Jack felt his legs buckle and had to fight to keep himself in place. The giant monster before him leaned closer to him, and he could feel its hot, nauseating breath on his face. He heard a deep chuckle rumble from its throat.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, feeling his strength leave him.
Jack felt two large hands grip either side of his head. Then an immense pain spiked as the appendages pressed together, crushing his skull completely as grey brain-matter and red mush burst forth from between the creature’s thick fingers.
51
Adrian reached for the barrel of the weapon as he was dragged farther towards that disgusting open sack.
He fought against the pull of the stalk-like thing that held him, but try as he might, the metal weapon lay agonisingly out of reach.
‘Reid,’ he yelled out again. ‘Please.’
The door to the room was forced further open, and Adrian saw a flow of blood run from between the open gap.
He looked again to the doctor, desperate, but Reid was useless to him, crouched, sobbing in a corner.
Adrian was on his own and he was going to die.
Whatever this large, tumour-like thing was, he was confident it was going to kill him, and then likely bring him back as one of those things. The creatures here would then break free, spilling out into the world.
The words uttered by Robert Wilson—or the thing using his body—hung in Adrian’s mind. What it had said about him receiving a penance that he deserved, and also that his mother would be pleased.
Was that true? Would his own mother really be happy that he was about to meet his death?
Of course she would.
Adrian could still remember the look on her face before he’d smothered it under that pillow. Caring for her after she’d been stricken with that damn illness was hard.
Too hard to bear.
It had stripped the life from her, making her a shell… a husk. Always in pain and always miserable. He’d loved her so much, and yet he could do nothing to help her.
Or so he thought.
But a solution did present itself, and he had taken it, and now that decision meant he was forever wracked with guilt and shame. He would never forget the feeling of holding that dirtied pillow over her face—ravaged, pale, and sunken—as she fought meekly against him.
Adrian had killed his mother like he had his father before her.
He truly was a monster, worthy of the pain, suffering, and death that was now waiting for him. So why bother fighting it? It’s what he deserved.
But was that fate what everyone else deserved? Everyone outside of this damned asylum?
Jack had given his life so that they would have a chance to end this. And given what a disappointment and monster he’d turned out to be—just like his father—shouldn’t he at least strive for one moment where he did something good? Something worthwhile that actually helped people?
Even if no one would ever know.
Though perhaps, if his dear mother did now exist somewhere, and she was looking down on him, she might feel something like pride for him.
He clenched his fists together and clenched his teeth, readying himself. Adrian dug the balls of his feet into the floor and pushed his body forward, fighting against the strong pull from the alien vine that worked against him. The thrust managed to gain him a little ground, but as he looked up, he saw the door to the room open fully, and Jack’s ruined body flop to the floor in a pool of blood.
Adrian pushed again, his fingers brushing against the warm metal of the nozzle, but he was not close enough to take hold fully.
Another tentacle wrapped around his other leg.
No. I won’t let you.
The force working against him was greater now. And to compound things, the giant beast entered the room with a deafening roar.
No.
Adrian pressed his palms into the floor and arched his back a little, like a sprinter ready for the firing gun, and with every ounce of strength he could muster he pushed off his feet and again flung himself forward, arms outstretched.
This time, he managed to grab hold of the nozzle with a firm grip. Working quickly, he manoeuvred it in his hands, turning it as the great behemoth made its way over to the cowering form of Reid, a swarm of other monstrosities flooding in behind it.
The tank beside Adrian squeaked across the floor as it was pulled along with him. Adrian had now given up fighting against the pull.
He had what he needed now and took aim at the form of Robert Wilson—the thing he hoped was the centre of this ever-expanding nightmare. He then held his breath… and pulled the trigger.
A stream of fire burst forward.
The behemoth and its brethren stopped upon seeing the flames arc through the air, and it growled in protest.
But Adrian kept up the assault, despite still being dragged back. He saw the flesh at the centre of the room ignite, then he gave another burst as he felt his feet pulled into that foul, fleshy sack.
Again and again he fired the weapon, as he was dragged completely into the darkness, and the sides started to close around him, trapping him inside the slimy, pungent growth. However, he managed to keep his arm free of the opening after the sack closed around it, painfully trapping the appendage.
Another prolonged squeeze. And another. Firing blind.
Eventually, it would fire no more, now out of fuel, and he was forced to drop it as he heard the screams of the creatures outside.
Adrian had no idea if the plan had worked or not.
Then he felt something slither to his face and force its way into his mouth.
52
Reid continued to press himself into the wall of pulsating flesh behind him, crying out in terror as the vile creatures made their way towards him. The fire that Adrian—who had disappeared into that tumorous sack—had thrown around the room had stopped the monsters momentarily, but as Wilson’s form burned, they seemed to find renewed vigour.
And they turned their attention to him.
The giant thing at the head of the pack took a couple of huge steps towards him, and Reid cried out, not yet ready to die.
Especially not like this.
But as the fire spread and the room became engulfed with searing hot flame, the behemoth faltered.
Its huge legs seemed to wobble.
It growled as it tried to take another step forward, but only succeeded in losing its footing completely. It then crashed to the floor, its head falling at the feet of Reid.
The other monstrosities seemed to be faring no better, all dropping to the ground and writhing around before finally falling motionless. The great hulk before Reid gave a few more spasms, trying in vain to cling to life, but finally expelled a long breath, and soon it, too, was still.
The only sound now was the incessant crackling as the room continued to burn. Reid felt the heat and smoke gather strength around him.
Run!
This was his chance.
Perhaps it was now all over, and Adrian James had succeeded. Which meant that Reid was the last one left alive.
He took a tentative step forward, needing to pass over the massive body of the behemoth that blocked the way before him. He slowly climbed atop its back, the enormous body holding firm beneath him.
It did not stir.
He made his way from the room, scrambling over the piled bodies of impossible creatures of nightmarish compositions, and as he did, he looked over to that sack of flesh at the foot of the burning mass. Adrian’s arm still protruded from it, but was unmoving.
Perhaps there was a chance he was still alive? If so, shouldn’t Reid help?
But the fire was growing stronger, and quickly, and Reid felt a sense of horrible familiarity. He remembered the burning room from his past, and his pleading wife and child. He knew at the time that if he had tried to save them, he would have been killed as well.
And the fire here was growing too strong.
The hell with Adrian James.
; Reid continued climbing over the lifeless bodies, seeing the remains of the towering fool Jack beneath them all, and made his way to the corridor beyond. It was cooler here, the air—while still heavy—much cleaner. There were a few motionless creatures scattered about the ground, now empty husks.
Reid broke into a jog, a feeling of freedom washing over him.
Considering the position he had found himself in not long ago, having to choose between being a prisoner or being killed, the turnaround in his fortunes had been drastic.
Up the stairs he ran and out into the large Main Hall. He knew he would still need to find that key to escape, and that would take time, but if he was the only one left alive in Arlington Asylum, then it mattered little.
However, as he made his way forward, he noticed that the key would not be needed at all.
The main door to the facility lay on the floor—twisted, bent, and ruined. The remaining doorframe was cracked and misshapen and the way through free and unobstructed. Something had forced its way out.
Reid hesitated, instinctually, but quickly realised that whatever it was, it would now be dead, too, given what had happened down in the basement. So his escape had been made that much easier.
He felt his heart lift, and he let out a laugh as he sprinted forward, passing the sloppy, gory mess of Seymour’s body, and on towards the cold air that spilled in from the opening.
Towards his freedom.
He burst free from that damn asylum—finally—and out into the night, ready to continue his run back into the normal world.
The sane world.
But as he broke clear of the threshold, he stopped.
There was a flight of grand stone steps outside of the facility that led down to the lower ground level outside. At the bottom of the steps stood two stone pillars, and it was between those pillars, on the bottom step, that something stood with its back to him.
Something Reid recognised—that thing from the corridor before.
The Dark Priest.
And it was very much alive.
Impossible, he thought, it should be dead.
He heard a chuckle come from the thing as it turned to him, showing its mangled face.
‘Killing the link to the creator has no bearing on me, wretch,’ it said as if reading his thoughts.
Then he realised that was exactly what had happened.
‘What are you?’ Reid asked, his voice quivering. Freedom stood just behind that thing, out beyond the stone driveway that led off between the trees and into the darkness, where the exit sat within the boundary walls. The walk to a populated area would take hours and hours, but it was something Reid could certainly do.
Now, however, his escape seemed infinitely far away.
‘I am the purpose of the Creator. Its goal in this world was to create me, so that part of it could live on, free from the decay and death it is suffering in its own existence.’
‘But the other… things? They’re all dead,’ Reid said.
‘Those mongrels were nothing. Merely a result of the Creator spreading its influence, gaining enough strength here for what it needed to do.’ The thing opened its arms wide to either side. ‘To birth me unto this world. And it succeeded.’
‘What will you do?’
The thing shrugged, which Reid saw as a very human gesture. ‘Whatever I wish. I will wait and learn… and then mould this world into what I wish it to be. A place like the home of my creator. And I will reside atop a throne of bodies and blood.’
It then began to laugh—a horrible, demonic sound.
‘Please,’ Reid begged, ‘please let me go.’
The thing continued to laugh, but gave a simple answer.
‘No.’
It raised an arm towards Reid, then flicked up its hand. Reid felt himself suddenly rise up from the ground, pulled upwards by some unknown force… farther and farther until he was about twenty feet in the air, hovering.
He cried out.
‘No! Please!’
Then the Dark Priest below held both arms straight out before it and started to slowly pull them apart. It took a moment for Reid to feel the pain begin to rise in him, and he groaned and squirmed.
And then the pain increased even more, growing stronger, and he started to really feel it.
His skin, the very make-up of his body, began to pull itself apart, and Reid could do nothing, only feel every tiny ounce of absolute agony as it happened.
His skin began to separate, splitting and pulling away from his body, dragging his clothes with it, leaving the meat and flesh attached to his bones, nerves and muscles now exposed.
The skin fell to the ground like a discarded pelt, slapping to the stone with a wet squelch. Blood poured down from his body as the tendons and muscle began to pull away as well.
He continued to screech in hellish torment as he saw the glistening red meat rip off of him and plummet below in bloody chunks.
The Dark Priest continued its incessant, mocking laughter as Reid suffered an unimaginable hell.
His guts and intestines pulled themselves free and hovered for him to see. One then wrapped around his neck, with another snaking into his mouth, choking him.
All the while, the demonic conductor below orchestrated the desecration upon his dying body.
One eye was pulled free, and the optic nerve severed. It, too, plopped to the ground, into the pile of gore that was building up.
His pain was absolute.
And finally it ended, but only when the Dark Priest allowed it to end. The thing pulled its arms out wider, and the last thing Reid felt was his body exploding in a shower of meat and blood.
The entity had truly enjoyed itself.
It felt the wretch’s fear, pain, and suffering, and it was truly exquisite.
It then turned and looked out to the world it intended to one day rule.
For now, though, it was time to leave this place behind.
The building—where it had come into the world—meant nothing to it.
It needed to find a place to dwell, to grow, while it formulated the downfall and subjugation of the pathetic human race.
The entity did not follow the path out, instead choosing to turn to its left, heading into the welcoming darkness of the trees.
And it kept going.
53
The wriggling thing that had forced its way painfully down Adrian’s throat had become still. The compressing walls of the pod had eased, and the teeth that covered the internal lining no longer worked into his skin.
Outside of his fleshy cocoon, he heard the crackling of fire. He could even feel its heat emanate through the pod that held him.
And he was alive.
A sliver of flickering light made its way through into his surroundings from outside, wedged open by his aching arm. He could smell burnt meat and thick smoke.
Adrian moved his arms as best he could in the tight space available and grasped hold of the alien thing that was lodged in his oesophagus. He heaved at it and felt it slowly start to pull up from his gut, making him gag. It caused a horrible, burning sensation in his throat, but still he continued, tears running down his face.
Eventually, the slimy tentacle was pulled free, and Adrian emptied the contents of his stomach as the head of it slopped from his mouth.
After taking a moment, he then forced both arms through the small opening and started to squeeze himself through. It was a struggle at first, but eventually the walls of the pod gave, opening just enough for him to flop to the floor outside.
Into an inferno.
Flames coated the room and were close to the cocoon he had just escaped from. The heat was almost unbearable and the smoke overpowering, making it hard to see as the fire scorched the monstrous bodies that littered the floor.
Adrian sucked in whatever air he could, though he couldn’t help but draw in smoke, causing him to cough and dry-heave again.
With a spinning head, he knew he would not last long in this place. So he pushed him
self up to unsteady feet, got his bearings, and then ran through the flames, feeling them lick at him as he went.
He shielded himself with his arms as best he could, but soon became aware that the ruined clothing he wore had caught fire at the waist.
But he didn’t have time to stop. So, instead, he stomped over the fallen bodies, careful of his footing to try to avoid the worst of the fire. He stumbled slightly, but was able to keep his balance and pushed on as the flames burned at his already stinging skin.
Finally, Adrian managed to stumble out of the chamber, into the relatively clean, cold air of the passageway beyond. He ripped off his burning clothing and dropped them to his side, now completely naked.
Not that he cared.
After a few more stumbling steps, Adrian let himself fall the ground, pulling in mouthfuls of oxygen. He allowed himself a moment to rest—to allow his body to stop shaking and head to stop spinning.
And in that moment, he was unable to stop his thoughts from running to his mother.
To his last moments with her as she had begged him to end her suffering.
She had hated that she was such a burden. And the constant pain was unbearable, so she had asked of him the unaskable. He had tried to dissuade her—begged her not to make him do it, but she had insisted, pleading that he be brave and do this one last thing for her.
And, in the end, Adrian had obliged—reluctantly giving her the release she had so desperately wanted.
But the woman at the time had been close to delirious, such was the pain she was in, and Adrian could never convince himself it was what she had actually wanted. He didn’t hold out long enough to find out for sure and had been too quick to kill.
Again.
And if it had been the delirium talking, then he had murdered his innocent mother, the one person in this world who had ever loved and cared for him.
Then there was her struggle as he held the pillow over her face. Why would she fight back if she wanted to die? Adrian had taken it as a natural reaction, but was that really it?
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