by Hunter Blain
At that moment, I heard the big doors of the church entrance swing open, and then shut again. The sound was faint, but I would recognize the front doors I had entered countless times from anywhere. I could tell that I was, indeed, far beneath the church.
A lump in my throat grew as I was past the point of no return. I was in his domain and he could easily extinguish my life. Had you asked me yesternight if I thought Father Thomes had it in him to execute me, I would have heartily laughed. But now, after revealing the monster inside me and killing the innocent, I was just as sure that he would.
After what felt like an eternity plus 1, the bottom hinge expanded and broke the casing. A few seconds later, the middle one exploded and went flying, ricocheting around the room. I nervously chuckled at the thought that an iron door hinge could end my life if it hit just right.
Another door lock from above was forcefully turned. My eyes were focused on the last hinge, licking my lips in anticipation. Sweat would have beaded on my forehead, if such a thing was possible. At that moment, I wondered how I could cry and salivate, but not sweat.
Footsteps started to descend a large, stone spiral staircase.
My face was inching closer to the flame and I slightly bounced on my one good leg.
“Please, please, please, please, please,” I pleaded with the hinge.
As if on cue, it exploded, skimming my forehead as it flew past. I grabbed the door and pulled back with all my might, ripping it away from the wall and letting it drop on the ground with a thunderous bang.
The footsteps stopped.
I dropped to my hands and ran like a three-legged dog in the opposite way the steps were coming. I had no idea where I was or what I was going to do. I just kept running, desperate for a window or a…
“Fire place!” I cried out in happiness as I approached a dark reading room filled with ancient books and scrolls. I leapt over a red velvet chair and slammed into the empty fire pit and looked up. The flue was standard metal, so I grabbed it and ripped it off, bringing down a torrent of ashes.
Father Philseep ran through the hall and stopped in the room, looking frantically at me.
“John, I can’t let you leave!” The Father said sternly with urgency creeping into his voice.
“You really need to clean your chimney more, Father Asshole. It’s a fire hazard!” I said before starting my ascent through soot encrusted darkness.
After a few feet, I heard Father Thomes from below, chanting, and then there was a small, fierce fire growing at the base of the pit. I looked down and watched it increase in ferocity, changing colors until it filled the entire base with red, white, and blue flames; very patriotic of him.
The heat was immense and immediate. My remaining pant leg started to singe, which was my cue to haul ass.
Running on fumes, I hauled ass up the chimney, slipping constantly. The growing flames below attempted the most uncomfortable rim job I’d ever had. Each tongue lashed out with the promise of oblivion if I slowed.
I reached the top with a photo finish, the flames struggling to reach that high but giving it their all. I clawed at the chimney cap and tore the metal apart like aluminum foil, freeing me from a fiery doomy doom.
Climbing out, I fell onto the precipice of the slanted roof and laid there for a moment, my head clearing from the blazing heat. He had actually tried to kill me.
There was a sting at my good ankle. I looked down and noticed my smoldering pant leg had just caught fire. I quickly sat up and patted it out with a curse. Earthen fire was terrifying enough, but holy fire? That was something I wasn’t curious in the least about testing with my flesh.
A giant, cold stone hand grabbed my shoulder and turned me around effortlessly. I was paralyzed to see one of the grotesque angel statues had come to life and had unsheathed its sword, hefting it above his head in preparation for a fatal blow.
My predator instincts shoved me out of the driver’s seat and took control. I darted to the side and used my new favorite leg to sweep the angel’s own out from under him. He fell on his back and started to slide down the slope of the roof.
The golem shoved his sword into the roof and used it to slow his decent, tearing a long crevasse along his path. He must have weighed a literal ton. Maybe even a shit ton.
I wanted to jump down the other side of the roof and run away, but PS had the wheel and was pissed. Exhausted and with no mortals around, I let him.
We jumped right at the statue as he attempted to find purchase with his feet. Pivoting in the air, we landed on his back, digging our claws into the stone. The rock monster was tough, but we were still strong enough to crush old, crumbling stone. After our fingers dug in, we made fists and yanked out chunks of the angel, then repeated the process. The golem made no noise or indicated he was in any pain, which was creepy as hell.
Unable to reach me, the statue simply let go of the sword and we started plummeting down the roof. I stopped attacking and jumped off him; but as I did, he grabbed my leg with a vice, forcing me to fall the several stories to the ground with his added weight.
Normally I wouldn’t worry about heights, but I was severally injured and drained of energy — seemed to be my luck as of late. I had also been starved for several days, which normally isn’t that big of a deal; but I was already hurt and needed energy. We fell, and I briefly wondered what would happen once we hit.
As we fell through the rushing air, I struggled but had no leverage. What was worse is the golem was steadily pulling me under him, making sure his weight would land on top of me. Both his hands were on my leg now, squeezing tight. Tight enough to shatter my bone. The thought of someone wringing bubble wrap came into mind as my last leg crumbled. The pain was a distant memory as I panicked, trying to prevent my assured death.
My spider sense tingled, and an idea came to me. I reached my open palm toward the passing building of rushing windows, ledges, and statues and forced a blood-rope out. It found purchase around the neck of a gargoyle statue and I gripped the rope with both hands as tight as I could. It went taut and I felt a dull thud and heard a ripping sound that reminded me of a turkey leg being pulled off at Christmas dinner. There was a thunderous crash from below that shook dirt from window sills as I swung freely through the air, smacking into the wall of the stone church.
White-hot pain shot through my body like a bolt of lightning splitting a tree, stemming from where my new favorite leg was no longer there.
Dangling from my rope and trying not to pass out, I said in a half assed Arnold voice, “I nheed a vhacation.”
I noticed the stone wall in front of me was moving downwards. I looked up, and to my chagrin, the gargoyle whose neck I had wrapped around was yanking me upwards to his gaping maw and clawed paws.
“No gargoyle! Bad gargoyle! That’s a bad rock monster!” I weakly yelled at it, on the verge of passing out.
I had two choices, and both of them sucked: I could disconnect the blood from my palm and drop to the ground, which would mean losing all the precious energy left in the rope forever; or I could face the monster head on while weak from lack of feeding and missing both my damn legs. Oh, and I was bleeding from the new wound. This situation is what the Himalayan monks called, bullshit.
PS had given back control of the wheel and shrugged at what to do next.
Concentrating on my hand, I closed my eyes and prepared for what was about to come. I healed the wound and disconnected the rope, dropping to the ground. Losing the energy was like being struck in the solar plexus, rendering me momentarily stunned on the ground. It could have also been plummeting to the ground that stunned me, but more than likely was a combination. I promised myself I would buy a lottery ticket the next chance I got because my luck had to change sooner or later.
I was staring straight up and noticed the gargoyle was looking down on me from above. Both it and the church swirled in my vision. I could barely make out that it was perched at the very end of his platform and shaking his tail in the air behind him, li
ke a cat about to pounce.
There was a rustling from several feet beside me, and I struggled to turn my head to see the angel golem pulling himself out of his crater. His lower half had shattered, and he walked on his hands toward me, slime covered stone face expressionless but intent on me.
Seeing him crawling on his hands, I wheeze out, “Welcome to the club, McNubbins.”
Feeling exhausted and with everything broken or missing, I struggled to turn onto my stomach and start crawling in the opposite direction of the handicapped angel. The thought of two snails racing entered my mind and a delirious smile upturned the corners of my mouth.
That’s when the handi-capable gargoyle decided to jump off his perch and land in front of me with an impact that made me bounce off the ground. All four of its paws were imbedded deep into the earth, and he struggled to pull free, his eyes never left me.
I shifted course and crawled perpendicular between my new stoner friends. Black dots drifted in my vision as I exerted myself. As I turned, I became aware of wet grass behind and under me. Precious blood squirted out of my torn leg. As quickly as I could, I focused everything I had to close the grievous wound. Cords on my neck stood out and my eyes were shut so hard, I thought my cheeks and eyebrows were about to high five. I felt the artery closing, but that was all I dared to use while in a high-speed pursuit with the golems.
There was a slosh sound from behind as one of the paws were freed from the earth, breaking my concentration. Dread sunk in as I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop whoever the winner of the ‘Murder John’ race was. I shook the fear out of my head momentarily and turned to start crawling again. I was barely able to keep my eyes open. My eye lids were so heavy and promised a quick nap would fix everything. Only my ravenous hunger kept me on the verge of consciousness, refusing to give up before seeing if it was possible to drink an Olympic sized pool full of fresh, steaming blood.
Keeping my head down, I put everything I had into escaping. My arms were made of jelly. My fingers could no longer flex, forcing me to rely solely on my palms. The world around me was becoming black around the edges.
There was another slosh from behind, and another. I dared not look back, keeping my focus on the ground directly beneath me.
My hand landed on a steel toed boot and I struggled on a popsicle stick neck to look up. There were tree trunks of pure muscle attached to the boots. Even through the 5.11 brand tactical pants, I could see the sweeps of massive quads. My eyes kept climbing upwards to a barrel chest and bulbous arms interlaced with veins the size of the Alaskan pipeline. Perched on top of the chest was a chiseled, well-groomed jaw.
“Dep… weg…” I sobbed in bursting relief. Tears blurred what vision remained. I just wanted to roll him on his back and pet his belly until my hands fell off.
“You should have called, John,” Depweg said in a strong, deep voice, eyeing the statues.
“New phone… who dis?” I managed to get out while letting my face fall onto the grass.
There was another freeing slosh from behind followed by a gallop that reverberated the ground, making my head bob up and down slightly.
The boots stepped over my disfigured body and walked confidently toward the approaching statue.
I propped a weakened forearm underneath my chin and looked over my shoulder as best I could, struggling to focus on Depweg.
The creature oriented on the new threat and continued to charge. All I could do was watch, helpless, as the giant stone monster grew closer. It had considerable size and immeasurable weight on Depweg. He should have just picked me up and ran.
When it was within pouncing distance, it leaped in the air, stone claws outstretched.
Using supernatural speed, Depweg grabbed one of the paws and turned 180 degrees like a lumberjack swinging an axe at a downed log, slamming the creature on the ground in front of him. There was a tremor of impact and the gargoyle shattered into grapefruit sized rocks that tumbled in all directions. One rolled right up and smacked me in the almond joys. All I could do was laugh and say, “No way, man. No way,” as I gently rocked back and forth on the ground, grasping my supernaturally crushed gonads with my free hand.
Depweg, still holding the now severed, solid paw of the crumbled gargoyle, turned to the crawling angel. Without a moment’s thought, or even a witty remark, Depweg stepped forward with one leg and threw the paw at the angel with monstrous force, like a baseball pitcher who was also a freakishly strong werewolf. His aim was true, and the head of the angel exploded into dust. The rest of the body became motionless where it lay, hands still reaching out.
Relieved and still holding my downstairs mix up, I gave in to the demand of my eyes lids and let them close, allowing the blackness to overtake me.
Chapter 28
I awoke to a bright light above me. My eyes fluttered, and I looked around to see a white, clean room with stainless instruments laying on small, cloth covered tables. The smell of fur hung heavy in the air, masked with cleaning supplies and bleach.
Depweg approached and laid a hand on my shoulder.
Squinting up at him I say, “I thought they only took injured friends to the vet in the movies.”
“What, you thought you were my only friend, John? Typical narcissism. Doc,” Depweg said while shifting his gaze across the room, “guess we need to put him down.”
There was a chuckle from the other side of me and a balding, white haired man with glasses looked down at me. As he did so, he said, “Well, I guess I do have some garlic bread left over in the fridge.”
“Ha!” I say victoriously, “Doesn’t work.” I noticed I had energy back, which was curious. I still felt like an empty shell, but it was infinitely better than what I had just been through.
“In that case,” the doc said while turning to his instrument table, ”maybe this will.” He showed me a glinting bone saw. “Infused with iron, of course.”
“Yeah, that’d about do it,” I said. Shifting my gaze back at the light, completely aware I wasn’t in any form of control of the situation. I pulled my hands to my face and dragged them from my forehead to my chin, exhaling as I did. An IV stuck out of my hand and I followed the red line up to a bag hanging from a metal stand.
I propped myself up on my elbows and looked down at the rest of me to assess the damage. My legs weren’t fully healed, but that was to be expected from blood that wasn’t straight from the well. However, they had grown several inches and started sprouting tiny feet.
“Look at it this way, John,” Depweg started, “think of the money you’ll save from only having to buy Barbie shoes now.”
He took in a deep breath and bellowed a throaty laugh that could be felt as much as heard. Doctor Glasses giggled in short titters while covering his mouth with a closed fist.
Feeling stronger, I kicked my baby foot out and placed it under his nose in a fraction of a second. He was still laughing with his eyes closed when he stopped, nostrils flaring. He opened his eyes and they grew wide with disgust.
“Kiss it,” I said, wiggling my micro toes, tickling the tip of his nose.
He shook his head and swatted at my foot while stepping backwards, trying to flee from the horrible sight and delicious smell of my fetus like appendage.
“Ah, Deppyweg, you know just how to make me feel sexy,” I mocked with pouty lips.
Depweg’s demeanor straightened as he said, “Glad to see the bags did their trick. We were concerned you were going to wake up in a blood-rage.”
As he said it, the Doctor put away the iron infused tools. I stared with morbid understanding, and gulped.
“Me too, buddy. Me too,” I said. “Thanks for saving me, man. You’re the Westley to my Buttercup.”
“You’re a terrible man, but I’d hate for you to die,” he mocked.
I didn’t smile or correct his movie reference. I just laid my head back down on the cool metal and closed my eyes. I was a terrible man.
Depweg’s voice interrupted my self-loathing, “Aren’t you
going to ask how I found you?”
“How did you f…”
“Glad you asked,” Depweg interrupted, “Got a call from your bartender friend. It would seem that you’ve spoken about my canine sanctuary, openly, in his bar. A quick google search and he had my business number.”
“Well, I only talked about you to him. Not like I have a lot of friends who hang out there,” I said, defensively.
“For the future, I would appreciate not being mentioned in a supernatural hang out. My kind is considered a trophy and there are some who would test their metal by hunting us.” Depweg informed. I looked at him, feeling embarrassed and didn’t respond.
“But…” Depweg said, “this one time, I’m glad you did. I would have been your only pallbearer and that would have been difficult.” He smiled warmly.
“I’m surprised Val called you. He seemed pretty upset with me,” I said.