by David Irons
Someone had been living here…he had been living here…what have you been doing Blitzer?
She staggered slightly, the stench of the wind behind her entering her brain, the visuals of this scene overwhelming her for a second.
Where was she? What did all this mean?
She had come here for one thing: money. She had heard the expression that it was the root of all evil, but now, because of it, here she was underground — literally at the root of all evil. Finding her way here by a path of dollar bills like a scenario in a Brother's Grimm story, a path that led to a front row view straight into hell.
As the wind wailed past her, she staggered over to the chaise longue, slumped down in to it making a smell of damp puff up around her. To her right on a small waist-height table was an old gramophone, a brass horn sprouting from its back.
Hearing the others’ muffled cries from the segregating dirt pile, she just shouted out, 'Yeah I'm fine! I'm fine,' a thing she felt anything but. She felt weak, head swimming as if motion sickness swayed her grey matter. It's this place, she thought, her head pumping to the cosmic yellow glow that beat from inside the hellhole, no energy. It's oppression, pure oppression.
She closed her eyes, trying to bring up the gun with her right hand; its weight now equal to that of a cannon in her sudden weakened state. Limply, it hit the side of the record player and, as if by some unseen force, the gun's simple touch was like the end of a magician's wand, propelling the gramophone's turntable into a grinding motion.
Kristi, her energy vanquished, suddenly had a new burst of life through fright, as the bulbous head of the player's stylus swung round, its needle as long and fearsome as a descending fang.
She watched as it reached down to the turntable, touching the opening grooves of a spinning, dust covered, wax record. Crackles and pops honked out of the lone trumpet style speaker as they were connected.
Then, familiar piano bars twinkled out from in-between the scratches, bars that stirred her memory, fishing for the name that fit with the softly played piano keys.
Then, as wires were reconnected, an understanding was made: the name of the piece sprung to the forefront of her mind.
Beethoven — Moonlight Sonata
She smiled, trembled and closed her eyes, soaking in the rough recording of Ludwig Van's composed notes, each played with a perfect lonely gentleness.
The hellhole pulsed, radiated her skin with sinking dread.
She knew this piece of music; it made her mind reach back to things long ago. Remembering where she came from, her poorly educated family; Kristi striving to be more than another definition of the others around her, just another brainless bumpkin from Kentucky.
They didn't introduce her to this music; she had heard it as a young girl one day, from an open window. A woman down the block was giving piano lessons she could never afford, music by class definition she would never normally hear. It stopped her dead in her tracks as a child, stirring something in her soul. Letting her step away from life for a moment, its problems, her family, her door-mat mother, the aggressive father that would walk all over her.
The wind whistled past her ears, creating some kind of harmony with the music as that cosmic light, pulsed… pulsed… pulsed.
She remembered being underneath that window listening to this music; it was a warm summer day, the magic hour of the sun setting around her.
She had closed her eyes, just like now. Wondering in that solitary moment if this slice of peace she had found, if it wasn't hers to have in life, maybe it would be in death.
Death was the thing that always levelled out the playing field: big income, no income, rich, poor, black or white, there was no discrimination in death; everyone held the same cup waiting for it to be filled. No more, no less. No class system to define what she should be, what she should be able to feel, or what music she should be able to enjoy.
But before death, she knew listening to this piece of music she wanted all she could take, everything that her early life had denied her, and more. And, she did. But now, down in the depths of the Earth, she had reached too far and grasped for too much.
Never bite off more than you can chew, her mother had once said through teeth chipped from the fists of her father. But now, she had.
Listening to the soft keys drifting into her own mind, she felt the regret of rash decisions, to try and constantly prove herself only to herself. She thought deeply of the tranquillity of death as a cold breeze from the hellhole washed over her with its pulse… pulse… pulse...
With that feeling, with that touch of wind, with those distant memories, something new entered the equation: a distant far away scream, not a human scream, but a high-pitched banshee scream, an in-human ear-piercing yell.
Opening her eyes, staring straight ahead into the yellow far off light, flickering shadows began blocking its glow; shadows that became increasingly bigger, shadows that were flying from the hole in a swarm, curving distant corners, heading straight towards her.
CHAPTER 26
The feeling of lethargy rattled from her body like a dog trying to shake off fleas. A newfound sharpness entered her eyes, and the old meanness that kept her glued together reinvigorated her bones. Snapping herself from the seat to her feet, she whipped up so fast her feet hovered from the ground for a second as if she was on a wire.
Coming towards her from the pit was something she couldn't understand, a flock of something, all flying to where she stood.
This music, this scenario, death entered her mind again, and in that instant, she understood death. She had read scripts for parts she had never got: superheroes, super villains, big budget tripe where everyone had a superficial superpower, a gimmicky ability of some sort.
Gripping the gun in her hand, knowing its bullets to be precious, she quickly planted it inside her jacket. Turning around, she booted the chaise lounge, splintering a length of wood from its frame. Reaching and grabbing it, she held it in her hand like a bat and smiled.
Yes, in garbage Hollywood movies, everyone had a special power, and in this moment a thought shimmered in her head that maybe she had found hers in reality: Death, she thought, when you stop fearing it, you can start using it. Now, from the mouth of the tunnel, a flock of leathery winged things, all teeth and claws flew out towards her.
'Vampires,' her daughter had said in astonishment, and she had laughed. But now hurtling towards her were things that did indeed look like something from a horror film. Dog-sized flying things, all dripping fangs and glowing yellow eyes, like demonic, long-faced cherubs swooped down towards her.
She raised the splintered wood high, braining one of the demented salivating things with a meaty crunch. Its eyes bulged; flickering like a faulty light, then fell to the floor.
Death, she thought with a smile, my superpower — my weapon. The downed creatures’ flapping brushed the floor, sweeping away any particles of dirt, staying still long enough for her to see furry moth-like patterns on wing and body. She swung away at the air, cracking the wood against more of their skulls, tearing its splintered end against their wings, instantly downing the flying creatures.
Kristi sidestepped them, laughed, screaming at this madness. Ludwig played on, the melancholy of his notes reaching a tearful crescendo as the hellion creatures were lobotomized from their place in the sky by the tasty woman they swarmed around.
Random slashes were felt against her skin as the creatures' talons ripped her designer dress to shreds. Scratches were fine, but bites weren't: she had to be careful.
Unseen by Kristi, a four-foot round hole behind an old chair in a darkened corner of the room was suddenly filled by a more human-like mass. A thing that had only become more human from the gorging of the fat man's body only a few rooms away.
They are… what they eat.
Keeping a demonic six-foot wingspan tucked behind its back, it watched the scene before it; seeing its own kind beaten and killed, seeing the human responsible; sensing in her what it wanted, its ey
es began to glow.
Stepping backwards into the room, Kristi saw that at least ten of the winged things were already dead. Only a few remained buzzing around her. Rather than dive-bombing like their dead brethren, they spread out in an ambush formation. Wings flapped, claws raised, eyes burned with phosphorescent luminosity, as slowly they pushed in towards her.
Dropping the chair leg to the floor with an echoing clatter, she reached in her jacket and took out the revolver. Gun raised, she swung it round to the nearest flying beast. 'YOU ARE WHAT YOU FUCKING EA...' but before she could finish the sentence, she had let off the first round, nailing the thing between the eyes in a splatter of blood and bone shard.
With these things now eating hot lead, they truly were what they ate; and with her special power, what they were, was dead.
Two, three, four — the echo of each round bled into the next, like the particles of goo, viscera and grey matter from the creatures’ exploding heads that mingled in the air in a red mist of death.
The cries of the rest of the group were becoming clearer now as they dug towards her; success was in sight: she was a fighter, she was a survivor, she had taken death, used death and was now the one who kept on living. Her mouth widened as she screamed out in wild, feral joy. Her laugh was dirty and wicked. Her eyes were crazed with what she had just done. But her heightened senses were not picking up on the thing that watched her from the hole in the wall that had now slunk from its hiding place. It had devoured part of Alex, the others had stripped away his skin, but this one got first dibs on the heart. Here it was now, almost morphed back into a more, up-right human form, ready for its second feed of the night; still holding a base giant moth-like form, it looked like the father of the dead beasts on the floor.
Quickly, before she could recognize what was happening, it whipped her around. All she saw was the flash of the headlamp eyes, a flash of teeth. Then as Moonlight Sonata played, the soft caress of lips touched her neck, but only for a second. Almost immediately, sharp daggers sunk in her neck; gushing blood fired up to her face. A coppery taste washed through her mouth, as a darkness hazed around the corner of her eyes.
The thing that had grabbed her pulled away, its oversized rubbery green lips now ruby red, its glowing eyes wild.
It swung back in for a second attack, but its moment of glory was a fatal miscalculation. As to counteract its poisonous death bringing bite, Kristi extracted her own kiss of death. 'FUCCKKKK YOOOUUUU!' she screamed at the top of her lungs, lunging into its throat with her own sparkling veneers spread, biting deep into the creature's neck. It recoiled in surprise; a glow in its eyes that this wasn't supposed to happen.
This thing had infected her, maybe her bite would infect it, and maybe the venom she carried would give it the woes of being a desperate LA actress. Then, with a mouthful of the creature's jugular, its foul, thick blood in her mouth, she tore her head backwards, ripping out long dripping strings of jugular and vocal cords just like the hooker pulled from the priest. A piercing death cry came from it, one that quickly disappeared as its open mouth grasped for air. It fell to its knees, it now the desperate one looking up at her for life. She spat its vocal cords to one side and gave it a bloody smile, raised the revolver to its temple and, with its last bullet, blew its brains all over the tiled floor.
Speckles of blood and thick grey matter splattered her face as it fell backwards, spasming in its final death throes. She could see by its expression it was trying futilely to fight for life, its eyes pushed as much light from them as possible, trying somehow to recharge itself from within.
Then she remembered those Jimmy Choo stilettos, reached for them in her pockets, and brought down their spiked heels straight through the creature's eyes. Luminous puss burst from them splattering her jacket like a glow stick from a rave, spilling their yellow rainbow texture across the checked floor with its blood. Suddenly, with one last kick, the creature gave up the ghost, stiffened and died.
Kristi stood up straight, looked down at the dead thing before her, then touched her neck. She drew back a blood red hand, as she finally felt the pain from the wound.
All at once it took her over, pushing her to her hands and knees, the thing’s bite burning from within as if being injected with lava. Like a wounded animal, she crawled away, not wanting her final moments to be near the thing that brought her death, the thing that used her super power on herself. With blood gushing as she went, dragging herself forward, she crawled around towards the hole the creature had appeared from. Her legs giving way, she evolved in death from an injured quadruped into a legless snake as she slithered away; her eyesight becoming distant, the blackness at the edges of her view now dominating everything else she could see.
Clambering into the hole she curled up like a sleeping caterpillar. Wrapping herself into a ball, curling away from life, the hellhole's wind blew, its yellow light, pulsed… pulsed... and an internal darkness consumed her. Ludwig Van Beethoven's last note played and the record player's arm rose, bringing silence as the mechanical turntable played its last song, and stopped dead forever.
CHAPTER 27
Without talking, sweat built on their brows and tension filled the air. Hearing the gunshots, the screams, the horror hidden away from them, the handful of survivors overturned the earth barricade separating them from Kristi with speed. Their shovels smashed against hidden stones under the blanket of earth, making small sparks illuminate the darkness as their metal blades clipped them.
Now and then each of them thought that they could distantly hear tranquil piano keys playing, a vast juxtaposition to the feeling of dread that surrounded them from every angle.
The dirt slowly became more manageable, letting their shovels slice through to the other side with ease.
'I can see light, look! I can see light!' Kelly cried, reaching down with her bare hands, pulling clumps of dirt away in a desperate scramble.
'Stand back, kid.' Matt raised his shovel and quickly dug a bigger gap into the next room.
'Mom!' Kelly screamed.
'Kristi!' Jennifer bellowed through the hole, as the foul yellow glowing wind blustered back towards them.
'What's behind there?' Alison squealed, her senses reintroduced with the noxious stench.
Before anyone could stop her, Kelly sprang forth, darting like a rabbit into its hole, yelling, 'Mom, where are you?'
'Get her!' Matt shouted as he reached for the girl.
Jennifer scrabbled down on her hands and knees, squeezing through the gap they had made after her.
Climbing through, her eyes were temporarily blinded as they tried to readjust to the sudden change in light. Then she saw a thing on all fours climbing towards her. Her heart missed a beat, levelled and straightened when she understood it was her own reflection in a huge broken mirror.
Pulling herself to her feet, Matt and Alison climbed through after her. 'Jesus, what is this place?' Matt gasped.
Jennifer felt the cold ripple of wind slither over her body from the right. Freezing to the spot, she slowly turned to see the gaping gates where the glowing throat-like hole sat. A shiver penetrated her spine, caught in its Medusa-like spell, they all stood rigidly still, gazing into it.
'What is that?' Matt whispered, as a faraway echoing cry seeped through the hole, that sounded like a tortured female scream.
'Where does it go?' Matt uttered.
Jennifer replied in a flat voice. 'There's only one place I can think of… straight down.' The tattoo on her arm beat to the pulse of the yellow light, both synchronized, both one and the same.
Alison's eyes widened. 'What are you trying to say?' she stammered to Jennifer, although she already knew the answer. Jennifer said nothing in reply, her eyes becoming dreamy, her mind swimming. A sulphurous smell tainted the wind; it took her back to Mrs. Baker’s shed, a knowledge bleeding over her brain harder that she had a favour to repay. But how?
Suddenly, the mesmerizing sight of the yellow glowing tunnel lost its hold as from behind them t
hey heard a low, feeble whine.
'Oh, nooooo...'
Turning around, it was a scene completely out of place from the rest of their previous surroundings, the foul hovel someone had been squatting in down here. In the middle of the room, Kelly stood with her back to them, surrounded by a floor-full of what looked like dead, winged monkeys from The Wizard of Oz.
Rushing to join her they found that these were not monkeys, but fanged, empty-eyed things with elongated human-like faces that lay dead around the room. Their bodies were small and troll-like; grey leathery skin with four-foot wingspans. From where they stood, they could see some were beaten, some had heads crushed, and some had their brains blown out. Behind them something else lay on the floor, something that resembled one of the original night crawlers from the coffin chamber. But now it had metamorphosed into what could only be described as some kind of rudimentary human form; a white and grey almost translucent thing with a much larger wingspan with its brains sprayed out across the black and white floor. Not much could be seen of the transformation on its face, for covering its eyes like a pair of Avant-garde sunglasses, were a pair of designer shoes, their stiletto heels embedded into its sockets.
Next to it, Matt's gun laid empty and askew. 'Mom,' Kelly whimpered as Matt walked around the bodies, following a trail of smeared blood from the circle of executed creatures, following it towards the room’s corner.
Jennifer walked over to the little girl, putting her arm around her and comforting her. 'Don't look at this,' she said, trying to pull the girl away from this scene of horror.
'Where is she?' Kelly mumbled.
Moving to the corner, Matt could see some kind of mass growing there. Taking his shovel, he cautiously stared deeper, trying to understand. Stringing from wall to floor, with sticky glue-like strands, was a huge oversized cocoon. A stinking wet, pulsating Jello mould, foul gushes of puss like liquid running under its thin gelatine skin.