Anathema (25 page)

"Boys, boys,” Pastor Timothy interrupted. “We gotta move. Can't you smell it?"

They could. It was the rank stink of the monster.

Turning themselves sideways, they maneuvered into the waiting mouth of the dark, narrow corridor.

The sealed chamber did not contain the creature. Its gelatinous body simply flattened and oozed between the cracks and crevices and reformed on the other side.

Sniffing the air, it once again caught the acrid smell of the humans and lumbered across the room. Their musty stink was stronger here at the tunnel's entrance. The creature stuck its head in the opening. Sniffed. Yes, they had gone into the tunnel.

Dropping the bulk of its body to the ground, the creature changed. Its body grew long and snake-like. The head narrowed to a point. Four of its tentacles fused to the side of its new body, and the ends flattened to dolphin-like flippers. The other two waved in front of it like insect antennas. Now it looked like a kind of mutated squid.

Transformed, it slipped into the tunnel and slithered down the corridor as it had done for thousands of years.

Cal was right. Their journey was painstakingly slow. They almost fell once, but somehow managed to stay upright. The second time, however, they weren't as lucky.

Cal slipped on a rock, his knee buckled, and because Jim's weight pushed on his shoulder, he lost his balance. He'd gone down hard, pulling Jim with him. Jim, of course, took Jarvis with him. They collapsed to the rough, stony ground—Cal on the bottom, Jim in the middle, Jarvis on top.

Pastor Timothy turned and shined the flashlight on the human sandwich. The flashlight was one of the few things he held onto when they bolted from the creature's chamber.

"You guys okay?” Timothy asked. “Is anyone hurt?"

"No, we're fine.” Jarvis huffed as they struggled to right themselves.

But they weren't fine. Jim's face was twisted with pain. The fall had re-opened the wound on his thigh and he was bleeding again.

The sharp rocks had torn Cal's cheek, the same one that was attacked by the bat earlier and the open gouge throbbed with hurt.

There was a huge bump on Jarvis's left forearm where it banged against the tunnel wall. By morning, the injury would become the biggest bruise he'd ever seen.

Standing again, they traveled another three hundred feet when Jim finally said, “Stop, I need to rest a minute."

Jim was feverish and sweating like a man with an acute case of influenza. The sore on his leg was loaded with infection, and yellow-green pus pumped from the wound with every heartbeat. His breathing was short and raspy. The creature had poisoned him, and both Cal and Jarvis knew what was happening, even though both refused to acknowledge it.

Jim Anderson was dying.

"Come on, Jim, it's only a few more feet. Then, this'll be all over and we'll get you to a hospital,” Jarvis encouraged. He tugged on Jim's arm, trying to get him to move.

"I can't, Jarvis. I just can't anymore."

"It doesn't matter anyway.” Timothy shined the flashlight beam on the taut faces of the three weary men. “The way's sealed off. We can't get out."

There was a collective groan from the group that was cut short by the roar of the beast. Its scream traveled the length of the corridor. Somehow, the creature had escaped the chamber and was coming up behind them.

The men couldn't move forward. They couldn't move back.

They were trapped.

Chapter 35

Jim saw the shimmering first. He thought his eyesight was going—just part of the dying process. But when the others saw it, he knew it wasn't a death hallucination.

The twins appeared next to the men. Apparently, the narrow width of the corridor was no problem for them. And why should it be? They were spirits. They had the ability to bend time, widen places, and materialize from rock. They were from another plane, where human rules didn't apply.

Sad, mournful looks were etched across the specters’ faces, and without saying a word, the men knew why the spirits were so glum. The four of them were going to die, and the twins came to help them cross over.

But they were wrong.

Rusty looked at Jim and spoke. “My brother and I were unable to save your son. For that we are sorry, but, perhaps, we will be able to save you.” The twins looked at the other three men. “To save all of you."

Ronald stepped forward. The twins criss-crossed their hands on top of each other and placed them on Jim's wounded thigh. Electric blue sparks jumped from finger to finger until Jim's leg was encased in a soothing, blue-white light.

As the light pulsed, Jim felt the infection being drawn from him like a sponge soaking water from a basin. The muscles and sinews snapped and popped as they mended. His skin itched as it weaved itself together. His fever broke, and his strength returned. The black shroud that covered him dissipated. Color returned to his pasty face. His eyes sparkling once again, he shook the rest of the sickness off him.

Smiling, the twins turned their attention to the others. They raised their arms and swept their hands across the rock. The walls shimmered and an exit opened.

From the other end of the tunnel came the enraged scream of the creature.

"Hurry,” Rusty instructed, “the Beast is close. You haven't much time. You must go. Now."

The twins joined hands, took a step backward, and became one with the wall.

Another scream filled the tunnel, shaking the men from their astonishment and pushing them into action. One by one, the men ran through the opening and—

—straight into the house.

There was no yard to cross. No door to open.

"What the hell is this all about?” Jim whispered. The house and woods had merged to become one.

Vines and branches twisted across what were once kitchen walls. The floor had turned to a thick bedding of pine needles; the ceiling, a heavy canopy of leaves.

The creature roared behind them, and its scream shook the ground.

"We can go out the front.” Jim rushed across the room. He tore at the flowering vines that blocked the archway into the once living room.

Here, the staircase was overgrown with a carpet of bright green moss. A beetle bug, the size of a softball, scurried down the banister that had transformed into a twisted appendage of an ancient oak. Halfway down the rail, the beetle hissed, and popped up on its hind legs to reveal the face of Travis on its red belly. The windows, like those in the kitchen, were covered with a thick growth of ivy. Spanish moss hung from the rafters. Trees sprouted from the peaty floor. The stained-glass window at the top of the first landing was covered with hanging vine, but instead of white flowers, hairy, brown spiders dangled from the ends of their shoots.

Jim led the men around the changed stairs and down a short hallway cloistered with Morning Glories. But these blooms were not the bright blues and purples associated with such plants; these blossoms were black. The corkscrew shoots reached for the men as they ran by.

Behind them, the roar of the creature grew louder as it squeezed its bulk through the archway that separated the kitchen from the living room.

Jim rounded the corner and came to an abrupt stop. His jaw creaked open. He began to tremble. The others nearly piled into the back of him.

"Oh, no,” he whispered. “Diane."

Chapter 36

An army of living dead blocked the way out, and Diane stood at the forefront. She was bloated, her skin blue. Veins were visible under her translucent flesh, making her look like a strange kind of road map. Pudgy hands dangled from torn tendons still attached to her wrists. In one fist, she held the head of the flashlight and was furiously pumping the other end of it up her bleeding vagina. With her other hand, she fondled the breast of one of the dead whores.

"Jim,” she purred. Her mouth was full of gravel. Her eyes stared blankly forward. “I knew you'd come back for me. Come and make love to me. Make love to me like you did with the others."

Jim felt the gorge rise in his throat, yet at the same time, desire rose in his pants. In his mind's eye, he saw them together in happiness. They were vacationing at the beach, laughing at the carnival. He saw her young body glistening in the moonlight while they made love beneath the autumn sky.

He took a step toward his waiting wife. She was beautiful again, just as she was the day they moved into the house.

"Jim, you've gotta fight it!” Jarvis reached forward, grabbed him by the shoulder, and yanked him back to the group.

"But it's my wife. It's Diane."

"No, it isn't! Diane's dead. She killed herself. You found her in the bathtub. That thing's just a shell reanimated by the power of the creature."

"But she's so beautiful!"

"That's an illusion. You only think she's beautiful because that's how the creature wants you to see her. The monster's fucking with your mind!"

"No! It's Diane!” Jim spun around and hit Jarvis with a wicked right hook. Cartilage snapped, and he felt a warm gush of blood on his knuckles. Jarvis cupped his hands around his broken nose and dropped to his knees.

Jim moved toward Diane, heading for her welcoming, outstretched arm, but Timothy moved faster.

The reverend skirted around the fallen Jarvis and in between Cal and Jim. He took the bottle of Holy Water from his shirt pocket, opened it, and sprinkled some on Diane before Jim had a chance to reach her.

Diane's reaction was immediate. It was acid against her skin. Flesh sizzled and bubbled into blue-green welts. Open sores oozed yellow pus as her body began to smoke. She brought her hands to her face and clawed strips of rotting meat from her skull. Hunks of it slipped from her grip and made a murky splat when it hit the floor. Long threads of skin dangled from the ends of black fingernails. She dropped to her knees, and her carcass folded in on itself until it was nothing more than a mass of red-black jelly.

The allure of the spell broken, Jim touched his hand to his forehead and staggered backward. He almost tripped over Jarvis.

"Geez.” He helped his friend to his feet. “Did I do that?"

"Yup, but I forgive you this time.” Jarvis had managed to staunch the bleeding, but his nose continued to drip like a leaky faucet and had swollen to twice its size, making his voice sound compacted when he spoke.

"Quickly,” Timothy said. “We can use the Holy Water to clear a path through these abominations."

Timothy swung his arm in front of him, dousing the dead on either side of him with the water. The dead smoldered and twisted to the floor, until they were nothing but a quivering pool of oily jelly. In a few seconds, the pastor had cleared a path through the dead, just as Moses had parted the Red Sea.

One by one, the others followed the pastor. Those dead that hadn't been reduced to Jell-O tried to grab the men as they passed, but Timothy only had to show the bottle and they'd cower, hooting and hollering at its sight. Apparently, the dead understood some things, and the effect of Holy Water was one of them.

Pastor Timothy was just about to reach for the door, when the ground rumbled and an incredible flash lit up the interior of the house.

Then the walls came tumbling down.

Slabs of plaster fell from the ceiling. Cracks spidered up the walls. The windows blew out.

Jarvis was first to understand what happened. The charges were exploding. He steadied himself against one of the crumbling walls.

A second explosion ruptured the foundation. Mortar crumbled from hundred year-old stones that held everything in place. Some rocks cracked, and wide fissures were created that ran the entire length of the house. In the basement, a gas line snapped and the noxious poison hissed from the broken pipe.

No longer able to support the weight of the old house, the foundation broke away. The walls shifted, and the third floor dropped onto the second, blowing out the west wall.

Like rats deserting a sinking ship, the men scurried to the door. Timothy reached for the knob just as a support beam above them snapped.

There was a third explosion. The second and third floor crashed through the ceiling, creating a maelstrom of debris.

Plaster, wooden splinters, and glass fell in a great gray cloud. The dead waved their arms about as if they were trying to shoo away a horde of annoying flies. Frenzied, they clawed at one another, ripping each other apart. Some were buried beneath the fallen rubble, joined again with the earth from which they rose.

A timber broke and pushed Cal to the floor. There was an audible pop as several of his vertebra snapped.

Cal howled. He no longer had any feeling in his legs or arms.

"Cal!” Jim tried to move the plank off Cal's back, but it was too heavy to lift.

"Come on.” Jarvis tugged at Jim's shirtsleeve. “We gotta go!"

"No! We can't leave without Cal!"

"It's too late.” Jarvis pointed to the bowels of the fallen house. “Look."

Out of the darkness, a thick, serpent-like tentacle wrapped around Cal's left leg. It yanked him out from under the timber and pulled him across the littered floor. Cal felt none of this, but screamed when the Beast's acid saliva melted his crippled body.

The Beast howled victoriously as it sucked up Cal like a cherry Slurpie.

Jim's blood chilled. The hairs on the back of his arms stood at attention. He wanted to turn and run, but fear had locked his knees and frozen him in place.

The tentacle came again. He saw the suckers on the flat, shovel-shaped end. They were red and puffy.

Vaginas. They look like little vaginas.

Gray proboscides darted from the center of the bloated suckers.

And penises. Small penises.

Jim closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. In his mind, he saw the tentacle cover his face, closing his nose and mouth, slowly suffocating him. He felt the tiny suckers stick to his cheek and nose, chin and forehead. There was a tingling sensation as the penis-like proboscides bored into his skin and injected their strange, flesh melting poison...

Jim felt a sudden jolt from behind, and his petrified legs moved. Timothy had opened the door, and Jarvis, who had Jim by the collar of his shirt, was pulling him toward it.