Urban Gothic

by Brian Keene

  While she was thinking this, Heather spotted a light up ahead, coming from the tunnel that led into the larger cave complex and back up to the house. It grew bigger and brighter as she watched, enough that she could make out the room’s interior again.

  Oh good, she thought, now I’ll be able to see them clearly before they fucking eat me.

  The noises coming from the crevice grew louder. Heather quickly crossed the floor and peeked inside. The tide of in vitro deformities squawked when they saw her and began crawling faster. She ducked back into the room again. The light was closer and brighter still.

  She was trapped.

  Heather glanced around the room wildly, searching for anything useful. She knocked aside the remaining paperwork and overturned the table in a desperate race to find another weapon. There had to be something, even a fork to go with the butter knife she’d found earlier.

  The first of the baby monstrosities tumbled into the room with a wet, squelching sound. Even in the semidarkness, she could see the massive pupils in its watery eyes focusing on her immediately. It had no legs—just two short, stubby arms. Amazingly, the creature balanced on its hands and waddled toward her, mewling like a cat. Heather grabbed one of the old blankets and tossed it over the creature. Its cries increased as it fumbled around beneath the blanket. Heather drew back her bare foot and kicked it. The creature was soft and yielding beneath her toes. She raised her foot and brought her heel down. The baby screamed. She stomped it again and again, feeling tiny bones snap beneath her weight. It squealed and thrashed and then lay still.

  In response to its cries, she heard footsteps coming from the direction of the light. The room grew brighter. More of the creature’s brothers and sisters tottered out of the crevice. One by one, they poured into the small room. All of them were deformed. Most should never have lived, yet here they were. Some of the monstrosities were missing limbs. Others had bodies that were so twisted and ruined, she wasn’t sure how they functioned. Their faces were the stuff of nightmares. Some were missing eyes or had too many. Others had gaping holes where their noses should have been and rotted cavities in place of mouths. Each of them was bathed in filth, crusted with vile sludge like pigs that had wallowed in mud and shit. Incredibly, many of them had mold and tiny, pale mushrooms growing in their body’s crevices and crannies.

  As if following some silent, communal command, the mutants fanned out, trying to surround her. Terrified and disgusted, Heather picked up the half-rotten table and flung it at them. The furniture exploded, slamming into a tightly clustered knot of the things and shattering, spraying both shards of wood and splatters of blood. The babies screamed. Down the tunnel, the light grew brighter still, and the footsteps increased their pace, running now.

  “Goddamn it! You leave those young ones alone, bitch.”

  Heather recognized the voice immediately. It was the same one who had confronted her earlier, in the darkness. The one who had boasted of taking Brett’s belt from Javier. As if to confirm her suspicions, she heard the belt crack as the light drew closer.

  She had to move fast. If she delayed any longer, they’d trap her here, inside this grotto. Heather didn’t want that to happen. If she had to die tonight, she didn’t want it to be at the hands of these hideous, infantile freaks. Better to bash her own head against the cave walls until she lost consciousness. She needed to find a way out. For a second, she considered retracing her steps and going back up into the house, but she decided against it. The house was the hunting ground for these things—or more accurately, for the adults. Even if it was deserted now, there was no telling how many more traps lay in wait up there, and there was no guarantee that she’d be able to find an exit that wasn’t blockaded. No, her best bet was finding another way out of the tunnels. There had to be other entrances and exits, because otherwise, the things would have starved a long time ago. They couldn’t possibly live on just what prey came into the house.

  “Hey, woman, do you hear me? Just give up now. I’ll be quick. Bleed you before you even know what happened. You’re only making it worse on yourself!”

  The voice was closer. Clearer now. Less echo and distortion, but still as terrible as before.

  Making it worse, Heather thought. How could it get any worse? Her friends were probably all dead, and she was trapped beneath the streets of Philadelphia with a bunch of inbred mutant freaks.

  The infants recovered from her attack and began to regroup. Their frantic, mewling cries increased. The belt cracked again, echoing down the corridor. Heather darted forward and grabbed a splintered table leg, momentarily placing herself within striking distance. Several of the more daring creatures swiped and spat at her, hissing with rage. The smell wafting off them was enough to make her eyes sting and water.

  She swung the table leg and sprang backward, halting their advance. The light grew even brighter—close enough now that she could make out the circular beam of a flashlight and the shadowy figure behind it.

  There had to be a way out. That was what mattered. All the freaks and monsters and filth and death and stench in this place wouldn’t matter if she made it to the other end and escaped. Heather kept telling herself that as she gagged at the stench in the air and eyed her attackers. The rejects and nightmares hopped, flopped, and sputtered as they tried to surround her again.

  One of them—an emaciated thing with pasty skin between patches of filth and clay, bulging eyes and bared, oversized, yellowed teeth—charged at her, reaching with both skeletal hands. Screaming, Heather swung with her club. The table leg connected with moist skin, making a squelching sound that reminded Heather of a shoe sinking into mud. The thing grunted and then screamed, the long, bony fingers of its hands grasping at her ankle before Heather could pull back.

  The cold, tiny fingers were unnaturally strong, and before she knew what was happening, the monster was upon her. Powerful hands gripped her leg and the dead white face of the thing lunged forward, the oversized teeth clamping down on her ankle and biting savagely, cutting through the denim of her jeans and into her skin. Teeth scraped over bone and peeled away flesh. Heather groaned as pain coursed up her leg. She swung the club, smashing it against the monster’s back and shoulder. She half expected the rotten wood to fall apart in her hands, but instead, it held solid, thrumming with the force of her blows. Each strike delivered ugly purple and red welts on the creature’s pasty white skin. It released her leg and hopped back, shrieking and batting at the air. Heather hissed in delight as it writhed in obvious pain. The rest of the swarm, which had been preparing to charge, now held back. Heather could see the caution and uncertainty in their eyes.

  All of that vanished a second later as the figure with the flashlight entered the room.

  “Oh my God . . .”

  The figure smiled. “Like my suit, do you? Think it’s pretty? Go on, take a good look. You’re going to be my new Sunday dress.”

  The figure wore a dead woman’s skin over its body. Crude, black stitches ran up the legs and abdomen, encircling the waist and neck. The flat breasts hung low. The skin was smooth and shiny, and pulled taut across the maniac’s chest and arms. She could see his own muscles rippling and bulging beneath the second skin. Perhaps most shocking was the killer’s groin. His penis jutted from the folds of the dead, tanned vagina, fully erect. She glanced back up at his face and saw him lick his lips as he appraised her.

  “It’s more than a suit,” he whispered. “It’s me. It’s my skin. My second skin.”

  “Scug,” Heather said, recalling his name from their earlier meeting.

  “Yeah,” the killer said. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”

  He laughed, and Heather stepped sideways, favoring her injured leg. Immediately, the other mutants began to growl. She froze.

  “You’ll make a fine new addition to my wardrobe,” Scug said. “But enough pussyfooting around. Might as well get to work, right? Let’s get this over with. I’ve got lots to do tonight, and you and your friends have alre
ady got me off schedule.”

  His tone was matter-of-fact, his gravely voice almost bored. His eyes flicked to the table leg in her hand, and he laughed. Then, moving quickly, he lashed out at her with the belt. It cracked toward her. Heather felt the breeze from its passage as it narrowly missed her cheek. She managed to avoid the blow, darting to the side, but she stumbled and lost her footing. She fell to her knees, wincing in pain as the rough stone floor dug into her flesh. Scug lunged toward her, still cackling with laughter. Without thinking, Heather reached out with one hand, grabbed one of the smaller infants by the arm and stumbled to her feet. She swung the squalling baby, smacking Scug in the side of the head with the flailing infant. Both adult and baby tumbled to the floor. Scug stirred. The baby did not.

  Heather ran for the exit. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain flaring in her ankle.

  Behind her, Scug and the other mutants went berserk. They shrieked their anger, bellowing and lashing out wildly, slamming fists, flippers and stumps against the grotto’s walls and staggering about in fury.

  “You’re gonna pay for that,” Scug bellowed. “Oh, you are going to hurt for that!”

  One of the creatures slithered in front of Heather, blocking her escape. It had crude, bony flippers instead of legs, and its arms seemed more like tentacles than anything useful. She wheeled around, searching for an opening. Howling with rage, Scug threw the flashlight at her.

  It smashed against the wall, plunging the room into darkness again. Heather was facing the crevice when the blackness returned. Swallowing hard, she ran straight ahead, plunging blindly, arms outstretched in front of her.

  “You bitch,” Scug yelled. “You scraggly little bitch! I’m gonna knife-fuck you. I’ll pull out your intestines and stick my dick in them. I’ll pop out your eyeballs and fuck the sockets.”

  Heather’s bare foot came down hard on one of the babies. She slipped but maintained her balance. Something warm and wet squished between her toes. The infant wailed, thrashing beneath her foot. She stepped over it and limped on.

  “Stop it,” Scug shouted. “Leave them alone! I swear to Ob, when I get my fucking hands on you, I’m going to give you to Noigel and let him do what he does best.”

  Heather didn’t know who Ob was, or what Noigel’s specialty might be, and she didn’t care. She didn’t intend to stick around long enough to find out. Her fingers brushed against the wall. She groped around, found the crevice, and plunged into it. Behind her, the sounds of fury reached a deafening level. Heather scrabbled back up the slope, ignoring the sharp rocks beneath her hands and feet. She kept low, so that she wouldn’t bump her head on the low ceiling. When her knee came down on a shard of broken glass from her lantern, she barely winced. Panic and adrenaline drove her onward.

  She estimated that she’d reached the point where she’d first encountered the infant hordes before pausing to listen for pursuit. Sure enough, they were following. Scug was in the lead, judging by the sound. Heather scurried on, crawling through the darkness, not knowing what lay ahead, nor bothering to consider it.

  The stench grew worse. Whatever it was that the baby freaks had been crawling around in, the source lay up ahead. Heather breathed through her mouth and refused to stop. Her entire body trembled, and now the pain started to creep in. She ignored it and gritted her teeth.

  Her pursuers had grown quiet, but she could still hear them back there, relentless in their goal. They crawled and slithered without speaking. All she heard now were fingernails and claws on stone. She felt a breeze on her face, and when she patted the tunnel walls, she got the perception that it was widening again. Heather tried standing. While she couldn’t straighten up to her full height, she managed to get into a sort of crouch. Her shoulders and back brushed against the ceiling. Ducking down a little bit more, she continued on until the passage broadened even more. Then she stood and stretched.

  Heather paused. The stench grew more powerful. She could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit behind her, but Heather had no doubt that Scug and his minions were still there, creeping stealthily forward in the dark, intent on sneaking up and catching her unawares. Her only chance was to keep moving forward. Still, she hesitated, scared of what lay ahead. She was hoping for a way out, yes, but not one that led even deeper into the darkness. What if the blackness grew so dense and so complete that it snuffed her out? What if she simply ceased to exist?

  I’m losing it. The darkness isn’t a living thing. Keep moving, Heather. You owe it to Javier and the others. Go, damn it. Just go!

  She shuffled forward, her body aching with every hesitant step. Her feet came down on something soft. Frowning, Heather knelt on the cavern floor and reached out experimentally. The material felt like a mix of newspaper strips, scraps of cloth, and fiberglass insulation. When Heather had been younger, she’d owned two hamsters named Tweedle-Dee and Totally-Dumb. The bedding in the bottom of their cage had consisted of newspaper scraps and pine shavings. This reminded her of that.

  The stench was at its strongest here, but so was the breeze. Both washed over her, seeming to cling to her body. Heather coughed, unable to control the urge any longer. She froze, listening for any sign that she’d given her position away, but the tunnel remained silent behind her. Heather started to wonder if maybe she was wrong. Maybe Scug and the others had given up. Or maybe they were waiting. Maybe this was a dead end and they knew she’d have to come back.

  She coughed again, gagging. It occurred to her that if she dropped lower, perhaps the nauseating odor wouldn’t be as bad. After all, wasn’t that what firemen said to do during a fire? If you dropped to the ground, the smoke couldn’t reach you, because it climbed higher. Maybe the same thing would work in this situation. Anything was better than kneeling here and breathing it in. She could taste the reek in the back of her throat—oily and sour.

  She hunkered down on her hands and knees and crawled forward. The material on the floor rustled beneath her, but Heather pressed onward, deciding that it was too late to change course. Her eyes still watered and stung, and her throat still felt coated, but the stench seemed more tolerable at ground level. Heather didn’t know if it was her imagination or not. Then her hand came down on something hard and cylindrical. Cold metal. A flashlight!

  Oh please let there be batteries in it. Oh please oh please oh please . . .

  She debated whether to try it. If her pursuers were still there, the flashlight would undoubtedly lead them right to her. On the other hand, if they weren’t, having some visibility would help her escape that much quicker.

  If it even works. Don’t know until I try it.

  Holding her breath, Heather found the button on the side of the flashlight and pressed it. She almost passed out when the light came on. It was weak, but compared to the utter blackness she’d found herself in a moment before, the beam flooded the space with dazzling brilliance. Spots floated in front of Heather’s eyes. She closed them for a moment and then opened them again, squinting and letting them adjust. When she could see again, she looked around.

  She was in a large, round chamber, with tunnel openings on each end. The floor was indeed piled high with bedding—shredded newspapers and magazines, strips of old blankets, sheets and clothing, rolls of fiberglass insulation, and other soft material. Heather felt a bizarre surge of pride that she’d been able to identify the assortment just by touch. Scattered among the litter were old, broken toys—a dump truck missing a wheel, a doll with stuffing leaking from its seams, wooden blocks covered with mold.

  With dawning horror, Heather realized that she was standing in some obscene nursery.

  She climbed to her feet and hurried onward, stumbling for the exit. The smell was like a wall, but she no longer cared. She put her head down, breathed through her mouth, and forced herself to keep going.

  She left the nursery and continued on. The passageway was short—more of an alcove than an actual tunnel. It opened into an even larger chamber. She stopped and shined the flashlight around. The
landscape became clearer, but no less unsettling. There were heaps of refuse in front of her, islands of filth and ruined furniture, as well as broken, waterlogged lumber, rusted tin cans, glass bottles, scraps of cloth, and what looked like leather. None of it was new. Most of the debris was decrepit with age and rotten to the point of being almost unrecognizable. All of it stood in water deep enough to hide the floor below. Heather fanned her nose. The water was the worst—more sludge than liquid. She shined the flashlight across it and saw faint discolored rainbows of stagnated pollution and lumps of feces. Then she noticed something else.

  Bones.

  The water was full of human remains—all of them skeletal and picked clean, none of them complete. A shattered femur here. A broken rib cage there. A splintered half-skull grinning at her from the muck.

  Heather stifled a scream and trained the beam of light on the reeking mounds of garbage. To her surprise, the piles were honeycombed with holes—manufactured caves. They were igloo-like structures made of refuse and filth, lined with old newspapers and scraps of other debris. Deep within those black hidey-holes, shapes began to stir, clearly disturbed by her sudden intrusion.

  At one time in her life, Heather had planned on becoming a veterinarian. That dream had faded in quick succession when she decided to become a nurse, a hairdresser, and then a lawyer, before ultimately admitting that she had no clue what she wanted to be when she graduated—not that the admission had stopped her parents and the school guidance counselor. But during the brief time that she’d considered a career in veterinary services, Heather had watched every nature show she could find on television and absorbed every detail. There had been certain rules among the animals, and thinking of those rules while looking into the vile warren in front of her, she understood that the rules of nature had not merely been broken, but discarded completely.