Blue Sludge Blues & Other Abominations

by Shannon Lawrence

Using a flashlight, I stepped into the cave, hunched over to keep my head from hitting the top. Several feet in, the ceiling got taller, and I was able to stand to my full height. In fact, as I kept walking deeper, the cavern yawned above me. We began to move downward on a gradual slope.

  The guys followed me in, Nathan using his phone as a flashlight (“It works just as well as a real one,” he would always insist). Syracuse had a smaller flashlight, shining it around from the rear of our little caravan.

  A rushing sound filled the cavern as we continued moving downward. I finally realized what it was: water. Was there a stream or something down here?

  The deeper we went, the louder it became. The inside of the cave became damp, cool drops falling on us from above, our feet splashing through puddles until we began paying better attention to what was at our feet. The cavern had been smooth the entire time. Worn by water in the past, perhaps. The air smelled of mildew and wet limestone.

  The space around us had also become tighter the deeper we’d wandered. I again had to stoop to move forward, at times having to turn sideways to get through a really close portion of the tunnel. For a tunnel it had become, no longer a cavern. And still that roar pulled us forward, curious as to what awaited us.

  We reached a point where it became obvious the only way forward would be to get on our bellies and slither through. Before proceeding, we looked at each other. Syracuse shrugged. We shrugged in return. Then we crawled. It was narrow and dark, and I began to feel panic welling up in me. Trapped as I was between the two of them, I had no choice but to go forward. From the sound of their panting breaths in the confined space, I couldn’t be the only one not enjoying the experience. The stench of rotten meat hit us just as we burst into a large open area, the ceiling disappearing entirely from the prodding of our flashlights. Ahead of us stood a massive waterfall, cascading down the rock face, no beginning in sight. It came through a hole way at the top, against the wall, churning the air as it churned the water. Perhaps this is what had kept the wretched smell from us before.

  We stood on an abutment, and below us swirled water, spinning as if going down a funnel. It was like something out of a movie, the water spinning faster and faster as it neared the center. Calypso couldn’t have created a more terrifying maelstrom in the middle of the open sea.

  The roar rose around us, battering our eardrums, vibrating through our bodies. The air was frigid, but humid, something we didn’t get a lot of in Colorado. Water droplets seemed to travel past us in slow motion, the air saturated with moisture.

  It was as we stared down into this torrent that Syracuse was snatched from behind us. His foot struck me as he traveled upward, knocking his sneaker off and sending me sprawling. I didn’t have time to react, to grab him. Something had taken hold of him or propelled him upward, but it had been too fast for me to see what it was. He went straight up in the air above us before crashing down into that insane drain, one yelp all he got out before being sucked down into that funnel.

  I blinked to focus my eyes. Had there been something wrapped around his foot?

  “Syracuse!” Nathan called out, bending down to peer below us.

  We both went down on our knees, staring into the whirlpool below us. There was no sign of Syracuse, but now I could see stuff in the water. Bones, small animals, body parts. It was hard to tell in the swirling water, but they didn’t seem big enough to be human.

  We continued to call his name. No answer. No sign of him. I got up and ran to the side, looking for a way down, closer to the water’s edge. The sides were smooth and black, like obsidian. There was nothing but a steep drop.

  “Do you see him?” I called. “Anything?”

  “I can’t . . . I don’t think so.”

  I ran to the side, studying the floor for anything we could use to reach in. What I could have done with it, I don’t know, but I was desperate for a way to save my friend. There was nothing. Just rocks and puddles.

  I peered into the water for another minute, looked for any sign of Syracuse.

  There was still nothing. Surely, he couldn’t breathe under the water for this long.

  Pulling out my phone, I moved it around to find a signal. No luck.

  I pulled on Nathan’s arm. “We have to go.”

  “Not without Syracuse.”

  “There’s nothing we can do. He’s gone. Let’s go get help.”

  I knew Syracuse was beyond our help, knew with every fiber of my being that we were next if we stuck around. Nathan fought me for a moment, trying to get back over to the edge, but I pulled him with me. I don’t know what finally made him come with me, but we sped back up that tunnel, slithering like snakes. I swear I felt something graze my ankle at one point, something sharp, something that burned. A frisson of tension ran up my spine the entire time, as I waited to be grabbed like Syracuse.

  When we reached daylight, I didn’t stop, instead climbing the rocks to get as far away from that hole in the cliff as possible. Nathan followed me, breathing as raggedly as I did, muttering something about Syracuse, about how we should have helped him. It was all gibberish, but that’s what was working for him. He did it all the way back up the rock face, too. But at least he kept moving.

  Funnily enough, we found the path with ease, running across it in all those thick trees. As soon as a signal came through on my phone, I made a call to 911, finally getting directed to someone who could help me: a ranger station not too far away.

  When I breathlessly explained where we’d been, they denied knowing anything about the site. The guy said it didn’t show up on their maps, and none of them were familiar with it. Something in his voice told me otherwise, though I never mentioned this to Nathan. I don’t know why. I guess maybe because he was freaked out enough as it was.

  I’ve since regretted that. Perhaps he would have had a chance if I’d told him about everything. About what I’d seen, what I’d smelled, and what that ranger had sounded like. They came out after the fact, said they hadn’t found any sign of Syracuse. But a big part of me thinks they never went in there at all. That maybe they just covered it up and walked away.

  Why do I think this? Because I went back not long after the thing took Nathan, and I never found it again. I searched again and again, even going out there with a tent so I could start from different angles. Something innate had changed, some aspect of the original path. I swear I covered every inch of that stupid mountain over the next few months, and I never found anything that might be that cavern or even the precipice above it.

  I did, however, find the hot spring and waterfall. It was easy to get to. I wish we’d found it that first day. Then my friends would still be alive, and I wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for it to finish me off.

  I wasn’t there when it took Nathan. They say it was an accident, but I know better. You see, he lived on the top floor of an elite apartment building. Some might refer to it as the penthouse, though I don’t think the establishment called it that.

  A guest said Nathan was standing out there on his porch enjoying a beer, when all of a sudden he appeared to be plucked straight up before plummeting downward. One yelp was all he had time for. He was never seen again. No body. Nothing. Had that guest been the only one there, they may have shouted murder, but there were several other people standing there who saw that guest inside, far away from the balcony. He was the only one who could see outside, but there were others who had a good visual on him, and were willing to say he couldn’t have done anything to Nathan. Not from where he was standing.

  The authorities decided it must have been a freak wind. Maybe one of those dust devils that sweeps out of nowhere. They said his body would turn up, eventually. Someone indicated that it could be a prank. Maybe an insurance scam. We get freakish winds in Colorado, I get that. But there's no way, at least in my opinion, that Nathan was carried away by anything other than the creature from the cavern. He sure as hell wouldn’t have committed an insurance scam.

  I guess I should be grateful I
was called into work. Would it have taken me had I been there, too? Or did it prefer picking folks off, one by one?

  Now here I sit, waiting for it. I asked for the ground floor, but I’m not sure it will do me any good. I’ve got the curtain drawn, the bar pulled across the back door. It’s windy, so maybe that will keep it away for a while. After all, I have no idea what form this thing takes. Not so much as a tentacle was ever shown. Is it invisible? Does it materialize for only a few seconds so no one can find it?

  The journey here to Oregon was courtesy of a business trip meant to get me away from it all. When I started spouting stuff about creatures in maelstroms and murder, they figured the deaths of my friends so close together must be eating at me. Of course they were, but only because it was my fault they were dead. Had I left that cavern alone, not followed that rock into the opening, they’d still be alive today, and we’d be going on with our lives as usual.

  A few of the guys at work tried to take me camping, but I just wasn’t into it. That was just an interruption of time I could be using to hunt down the creature and stop this madness. I wish I could have found something of Syracuse and Nathan, something for their families to bury, to mourn. Instead, Syracuse’s family cremated all his Syracuse shirts so they could keep the ashes in an urn, and Nathan’s family erected a headstone over an empty grave.

  A foghorn sounds outside my window, and I look up, despite the curtains being closed. Somewhere behind that horn was something else. A scratching, perhaps? A scuffing outside my window?

  “Just a dog,” I say out loud. I thought it would help to fill the silence, but instead it bounces off the walls, sounds garishly loud in my ears. I flinch against that sound, hunch into myself.

  There it is again. Definitely a scuffing outside. Something taps the glass.

  I stand up, take a deep breath. Time to prove to myself that it truly is just a dog.

  As I approach the door, the scuffing becomes louder, more insistent. It’s as if whatever is out there is growing more and more excited. Something taps the windows again and again.

  I reach out a hand, grasp the curtain. My fist tightens, the knuckles white.

  Deep breath. In, out. Again.

  When I jerk that curtain back, there’s absolutely nothing there. Not a thing. No dog, no crazy beastie.

  Fog creeps along the ground, seeming to seek the warmth of the hotel room. Like the white hands of the souls lost to the ocean, it moves around, filling in holes, grasping at the tall grass along the back of the beach.

  I leave the curtain open, fascinated by that fog. I’ve always enjoyed it, maybe because fog isn’t something I ever see much of at home.

  I settle into my chair, start typing again.

  There’s that sound again, but there’s nothing out there to make it. Even the fog isn’t touching the window.

  Maybe it isn’t coming for me.

  Maybe I’m going to be okay.

  Maybe it was all a misunderstanding on my part.

  Maybe Syracuse really tripped.

  Maybe Nathan really was picked up by a dust devil.

  Maybe that scraping on the window is truly nothing.

  Maybe I’ll just go out and check.

  Shifting Sands

  The sand rushed against her as she struggled against the man who held her down. It scratched at her eyes and slid into her nostrils. When she opened her mouth to scream, it entered in a rough cloud, choking her. She could feel her body sinking, the shifting of the fine grey sand moving around her, against her, inside her. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut tight. Her legs pedaled as she tried to gain enough purchase to push back against the man that moved above her, pounding at her. But the sand gave way and moved out from beneath her feet. It entered every orifice, clawed at her, ripping her apart.

  When the pain became too much, her body exhausted in every way possible, she turned her head to the side, kept her eyes closed, and gave in to the sand, the way it crunched and moved beneath her. She realized it had cocooned her, climbing her sides, wrapping itself around her legs and arms. It was a pillow beneath her, no longer the second entity attacking her, but a comfort, letting her know it was almost over. She lost herself to it, embedded her senses inside it. It helped her blocked out the rank bologna odor of his breath, his ragged grunts, and the feel of his skin against hers. The fine sand coated her tongue, ground in her throat. She could feel it in her lungs. It curled against her cervix, forced there by his repeated thrusts, tried to find its way into her womb, to become a part of her.

  When the blade came, she didn’t feel it. The sand had numbed her, even as it welcomed her. With darkness came peace.

  ***

  Robert Ressler picked up the Monday paper as he sipped his morning coffee. His wife, Myrna, kissed his cheek as she made her way to the fridge to grab ham for sandwiches. As she packed lunches for their two grade-schoolers, he scanned the headlines, his eyes catching on a lovely image. Though it was black and white, he could tell she was a blond. It was a candid photo, her hair settling onto her shoulders, as if she had just turned her head. A large smile played across her face, head tilted to the side, eyes questioning, but amused.

  Fifth Rape Victim Found in Ute Valley Park

  Colorado Springs, CO – Cyclists found a body in Ute Valley Park Saturday afternoon. Police have now identified the victim as Samantha Bisbee, 19. While police have not yet confirmed her attacker as the Ute Valley Slasher, a source close to the department said the preliminary investigation indicates she was the fifth victim. Her body was found in a dry streambed. One witness was quoted as saying, “Her head was bent way back and her throat was cut open. I think I saw her spine. There was so much blood. Oh my God, I see it when I close my eyes.”

  The fourth victim, Cheryl Raines, 24, was found near the same spot as Bisbee. All five of the victims were attacked with a sharp object. Local retired FBI agent, George Salowitz, stated, “Overkill indicates the perp may have known this victim personally.”

  So far, no witnesses have come forward. If you have information about these crimes, police ask that you call Crime Stoppers at 719-555-STOP. Salowitz says the slasher appears to be escalating, indicating that these attacks may occur more frequently. “He’s becoming frenzied, and needs to be caught soon.”

  The CSPD urges all women to refrain from hiking alone in Ute Valley Park until the perpetrator is caught. They’ve posted safety and self-defense tips to their website, as well as the CSPD Facebook page. “Until the perpetrator is caught, please be sure to walk, hike, and bike with friends, which is always the safest choice. Be aware of your surroundings. Purchase pepper spray. These are just a few of the ways you can keep yourself safe while out in our beautiful parks.”

  We will have further updates on our website after the 5 P.M. press conference with the Chief of Police.

  Robert flushed and looked over at his wife, who tucked the sandwiches into plastic containers. She still had a great ass, but was running a little wide at the moment. Having just given birth six weeks ago, this was to be expected. She hummed as she worked, a bit of a sway in her step as she grabbed a couple apples and took them to the sink to wash.

  He read the article again, becoming increasingly aroused. There’d been so much sand in his clothes when he got home that he’d had to tell Myrna he slipped down a hill on his hike. That explained the bruises and abrasions, as well. A convenient lie.

  Breakfast finished, Robert tried to fold the page as quietly as possible. Myrna didn’t look over at the sound of the paper rattling, and he got it small enough to slip into his pocket. He put his dishes in the sink, gave his wife a quick kiss as he grabbed the lunch she’d made him, and headed out the door, calling a goodbye up the stairs to his son and daughter, who were still getting dressed. His shoes stood at the door, and he slid his feet into them. There was something in the toe of the left one, and when he lifted the shoe to check, sand slid down into the heel, filling it with about a quarter inch of grey. Light dust floated up, and he inhaled
the scent of crushed rock and dirt.

  Strange. He hadn’t been wearing these shoes. The sand really had spread everywhere. Guess I’ll have to be more careful next time.

  ***

  Over the next few days, the furor over the attack crescendoed then fell away. He continued to clip the articles, savoring each new photo of Samantha they put out. His favorite, of course, was the article that detailed each of his victims, so far—a lineup of perfect faces that were oh so familiar to him. He touched each one in turn, calling them by name.

  Samantha was his favorite. That FBI agent was right, he had known her. What luck to have run into her at the park. Her mother had turned him down in high school when he asked her to prom. He hadn’t seen her since they’d graduated, yet just a week ago he’d run into her and Samantha at the grocery store. At first, he’d doubted his eyes, but there was no mistaking those plump lips and fuck-me eyes. She was still slim, though her stomach pooched out now. Fine lines stretched out from her eyes and bracketed her mouth like parentheses. It seemed to him that she had dimmed somehow, everything a bit duller than it had been.

  Samantha, on the other hand, looked just like her mom had all those years ago. Slim and blond, blue eyes that squinted up in exactly the same way as her mom’s. That same mouth. And when Samantha had smiled at him, he’d known she was interested. He might be more than twenty years her senior, but he was in good shape, and women had always found his green eyes and tan skin attractive. Hell, he had dimples. Women loved dimples.

  Running into her again in that park had been serendipitous. She must have been there seeking him. There was no other reason for it.

  As he masturbated to the pictures he’d cut from the newspapers, he recalled the sweet scent of her perfume, the silky feel of the sand beneath his knees, the satiny smoothness of her flesh. He luxuriated in the memory of the way she invited him in, her face turned to the side, playing coy, exposing her creamy throat to him. How the sand cradled her, held her for him.