Torment (7 page)

“Come along children!” Miss Courtney exclaimed,
leading Georgia by the hand. “Time for snack!”

A cheer came from the class. They rushed to an
adjoining room hidden behind a thick black tapestry. Inside the chamber was a
low onyx topped table. Appropriate sized chairs surrounded it. Places were set
for each child; hand woven placemats decorated with the sigil of Baphomet, small
daggers, and pint sized goblets.

Mr. Pete placed the helpless man in the center of the
slab. He yanked the fellow’s shackled wrists up, securing them to an eyebolt
equipped with a heavy carabiner. His legs were restrained in the same way.

Miss Aurora came around with a gallon jug full of dark
purple drink. A label read “Magic Juice.” Cups were filled. The children were
clutching their knives eagerly.

“Everyone drink up!” Miss Courtney said. The kids
obeyed, eyes moving hungrily over the bound man.

“Now gather around,” Miss Aurora raised both hands
high. “Georgia will lead our prayer today.”

The small girl bounced eagerly up from her seat. She
held her small dagger outward, arms rigid and face grave.

“Please accept our sacrifice, elder gods. Take this
unclean spirit into the fires of your kingdom. Grant us power and domination of
our enemies. May your rule last until humanity lies stinking in the ground.
Hail the old ones!”

“Hail the old ones!” The class echoed. Applause broke out.
Georgia blushed happily and giggled.

“All rise!” Miss Aurora instructed.

Twelve children scooted their chairs back and stood.

“Raise your blades!”

Twelve small arms lifted twelve honed weapons.

“Partake!”

Twelve wounds followed by twelve greedy mouths.

Mr. Pete surgically carved the meat after the initial
feeding. Slices from various muscles and organs were distributed. The room had
all the lively chatter of a normal school cafeteria.

Georgia finished her meal as quickly as possible. She trotted
over to Miss Courtney, who popped the last bite on her plate into her mouth and
led the little girl back into the main classroom.

“Are you ready?” Miss Courtney asked, handing over a
small wax doll with Megan’s hair attached.

“Yes, priestess,” Georgia’s small grin was stained
red.

“You understand what will happen after the ritual is
complete?”

“Yes, priestess.”

“Then proceed.”

Georgia pulled a neat selection of long needles
towards her. She picked out a four inch pin, jamming it violently into the
doll’s leg.

Megan was ringing up old Mrs. Lottie and her husband
when a huge pain ripped through her right thigh. She spilled the open till on
her way to the floor. Shrill screams filled the small pharmacy. Blood darkened
her pants, pouring out from a gaping round wound.

Mrs. Lottie was rushing around the counter when a
second hole opened in Megan’s left leg. The old woman stopped short, trying to
call for help but unable to breathe in enough to do it. Her husband was on the
phone making a futile attempt to explain to 911 what was happening.

An invisible hand gripped the young woman roughly by
the wrist. It squeezed brutally for a time, grinding delicate bones together.
Megan stopped shrieking long enough to whimper out a frantic plea for mercy.
This was answered moments later as her arm rotated backwards, shearing tissue
and tendon. It savagely popped out of socket.

The pain was explosive. Tears streamed down Megan’s
cheeks. A ragged, hiccupping yell bored from her mouth. Mrs. Lottie fainted.
Her hubby quit trying to talk to the befuddled operator and hung up after a
panicked; “Sweet Christ, get here now!”

Claws dug into her armpit, ripping through tender
flesh. Mercifully, Megan passed out a moment before her arm was torn off and
thrown against a wall. Mr. Lottie vomited, then joined his wife on the floor.

An ambulance pulled up just in time to witness Megan’s
severed head, trailing a ragged collar of crooked flesh, fly through the
display window at the pharmacy’s front. Upon leaving their vehicle, the first
responders wisely entered with a body bag.

Back at Stoddard, two vans, non-descript and perfectly
ordinary, drove out of the parking lot. Mr. Pete followed in a small sedan. The
convoy travelled to a small private airport. Children, some weeping, others,
Georgia included, were eager, trooped from the vans to a waiting Lear jet. It
took off shortly after everyone boarded.

Police investigating the murder of Megan Summers and
the disappearance of the kids were baffled. No one had seen them since that
morning. The staff’s backgrounds were all very well done fakes. Even the
psychotropic drugs they found mixed into a half empty jug of grape drink had no
back trail.

All the meager details were filed away in a cold case
box a year later. Stoddard was repurposed as a medical office building.

No one bothered to check behind the hastily bricked up
entrance hidden by the ragged tapestry in what had once been a large classroom.

Chris swam up from unconsciousness slowly, like a deep
sea diver slowly rising to prevent decompression sickness. Water dripped
nearby, causing his already throbbing head to pound even more mercilessly as
each drop hit the larger puddle. The ground he laid upon was cold, damp, and
hard. Stones dug into his hip and shoulder, piercing the heavy parka he wore.

Something tight was wrapped around his chest. Chris
weakly struggled against it, slightly able to move his elbows away from his
body. It was too much effort to do any more at the moment. Just doing that was
sufficient work until his muscles woke up more.

What had happened? One moment he’d been on a sunny
trial, taking photos to test out his new camera. The next, a sharp prick jabbed
at the hamstring of his left leg. A warm numbing sensation followed the sting,
flowing up to his head and knocking him out.

Remembrance of the odd pain started a maddening itch
in the affected area. Chris attempted to maneuver a hand in order to alleviate
it, stretching his bonds further.

Encouraged, he struggled harder, forcing the strange
material out of shape enough to push it over his head. Freed, Chris set about
restoring blood flow to his arms, wincing at the pins and needles as he shook
feeling back into them.

He patted at the pockets of his coat. His phone was
still there, though he had no signal. No surprise, since Chris was apparently
stuck in a cave. More importantly, his pocketknife with flint striker in the
handle was present. Now if only he could find wood to use as a torch.

Cautiously, reaching out with one hand, Chris began to
explore the walls, searching for an exit. Three solid walls and one semi-solid
that gave a little when he pushed. Whatever the last was, it stuck stubbornly
to his probing hand. After scrubbing vigorously at the gunk, he unfolded his
blade and attempted to cut into it. Very tough going, but there was progress.
Fresh air seeped through the small hole.

Judging by how little progress he’d made with the
knife, Chris decided against continuing. All it would probably do is leave him
with a dull blade. Given the high potential for his circumstances to be
dangerous, having a sharp weapon was important.

Experimental pulls at the tiny breech only resulted in
tacky hands. Chris cursed out loud, immediately clamping his mouth shut
afterward. He strained to listen for approaching footsteps. Long moments passed
without a sound. He let out a breath he was unaware to have been holding and
tried to think around the current problem.

A more thorough search of his pockets gave no help.
This trip was only supposed to have lasted long enough to test filters on the
camera. He hadn’t packed any camping gear. The single idea he could come up
with was to try and burn away the material.

Removing the small flint stick, he crouched near the
doorway’s bottom. A bright spark, blinding after the time spent in darkness,
jumped out. It struck the wall and ignited it. Chris stood back in amazement.
The barrier was going up like tissue paper. Really moldy old tissue paper that
stank to high heaven. He briefly wondered about burning up all his oxygen. What
if there was an airtight seal beyond this one?

Too late now. The apparent exit was completely open
now. Dim light filtered in, enough to make out basic shapes without showing
details. Meager weapon in hand, Chris walked slowly forward. Fingertips were
kept on the wall to his left. Occasionally, it came into contact with more of
the mystery gunk. He would stop and remove it, not wanting a build-up of the
stuff to hinder mobility.

His plan was pretty simple; get out without
encountering whoever had captured him and get home. Calling the police could
wait until he was safe, not that he had a lot of information to give them.

A prickly, hairy object brushed Chris’ face. He yelled
in surprise, swatting it away. It felt like smacking a water balloon wrapped in
a toupee. The thing struck the stone wall, squeaking as it hit the floor.

Chris rushed forward, kicking blindly. He got lucky,
smashing whatever the creature was against a rock. It splattered wetly. A small
fleck of it struck his cheek, which caused an instantaneous sensation of
irritated skin.

Panic, held at bay heroically until now, flooded him.
Chris went sprinting down the corridor. Less than a hundred paces later he fell
hard, losing his footing in some loose pebbles. The knife clattered away.

He lay still on the cold ground. The wind was knocked
out of him. It was a struggle to breathe. Chris wondered if he’d broken a bone.
It felt like his ankle was on fire. To boot, he was bleeding from two wounds;
knee and palm.

Skittering, chattering sounds came from the darkness
behind him. He rolled over onto his back, straining to see. There seemed to be
a cluster of red lights at various heights floating in the tunnel. They were
stacked on top of each other, almost like a rectangular flash on a camera.

He climbed slowly to his feet. Chris’ ankle was
tender, but could bear weight. Good. If his kidnappers were finally showing
themselves, running would be necessary, though given the results so far, this
wasn’t the best plan.

A high pitched shriek echoed towards him. It was
followed up by a series of angry chatters. Chris began to edge away, trying to
be as silent as possible. His mouth was bone dry. Sweat ran down his armpits in
rivers.

Multitudes of tiny red eyes opened throughout the
corridor. Every surface seemed covered with them. They were much closer than
he’d thought. Chris walked away as quickly as he dared. The path was littered
with lose stone. Running now would be suicide. Another fall would do him in.

 Suddenly a startlingly white face appeared in
the gloom, dead center of the red eyes. Even more shocking was the fact that it
was human. Indeterminately sexed, the features were heavily wrinkled. The nose
was large and hooked. A massive vein pulsed mid-forehead.

“What…?” Chris stammered through chattering teeth.

The milky visage lifted to show skin stretched over
the eye sockets and gleaming dentate ending in uneven points. A bioluminescence
filled the tunnel, revealing a massive body comprised completely by a teeming,
writhing bulk of dinner plate sized spiders.

A three fingered hand attached to a hair covered limb
reached out for Chris. He booted it away, sending an arachnid flying into the
wall. It erupted against the rock, sliding down on a slick of intestine and
dark blood.

Roaring, the creature surged forward. Chris shuffled
backward, struggling to keep balance. A tentacle, thick as a telephone pole,
nearly smashed into him. One of the oversized spiders leapt onto his chest. It
was trying to bite through the thick coat. He screamed and punched himself,
smashing it.

Awkwardly launching into a run while trying to scrape
the attacker’s viscous grime off, Chris narrowly avoided a large rock launched
at his head. The monster was ripping small boulders from the walls, throwing
them with nightmarish force. Sharp fragments showered down on his lowered head
as he dashed for what he hoped was an exit.

Dodging and stumbling through the passage was
exhausting. Already running on empty, his quivering legs threatened to dump him
at any moment. Sooner or later the creature would catch up…or find its mark.

After what seemed an eternity, an opening appeared.
Opaque light filtered through. Chris slowed, breathlessly crying out in despair
at the thick webbing blocking it.

He’d outdistanced the monster by a hundred paces. It
would be at him in a minute at the most. Rather than uselessly tearing at the
barricade, Chris began to gather up stones in a rough pile. There was little
hope of getting through the barrier. Better to go down fighting.

The ghostly face peeked around the final bend, a
grotesque, triumphant grin plastered across it. Chris promptly pegged a
baseball sized rock into the dark body beneath it. Squeals announced his kill.

More missiles followed. Each thumped into the beast
with a wet smack. It whimpered loudly, as if asking how he could do such a
thing. Chris screamed laughter at its pain.

From outside the blockage, a surprised voice
interrupted his merciless flow of scoop and pitch. “What’s this stuff?”

“Help!” Chris yelled hoarsely. “I’m in here!”

“Holy crap!” A second speaker, female, exclaimed.
“We’ve found him!”

Hissing, the creature advanced. It knew the new
players were here to rescue the juicy morsel its scouts had recovered. Despite
the painful attack, it was determined to prevent Chris from escaping.

A thick knife blade punched through the webbing. Its
owner grunted manfully as it slowly parted the heavily spun material. Chris
pushed down on the flat side, adding his force to the
rescuer’s
.
The chubby, bearded face of a middle aged man appeared through the tear.

“Get down!” The fellow yelled, eyes looking over
Chris’ shoulder.

He dropped flat instantly, narrowly avoiding the milky
face’s snapping,
crystalline
jaws. Gunfire thundered a
moment later. The beast wailed. Bullets pushed it backward.

“Sue! Get up here!” The man hollered, dumping the
cylinder on a large revolver. “Shoot that damn thing!”

The black barrel of a rifle poked through the breech.
It boomed in the small space. A neat hole appeared in the creature’s forehead.
Its features scrunched up briefly, then slackened. The spidery mass which made
up the horror’s body began to fall away, scampering back the way they came. Sue
picked off a few more as they retreated, her high powered weapon nearly
disintegrating them.

Chris stayed completely still during the pitched
battle, hands covering his head. His ears rang from the gunshots. He jumped
when the bearded man touched his arm to help him up.

“Easy, buddy,” The fellow said gently. “Sue shot the
fudge out of whatever that was, see?”

Apprehensively, Chris looked at the monster’s corpse.
Without the writhing body, it was reduced to a black boned skeleton. The
structure was humanoid except for the enlarged jaws and teeth. Spots of white flesh
stuck to it here and there. Its organs were contained in a clear sac of yellow
fluid.

“Gross,” Sue offered, turning her tobogganed head to
spit in disgust. She clutched the smoking rifle tightly, alert to any movement
from the felled beast.

“We’ve been out looking for you,” The bearded man
explained, keeping one hand on Chris to steady him. “Park ranger found your car
two days ago. Volunteers have been out since then. You’re one lucky duck. If we
hadn’t spotted that web sparkling, that boogie would’ve had you for lunch, my
man.”

Chris nodded dumbly. Two days.

“Speaking of lunch,” Sue took his other arm. “Let’s
head back to base camp. He needs something to eat and to have the paramedic
look him over.”

Gratefully, Chris allowed the duo to lead him to a
larger group set up at a campsite. He sipped broth while a sheriff, after
listening to the story told by his saviors, led a dozen people away. Half an
hour later, while a medic was setting up an IV to get him rehydrated, Chris
could hear faint pops and smell smoke in the air.

He laid back on the camp bed and thanked God for
sensible actions to extraordinary situations.