ‘The Sound Of Music,’ ‘Mary Poppins,’ ‘West Side Story,’ ‘Cabaret’ and ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show.’ The basement stretched on further with more illuminated figures posed on partitioned plinths but my brain felt scrambled and I couldn’t decipher what musical movies they were depicted from. All the figures were kids, small children dressed and painted like macabre mannequins.

  “What the fuck is this place?” I stammered.

  “This is fucking art, buddy,” Ralph snapped. “I don’t expect somebody like you to appreciate it or even like it, but this is fucking art.”

  “No, no, no,” Smith growled, shaking his head. “This is fucking insane. This is the sickest thing I ever saw. These displays are just a bunch of dead kids. No wonder you sick fucks were so reluctant to let us in this place.” He turned his steely gaze onto Ralph and Burland. The green light cast an eerie shadow across Smith’s face and he looked like an animated character in a shoot ‘em up video game.

  Burland squirmed but Ralph remained indignant, jutting out his jaw and returning Smith’s glare. Obviously, Ralph whole heartedly believed in what he was creating down here.

  “Did you kill these kids or were they already turned?” Smith asked.

  Burland shuffled around on his feet and rubbed his forehead. Ralph retained his indignant expression.

  “We gave them immortality, which is a better future than the one they faced out there in the wilds,” Ralph said, almost in a whisper.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Smith rasped.

  “You know what it’s like out there,” Ralph snapped, glancing towards the staircase. “The world is no place for kids any more. There’s nobody left to take care of them.”

  “So you decided it was better to kill them and put them up on display in this fucking freak show you got here, is that it?” Smith barked.

  “It’s not like that,” Burland chipped in. “We wanted to create something beautiful in death.”

  “Beautiful, my ass,” Smith yelled.

  My initial shock receded and I felt a rising anger boiling through me. “I’ve seen some pretty sick shit since this whole apocalyptic shit began but this…” I waved my handgun around at the displays. “This about tops the whole shitty fucking thing.”

  Ralph took a step towards us and Smith and I instinctively aimed our handguns at him. He waved his arm in front of his face.

  “Don’t you get it? This is fucking animated art. We’ve created art in immortality. We’ve worked hard down here,” he rasped.

  “You’ve created nothing but monsters,” I hissed.

  Ralph shook his head. “I don’t agree,” he said.

  I wanted to hit him in his smug face. I wanted to shoot the arrogant motherfucker dead on the spot. My head spun and my hands shook. I felt sweaty and nauseous despite the chill in the air. I felt myself swaying on my feet and tried to focus on what was around me. I couldn’t afford to collapse into an unconscious heap right now.

  Smith spoke but I didn’t catch what he said. I couldn’t stand up straight and stumbled into Smith’s shoulder. My gun hand flopped against my side. Smith turned his gaze to me.

  “What’s going on with you, Wilde Man?” he asked.

  I mumbled some incoherent answer, desperately trying to get my shit together. I didn’t know whether it was the booze, dehydration, the shock of the gruesome basement displays or a combination of all three that had caused my lightheadedness. Smith lowered his handgun, turned towards me and gripped my shoulder. I shook my head and tried to ease the wooziness.

  “Run, Ralph,” Burland squawked.

  The two guys seized their opportunity. They turned and fled quickly, darting into the shadows where the eerie green light didn’t shine.

  “You fuckers come on back here,” Smith yelled. “I haven’t finished with your sick, sorry asses yet.” He stood me up straight and my senses slowly returned. “Jesus, kid. You don’t half pick your moments,” Smith muttered.

  “Sorry,” I rasped. “I don’t know what happened there.”

  “Forget about it, kid,” Smith said. “Let’s just focus on finding these two slimy bastards.”

  Our problem became worse when the green lights suddenly shut off, reducing Smith and I into total blackness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Ah, now what?” Smith rumbled from the darkness beside me.

  I heard him fumble around with his clothing and then a white, halogen flashlight beam clicked on. Smith looked ghostly, silhouetted beyond the light.

  “You okay, kid?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I croaked. My head cleared but I just wanted to get out of the cold, dark basement. Fuck Burland and Ralph. They were weird, child killing bastards but we weren’t their judge and executioners. “Can we get the hell out of here?”

  Smith grumbled, shining his flashlight around the open space. “We have some unfinished business here yet, kid.”

  “Come on, Smith,” I sighed. “Let’s just go. Fuck it, leave them here. They’ll get what’s coming to them one day real soon.”

  Smith turned to me, shining his flashlight in my face. “What, and just leave them to kill more kids for their fucking freak show? No fucking way, man.”

  A brief, high pitched scream echoed through the basement and I caught a glimpse of a figure lurching from the shadows
behind us. Smith and I half turned but the figure swung his arms and I heard an audible crack and Smith went down beside me. His flashlight tumbled from his hand and rolled across the floor, sending strange shaped shadows flashing across the opposite wall. I fired one shot from my handgun blindly. The brief orange flash stung my eyes and the smell of cordite flooded my nostrils.

  The figure screeched again and I caught a brief glimpse of the flashlight reflected in a pair of spectacle lenses. My brain quickly computed that Ralph was attacking us and I hadn’t hit him with my gunshot. I heard a whooshing sound and figured Ralph was taking a swing at me with whatever weapon he held in his hands.

  I instinctively took a backward step and raised my arms in a defensive stance. Something hard and solid, like a length of timber slammed against my forearms and the intense pain caused me to cry out and drop my handgun as I reeled to the right.

  I was aware of Smith groaning in the darkness from somewhere on the ground beside me. Ralph screeched again and I knew another blow was coming. I stumbled backward, crossing my arms in front of my face. My defense proved inadequate. The hard object slammed into the left side of my head, rocking me sideways and caused my legs to buckle at the knees. I felt warm sticky blood running down the left side of my face. My senses were reeling and I couldn’t stand up. I was disorientated and briefly caught sight of the ghoulish children aiming their Tommy guns at me before another solid blow on top of my head scrambled my brains entirely. I slumped on my back against the cold concrete floor, strangely wondering if I still had my teeth intact. The thought lingered before a total nothingness engulfed me.

  My eyes blinked against the bright sunlight but my face still felt cold. Bizarrely, I sat in the stand watching a tennis match on the court. The gorgeous woman I’d seen photos of in the clubhouse grunted slightly as she hit the ball across the net to win the unreturned shot against the kid I’d killed on the riverbank. Blood streamed down his neck and over his white t-shirt and shorts.

  Ralph and Dave Burland vigorously applauded from the opposite side of the court.

  “It’s not fair,” the kid protested in his Caribbean accent. “I’ve been shot in the neck and I can’t play properly.”

  His opponent, Pauline Ennis giggled as she picked up a ball and readied herself to serve. Her smile was radiant and her laugh was infectious. I smiled and watched her bounce the ball on her tennis racket. She was dressed in a tight, sleeveless white t-shirt and a short flowing white skirt. Her legs were tanned and toned, her blonde hair shone in the sun and she looked totally at home on the tennis court.

  “Any old excuse, ay?” she said, still smiling.

  Her accent puzzled me. She sounded as though she was from Liverpool in England. I remembered they used to call them scousers from that part of North West England. The accent was like The Beatles, who had musically dominated the world in the 1960’s. What the hell was she doing in the Caribbean? I decided I’d have to meet her after the game and find out more about her.

  “She’s quite something isn’t she?” a voice said from beside me.

  I turned and saw my alternative self sitting in the stands beside me. He was dressed in a big black hoodie and a pair of green combat fatigues. His face was as pale as death and a cigarette drooped from his mouth.

  “She is,” I agreed. “Who the hell is she?”

  “Came here from Liverpool a few years ago. Was married to a rich Dutch guy who tragically met his end on a yacht out on the reef. The ship sank and word has it all onboard were out of their minds on coke.” he explained. “She wasn’t there onboard, obviously but inherited his vacation apartment and his money but was already one hell of a tennis player. The hottest single chick on Saint Miep. You have no chance, pal.”

  “Probably not,” I muttered, rubbing a soreness on my scalp. “Can I have one of those?” I pointed to his smoke still hanging from his lips.

  My alternative self laughed, deep and haughtily.

  “No way, man. You and your pal Smith are in some deep shit, buddy. You better wake the fuck up and try and figure a way out of your predicament or you’re both going to be on show to the weird and wonderful.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped. The sunny world of the tennis court seemed to fade as though darkness was rapidly approaching.

  “You’ll figure it out,” my alternative self said. He tipped me a wink before the bright sunshine evaporated and I was plunged into a world of darkness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  I couldn’t move my arms up to shield my face from the spray of water showering over me. My eyes fluttered against the flow. My mouth was dry so I rolled a mouthful of water around my tongue and was grateful my teeth seemed to be intact. My head pounded as though I had the world’s worst hangover and my forearms stung with prickling pain even though I couldn’t move them. A bright white light shone against my closed eyelids from somewhere above me.

  “Our guests seem to have awoken from their slumber,” a voice said from somewhere in front of me.

  The spraying water ceased and I spat out my mouthful. I fluttered my eyes open and my senses gradually began returning. What the fuck was going on?

  Oh, shit! When I saw my surroundings I wished I’d stayed in my fantasy world or at the very least still unconscious.

  Smith and I were restrained with straps, side by side in straight backed gurneys, tilted at a forty-five degree angle. The orange colored straps secured our arms, legs and our throats to the back of the metal frames surrounding us. We were still in the basement but the lights seemed brighter. Overhead hanging bulbs shone bright light down on us, casting a ring of white light around the close ground. I guessed we were in the workshop at the back of the basement where these guys did their grisly work.

  I glanced to the left at Smith. He chewed on his gums and looked totally out of it. A stream of blood dripped from the back of his head and ran through his hair. My head felt swollen and the size of a melon. I turned my gaze to the front. Ralph and Dave Burland stood in front of me, wearing plastic aprons with conceited grins on their faces.

  What had these pair of bastards done to us and what horrors had they in store for us next? Our guns, holsters, radios and jackets were gone and all our other weapons were back in the clubhouse.

  “We don’t normally do this to such…erm grown up people,” Ralph said, smirking. “But you left us with no choice. We are going to find a place down here for you two.” He sniffed. “Maybe if it is only in the corner someplace.”

  Dave Burland laughed haughtily. His double chin wobbled with the effort. Pain pulsed through my head and I felt the warmness of a thick trickle of blood merging with the drops of water running down the side of my face. How the hell had Smith and I managed to get ourselves into this fucking mess?

  I had to think. Think rationally. Figure a way out.

  “Play for time, keep them engaged in what they know and what they like,” my alternative self said inside my head.

  “So, just out of interest, what theme have you got planned for us?” I managed to croak.

  Ralph smiled and wheezed out a laugh. “You see? You’re coming around to our way of thinking. You and your friend are going to be beautifully portrayed in art form for all eternity. Doesn’t that make you feel something glorious inside?” He thumped his chest with his fist. “It’s the best fucking art in the world, man.” He turned back to study his creations, waving a gesturing hand across the basement. “Humans have created the best art and such beautiful things in the world but are also capable of such abhorrent fuck ups, like the world we see out there now.” He leaned closer to my face with a crazed grin and I sensed a weird sugary smell on his breath.

  “So, what’s the theme?” I asked again. “How are me and my buddy going to be immortalized? I was never a big fan of musicals.”

  Ralph smiled and shook his head. “No, no musical themes for you guys. You remember what you said earlier?”

  I shook my head as much as I could against the restr
aints.

  “You said I created monsters. So you got me thinking. How about the good Doctor Frankenstein and his monster? You will be the doctor and your friend here can be the monster creation.” A malevolent expression engulfed his face. “It’ll take some work, lots of sawing, cutting, probing and resetting but we’re confident it can be done.” He turned to his accomplice and Burland nodded enthusiastically.

  Ralph waved his hands slowly and horizontally. “I can see it now, although we sketch it all first. You will be Doctor Frankenstein standing alongside his creation, which with a little work we’ll turn your buddy into.”

  Shit! This was worse than I ever imagined. Keep them talking, play for time.

  “How do you do all this?” I asked.

  “Ralph Pinchbeck here used to work in the movies,” Burland said. “You’ve probably heard of him. His movies are too many to name. He was over here on vacation from the States when this all started. We kind of formed a bond and decided this was what we wanted to do.”

  I’d never heard of the guy but nodded, feigning interest.

  “It keeps us going,” Ralph said, nodding. “Some people go around wandering through the countryside and searching for a better life but we’ve found our utopia right here. But to answer your question, we’ll inject you with a sedative in the base of your spine.” He gestured to a table to his left with several phials and syringes sitting on the top. “It’ll render you motionless but unfortunately for you, you’ll still be able to feel every cut and alteration we do to your body. Just grin and bear it, buddy.” He smiled at me sarcastically. “Just remember it won’t last forever. Then we pump you full of embalming fluid while we drain your blood at the same time.” His eyes widened behind his lenses and he flashed his hands up in front of my face. “That’s how the magic happens,” he whispered.