Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

from either the alley in back or the surrounding structures. Without distraction, he sailed beyond the confines of cognizance or anything that might revive him. His arms fell defenselessly over the edges of the chair as the game muddled onward through the final innings.

  When Will awoke naturally, he’d missed the whole contest and the post-game wrap up had nearly concluded. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and sat up. Stretching, he hunched over to crack his back and then dramatically recoiled again after extending himself. On the table, his phone buzzed with the newest of ten messages asking where he was and if he was coming out. He yawned again as he scrolled through them, declining to respond. He ran his fingers through his hair, and rubbed the weariness from his face.

  Suddenly, across the house, a woody creak sounded like thunder in the silent air. While Will still held the weight of his head in his hands, his eyes shot open. The house was old and often made noises all by itself, but Will knew the boards intimately. Something heavy had put pressure down on the bowed ones by the kitchen doorway. His shoulders shook nervously from a frightful spasm. His head snapped in the direction of the disturbance. With no light in the house other than the TV, he couldn’t see past the blackened doorway into the dining room.

  An accompanying squeal eerily rasped out as something shifted off of the offended floor and on to the more forgiving carpet. Will leapt up from his chair, remote in hand. A ghostly silhouette seemed to pass along the distant edge of the dining room. To obscure his own movements, Will switched off the TV. Carefully, he glided from the middle of the room to the fireplace. He set the remote down on the mantle and strained his eyes to see into the dark.

  Only the soft luminance of street lamps trickling through the trees’ thick foliage pervaded the room. It was just enough, however, for Will to believe that something was now standing under the archway at the end of room. Like the quick spark of a lighter, two red globes opened up at eye level. Another chill sent a burst of adrenaline into his heart. He couldn’t break contact with the malevolence.

  There was no way he could get to the light switch on the far side of the room. Maybe, however, he could make a sprint to the front door and get out into the street. There would not be a second longer than was needed for the task. Will glanced towards the entryway to assess his possible escape.

  Under the door leading from the living room back into the main hallway was a second set of demonic red eyes floating in the dark.

  A car passed outside, its headlights transiently shedding light into the room. As it passed, the flicker revealed two hulking men standing in either doorway. In that second, he could see both bore their teeth between white lips, and stood with limbs spread for action. They remained statuesque, not relinquishing their attention on Will.

  Complete darkness returned. As Will strained his eyes to see again, theirs held in perfect focus. He dug his feet into the rug beneath him and clenched his fists.

  A serpentine voice from the dining room hissed out, “I can smell your blood.”

  It communicated with an unmistakably German accent. Will didn’t respond, except for cracking his knuckles as he retracted his fingers pugilistically. Both men took a step forward in reprise.

  “Tell us where it is,” the man emerging from the hallway said. “Where are you hiding Franklin?”

  The intruders began to slink forward, gliding effortlessly over the carpet as if levitating. Their arms dangled out and swayed threateningly. Their heads cocked from shoulder to shoulder as they analyzed the young man’s body. As Will’s eyes adjusted and as they came closer, their shadows consolidated into a more defined presence. The red eyes continued to dilate in the darkness, stretching into perfect circles and listing with each jerk of the head. As they came around and flanked the ring of furniture surrounding the fireplace, their arms reached out. Their hands began to grasp at the air, repeatedly beckoning for Will.

  “Tell us,” one murmured.

  Without waiting for a reply, the other leapt over the coffee table and tackled Will. He held his footing and grappled with the prowler who slammed him up against the mantle. Upon impact, Will wrenched a hand loose and swung at the man’s face. He made solid contact, which caused the man’s head to whip back. Will slammed his foot against the wall, dug his hands into his attacker’s chest and kicked off with as much force as he could muster. He lifted the man off of his feet and tossed him over the sofa, and back into the entryway. His body crumpled as it hit the floor and skidded across the hardwood into the staircase.

  This feat of colossal strength prompted a screeching wail from the other prowler, who charged Will. Both tumbled to the floor, where the man scrambled up on top and punched wildly. Will diverted the blows, grabbing the man’s hands when he could, and twisted underneath to throw his opponent off balance. They wiggled across the floor, thrashing and trading blows. Books and glasses went flying off the coffee table as they wheeled into its legs. The rug buckled up and tipped over one of the leather chairs. It smashed into another table and uprooted a vase, which shattered as it impacted the floor. A brass stand by the fireplace that propped up a brush and fire poker clattered on to the marble pediment, sending a metallic bang through the neighborhood. Will could feel blood trickling down his chin, which his assailant reveled in as he licked his grinning lips.

  Finally, Will’s foot caught hold of the corner of a bookshelf, and gave him enough leverage to flip himself up and roll off the attacker. He felt an object sticking into his side, the remote control, which he grabbed and used to beat the villain’s face. Will then jumped to his feet, and delivered a swift kick to the stomach of his writhing opponent.

  He looked up just as the second man had recovered from his flight across the room, and had circled around the sofa for another assault. Feeling further clutter at his feet, Will saw the glint of the fire poker between his legs and dove down. In one motion he turned upward, rose to his full height and swung out. The hook of the poker caught the man in the arm, nearly tore it out of its socket and put an enormous gash in his side. Will slashed across his skin. The man collapsed with a scream.

  A clicking sound drew Will’s attention back the other way. A switchblade had flicked out of the first man’s pocket. He jumped again belligerently. Will thrust out the shaft of the poker at the moment the man ran for him. Its point penetrated his chest, pierced the rib cage and buried itself deep in his organs. The man dropped his knife, and clutched the poker with both hands. Petrified, Will released the weapon. The man stumbled backward, tripped over the rug and sprawled out on his back. For a moment he kicked and clawed at the ground, then stopped and went limp.

  Seeing this, the remaining attacker clamored to his feet and ran for the back door. Will rushed to the entryway to flip on the lights. The front hall and the living room were painted with the red stains of the blood that puddled all over the room. Will sprinted down the hallway, past the dining room, the kitchen, and the study to the back door. It hung open. He looked out into the night. The yard, only three high brick walls adorned with moss and centered by the iron gate, was quiet. Will listened for any disruption, but all remained still. Momentarily content, he ducked back inside and sealed the door tightly.

  He trudged back to the front room, and began to feel how angrily his heart beat. He paused at the threshold of the living room and surveyed the scene with disgust. The body he had run through lay tortured and mangled on the floor. Dogs barked in the street, feeding Will’s exposed fear.

  Gingerly, he crept up to the cadaver. The eyes were black now, the hair peppered with middle age. It looked inhuman, alien. The jaw hung, sustaining a silent posthumous shriek, which perhaps the dogs could hear. The teeth were sharp and the fingers bony. The eyes began to sink into the skull. Next to it was Will’s phone. He hunched over carefully and picked it up.

  Shaking, he tapped the screen. Will dialed, 9…1. Another surprising clang rang out. Will sprang back several paces and gasped. The poker, which had been lodged in the body’s chest had fallen out all by itself and c
lanked on to the wood. Stuck to it was all the sinewy debris from inside the man. Will banged on his own heart with a clenched fist to get his pulse started again. His face warped as putridly as the sight. Something strange stopped Will from pushing the last number on his phone.

  Somehow, the man was changing. The face, the skin, and hair were aging. Their color altered from grey to white, and their surface from smooth to wrinkly. Will watched with horror as some reaction occurred within the corpse. The sunken eyes dropped back into the recess of the head. The nose shriveled up. The skin around it did likewise, spreading away across the whole head. Will noticed the hands as skin fell off them in chunks and rolled up like dried leaves. The clothes began to flatten out as if the body were disintegrating inside. The fat and muscles around the mouth clung tighter until they snapped and ruffled up the cheeks. The ears dropped off. Will quivered sickly.

  In another minute all the skin and hair were gone. They turned to dust and piled up like sand between the bones, leaving only a skeleton in clothing. Then the joints broke at the seams and folded under the weight of the cloth. Eventually the bones too turned to fine particulates. The carcass had turned into