Urban Gothic

treatment off and on for the last few days, even when they were hanging together and with the gang. Recently, he’d been bringing up the future, asking her what it held for them—indeed, wondering if there would even be a “them.” She wanted different things than he did, and no matter how many times she told him that, Javier didn’t seem to understand. Was it right? No. Was she probably being a bitch? Yes. Did it matter? No. What was the point if she couldn’t be with a person who wanted the same things?

None of which meant a damned thing now. Not in this place.

Jesus, Heather thought. I’m a fucking mess. I’m scared. I’m soothed. I’m horny. I don’t know what the hell I am.

Heather heard Kerri sniffle. She turned and saw her friend wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Brett stared down the hallway in the direction they’d come from—keeping watch or trying to give Kerri her privacy. Or maybe both. Heather wasn’t sure. She put her arms around the other girl. It was all that she could think of to do. Kerri let out a snuffling, stifled moan and hugged her tightly. Kerri’s hot breaths blew against Heather’s neck.

“Shhhh. It’ll be okay. Javier will get us out of here. We just have to be brave, alright?”

Nodding, Kerri sniff ed again. Heather rocked back and forth slowly, and made placating noises until Kerri pulled away from her and straightened up again.

“Sorry,” Kerri said, wiping her nose. “Just . . . seeing you and Javier together . . . it made me think about Tyler . . .”

Heather wasn’t sure what to say, so she didn’t respond.

Javier motioned at them to come ahead. They crept through an open door and into another hallway. This one ran in the opposite direction of the previous passageway. Like the other, it was illuminated with a string of bare lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling.

Heather glanced in each direction and whispered, “Which way?”

Shrugging, Javier pointed with the knife to the right. They started in that direction. Javier went first, followed by Heather, then Kerri. Brett brought up the rear. Javier held the knife out in front of him. The lights glinted off the blade. Heather shifted the brick from one hand to the other. It was heavy, and her arms were beginning to ache. Plus, the hard, rough surface was giving her blisters. Heather noticed that Kerri allowed the club to dangle at her side, as if she’d forgotten she was carrying it.

“Um, guys?”

Brett’s voice trembled. They turned and noticed that he’d stopped a few feet behind them.

“Where did we come in?”

“Out front?” Kerri sounded confused.

“No,” Brett said. “I mean this hallway. Where’s the door we just came through?”

“Right behind you . . .” Javier’s voice trailed off as he gaped. Heather was about to tell him that he needed to quit blaming Brett for their predicament and quit being so short with him—but instead, her attention was drawn to the spot where they’d come in.

“See?” Brett pointed. Instead of an open doorway leading out into the previous corridor, there was now a wall. “The door’s gone.”

“What the fuck?” Javier whispered.

Heather heard real fear in his voice this time, and for a second, she thought it might be Javier’s turn to start crying. Instead, he strode toward the new wall.

“Doors don’t just get up and walk away.” Javier knocked the wall with the hilt of his knife. He grunted. The others gathered around him in confusion.

“Watch our backs,” Javier told Kerri. Then he turned his attention back to the wall. He handed Heather his knife and placed both hands on the paneling. He shoved and pushed in different directions, but the slab didn’t move. Brett moved to help him, but Javier waved him away.

“It ain’t budging,” he whispered. “It’s a trapdoor of some kind.”

“But why would they only seal off this end?” Brett asked.

“To keep us heading forward, maybe? An ambush?”

Heather pushed past both of them and ran her hand over the wall. It wasn’t plaster or paint or even wallpaper. It was solid wood—smooth, like a tabletop.

Or a coffin lid, she thought.

Heather squatted and let her hands run along the surface until she found the floor. She felt the edge of the wooden surface there. The wall had slid in front of the door—quietly enough that none of them had heard it.

She stood back up again. Brett and Javier were still discussing the blockade. Heather was about to suggest that instead of standing around talking about it, maybe it would be more prudent for them to hide again, but she never got the chance. As if in response to Javier’s words, the lights blinked out. Darkness engulfed them once more.

Strange, cruel laughter boomed down the hall.

Heather, Javier, Kerri and Brett screamed in unison.

The laughter grew louder, almost drowning out their cries.

NINE

As their screams echoed off the walls, the sinister laughter brayed out a third time. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the noise ceased. The sudden darkness seemed to amplify the stillness. The silence terrified Kerri even more than the laughter had.

She scuttled back down the hall, groping with one outstretched hand, and nearly tripped over Heather. Both girls squealed in fright.

“Quiet,” Javier whispered. “Listen.”

Kerri had to hand it to him. Just moments ago, when the door had disappeared, Javier had sounded as scared as the rest of them. But now, with danger once more imminent, his cool, no-nonsense demeanor had returned. He kept his voice calm. Almost detached.

“Where are they?” Brett moaned. “I don’t—”

“Everybody hold hands,” Javier interrupted. “Heather, give me the knife back, but be careful not to stick me with it.”

They fumbled around in the darkness, seeking one another. Someone’s hand encircled Kerri’s. The palm was sweaty, and thick calluses rubbed against her skin. She squeezed tightly, seeking comfort, and the hand squeezed back. Long, pointed nails grazed her wrist. Kerri froze. Her stomach lurched and her muscles tensed. Brett and Javier had short fingernails. So did Heather. She complained about it anytime that she, Kerri, and Steph got together for a day trip to the spa. Every time she tried to grow them out, they got brittle.

The hand squeezed harder. Kerri shrieked. She tried to pull her hand away, but the stranger’s grip tightened. The nails dug into her skin. In the darkness, she heard Javier, Brett, and Heather crying out in confusion, but she was too panicked to warn them. The club slipped from her other hand and clattered onto the floor. The attacker jerked her forward, and Kerri nearly fell. She felt hot, rancid breath on her face, as something warm and wet slithered across her cheek. She realized it was a tongue. Shuddering in revulsion, Kerri opened her mouth to scream again. The slick appendage slipped between her lips. Half in shock, Kerri chomped down.

Now it was her attacker’s turn to scream. It did so in short, muffled bursts because its tongue was firmly clenched between Kerri’s teeth. Blood filled her mouth. Nauseated, Kerri released the tongue and stumbled backward. Something groaned in pain. Seconds later, footsteps pounded down the hallway as the wounded attacker fled.

“Kerri?” It was Javier. “What’s wrong?”

She tried to answer, but all she could do was wail. She fumbled in her pocket with one trembling hand, pulled out the cigarette lighter, and flicked it on. The flame jittered. Brett, Heather, and Javier stared at her in concern.

“What’s wrong?” Javier repeated. “What the hell happened?”

“There . . . there was something in here . . . with us. It grabbed me. At first I thought it was one of you, but . . .”

She couldn’t finish. Stomach roiling, Kerri sank to her knees, released the lighter wheel, leaned forward, and vomited. She heard small sounds of shock and dismay from her friends, but when she tried to answer them, her stomach heaved again. The stench rising from her own puke made her throw up a third time. Javier, Brett, and Heather pulled out their cell phones and used the display screens to give her light. Heather stood over her, holding