| Episode 057 | |
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“Fee Fie Foe Fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.”
It always looks different in the horror movies. Being the pieces of
pulp fiction that they usually are, they’re filled with casual drama and
cheap suspense. For example, the bad guy sneaks up on the heroes and
slowly and carefully lifts the axe or whatever up, holds it over his head
and screams. And then the camera focuses in on the heroes and they scream.
And then the killer slams the axe down and it moves all slow and all.
Trust me. In real life, it works very differently.
It’s amazing what rushes through your mind as you watch your
death spiraling down at you. All this, plus a general thought about the
rusty axe head that’s falling down. I can feel the exertion and the
effort put into driving this wood-splitting weapon into where I was. But I
thank every martial arts class, every close call, and every-near miss in
my life to have conditioned me to do one thing: get out of the way.
I roll over once, bringing myself just outside of the axe swing. I
come up to my feet as the huge man hoists the axe up out of the ground and
turns his eyes to me. He smiles at me with that erratic row of rotting
teeth, then swings the axe at me. I duck down underneath it, barely having
time to figure out what’s happened before Slate swings in and catches
the massive fat man in the knee.
He doesn’t even seem to notice.
He swings back around with the broad side of the axe, barely
missing her as she jumps back from him. She moves back farther as he turns
to face her. “Sam!” She yells. “Get the gun! Shoot him!”
The giant turns back to me as I pull my AK-47 around. I push the
stock against my shoulder, hold it like I’ve seen in all the movies and
pull the trigger.
Click
Click
I open my eyes.
He’s standing in front of me, his toothy grin filling my eyes
with fear. “I smell him on you.” The giant whispers. He reaches out
and grabs my shoulder with his free hand, the stench of the boy’s
innards making me convulse with sickness.
He starts to squeeze my shoulder and grins. “He’s not real, you
know?” The monster hisses. “He’s just a figment. Like you’re about
to be . . .”
I hear the sickening smack of steel and flesh. I can see around the
giant’s meaty arm as he turns around as well, both of us staring at
Slate as she holds the machete, covered in blood. “Leave him alone.”
She demands.
And she gets a heavy smack across the head for her troubles.
As he knocks her away, I grab my machete as it dangles from the
lanyard around my belt. I tear it free as he turns back to me. I swing the
heavy blade at his head, but he just drops the axe and catches my hand
with a quickness that seems unnatural. “Don’t worry.” He smiles, his
breath reeking of spilt blood. “I look little boys, too.”
He turns around quickly, yanking me over his shoulder. I feel
myself lift off the ground and can tell I’ve been propelled towards the
shack.
That’s the last thing I remember.
I feel the pain in my shoulders before I actually come to. When I
finally manage to open my eyes, I wake with a start. I can smell the
wretch stink of the shack before I can see clearly. And when I do finally
manage to open my eyes, I wish I hadn’t.
Slate dangles inches in front of me, both of us hanging almost a
foot off the ground. Our hands are held in handcuffs that are drawing
blood from both our wrists. We’re hanging from around an I-beam that
supports the tin roof. I glance around Slate’s body as she hangs
unforgivingly, the act causing our bodies to sway a bit. I look past her
and see the room we’re in.
It’s the small room we first were glancing through.
And I can see the dead boy.
Or what’s left of him.
I can tell by the posture of the hips that he’s supposed to be
bent over. But his skin has gotten even more blue since we were crouching
just outside. But if there was any question about his condition, it’s
gone now.
He doesn’t have a torso.
The legs and hips end just above the waist. His lower body is
literally nailed against the wall. At the base of his feet, I can see
where some of the remains of his innards have fallen and rotted away. I
can smell the stink of decomposition. It’d be sick except I think I’ve
already gotten used to it.
I turn my head back inside my dangling arms and look at Slate. Her
eye is swollen over and she’s still unconscious.
Thunk.
I turn my head and glance outside the door. Through the opening, I
can see the shadow of the giant as he sits back down, his body bent over
what looks like a mostly-cleared table. I see him turning his attention to
a long, slender thing. It looks like an arm.
But then I see the boy’s head move. I take a deep breath, unsure
how to handle it. The shadow of the boy’s head, cast against the far
wall, rolls to one side, then against gravity towards the other. It tries
to lift up, but it makes no sound. Only the sickening wet smacking can be
heard. But the head lifts up, then falls back down.
It dangles lifelessly.
I turn back to Slate, my eyes closed tight. I fight back any
emotion, then look to her. Still unconscious. I glance back at the door,
then nudge my head forward at her, the simple act causing my skin to dig
even deeper into the handcuffs. But I tap her forehead and it makes her
move. I can tell she’s coming around. I bump her again, then move in
close to her ear. “Quiet.” I warn.
She doesn’t make a sound. I pull back from her and she looks up
at me, her eyes filled with pain. I lean in again, biting down as my skin
is ravaged even deeper by the handcuffs. “He’s in the next room.
We’ve got to get out.”
I draw back and she nods to me. Before I can say anything, she
reaches her legs up and wraps them around my waist. I stare at her, but
she hugs her legs around my body. She puts some weight on me, which I can
barely endure, then grabs onto the I-beam above her head. Relieving some
of the strain of the handcuffs, she motions with her head for me to do it
too. I lift my legs up around her waist. I have to shift my weight and
grab onto the steel beam, but I finally do.
As I let go of her, she looks around the room. The smooth wood
walls don’t offer us much to work with. She finally looks up at the
I-beam. “What if you swung and kicked him as he came in?” I ask.
“I got him with a kick that should have broken his knee.” She
whispers. “Kicking him, even if it would hurt him, wouldn’t knock him
out. And we’d still be stuck here, with him even more angry.”
“Good point.” I accept. I glance back through the doorway.
“He’s still . . . with the boy.”
“Maybe he won’t deal with us for a day or two.” Slate says,
still considering what little we’ve got to work with. “I mean, he’s
. . . he’s eaten a whole person. That’s got to fill you up. He
shouldn’t need to eat again for a little while.”
“He may not eat us for nutrition.” I say, watching as the
shadow digs into the meat of the limb as if it was a slice of watermelon.
“But he might eat us for entertainment.”
Slate looks passed me, to the wall just inches from my back. She
looks up at the I-beam, then the wall again. “Okay, Sam. When I tell you
too, I want you to kick that wall as hard as you can.”
I look at her. “What?”
“If you can knock a few of those boards down, then that should
free us the space to knock the I-beam free and we can slide the cuffs
off.”
I look at her, to the I-beam, then to her. “Slate, I know the
shack is rickety, but I don’t think I can knock the wall down. And the
roof is attached to the I-beams.” She looks up, the truth registering
with her. “We can’t just slide off.”
“Then I don’t know what we’re going to do.” She says back
at me, almost angrily.
“You’re going to feed me.”
We both turn as our giant host steps into the room. I glance back
through the door. How did he move that fast? How did he do it that
quietly?
He walks up to Slate, grabbing her jaw. “I’m going to do you,
first.” He says, looking at her, a childish light appearing in his eyes.
“I know what I’m going to do with you. I’m going to saw you in half
and pull your spine out, and then have my way with the hole that’s left.
Then I’ll do what I want with both sides of your body. Then I’ll eat
you, letting my juices baste your skin.”
He turns to me. “And you. You get to watch. I’ll peel off your
eyelids so that you can’t blink and I’ll nail your ears to the wall so
you can’t look away. And then, I’m going to eat you while the sun
comes up. You’re gonna be last just because of him. But I’m going to
paint with your intestines and slurp the blood out of your head with a
straw and then I’ll eat you, your member first.” He says, grabbing the
apex of my leg for emphasis. His grip is so strong I can’t stand it. I
feel like my boys are going to pop like pimples just from the pressure. I
can hear, through the pain, as he starts to laugh. I can hear him
delighted at the thought of my agony. I can hear him joyously celebrating
mine and Slate’s death. I can hear his sick, perverse thoughts. And then I hear the lights
go out. |
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