He could taste the decomposition on the bloodspawn’s breath on his lips, his tongue, could feel the warmth of the acrid breath on his bare flesh, but he couldn’t see it. Barely able to discern the outline of his own arm in front of him, he stood motionless, surrounded by nothing more than his own dry wheezing.
There was a dull splat, like the sound of a drop of water that had been clinging to a faucet finally falling to the basin. He looked around, fighting with the darkness for even a fleeting glimpse. But there was nothing.
Shivering, his knees began to knock, his arm growing weary from being held straight out. Inching closer to the wall, all of his senses in tune for even the slightest movement, or the softest of sounds.
There was the splat again, somewhere close to him in the darkness.
Creeping even closer to the wall, he held his breath, the sound of his own hammering heart pounding in his ears. He licked the dried dust from his parched, cracked lips, fighting back the tremors that crept up his spine.
Something hit his face. It was warm and wet, and slowly running down his cheek. His mind churning with the onset of panic, his instincts took over, seizing hold of his body. He brought the knife clenched tightly in his right hand towards his body, wrapping his left hand over his right to solidify the grip. With as much force as his body could generate, he leapt into the air, slamming the tip of the blade upwards towards the ceiling.
There was a sickening crunch as the blade met with soft resistance, a waterfall of the same warm fluid falling straight down on his head from above. Batting his eyes against the wave of blood, he held his breath and closed his mouth tightly so as not to inhale any of it.
Landing back on the floor, he could feel an enormous weight on his arms, the blade still sticking within the limp form that he had pinned to the ceiling.
His legs buckled beneath him as the weight bent his arms, landing squarely on the top of his head. Releasing the handle of the knife, he thrust his arms behind him in a futile attempt to catch himself as the weight of the body slammed down on him, crumpling him to the floor.
Trying frantically to scramble out from beneath the squirming pile of bleeding flesh, his right hand caught on the ivory handle, latching on tightly. With his left, he followed suit, grabbing that knife so tightly that his fingers felt as though they might break from the pressure that they supplied, he yanked upwards, all of the muscles in his arms tensing uncontrollably. Grunting, he tugged, and tugged, ripping the tearing edge of the blade through the flesh, cracking through whatever bone dared to resist.
There was a fluid filled gurgle from the cold lips of the face that was pinned atop him, right next to his ear as gushes of the warm fluid issued forth, splattering across the side of his face. Yet still he cranked that knife upwards, tearing through the all too frail humanity until one by one he could both feel and hear the thin ribs as they snapped. The soft tissue of the lung beneath tore to the tune of the breath whistling through the hole on the chest rather than from the lips that no longer drew life near his ear.
With a crack, the knife met with the clavicle, knocking the blade out of his grasp as with a groan, the inside of the creature poured out all at once, covering the entirety of his clothing and spilling out across the floor.
Gagging from the rotten stench of the innards that rested atop him, Scott flopped out from beneath the body and rolled across the floor, the dust and dirt clinging to the crimson fluid that soaked his skin and clothing. He lay there for a moment, exhausted, his heart beating so fast he feared it might rupture as he stared through the darkness at the outline of the form that lay strewn across the dirt. There was but the slightest of glimmers from the mummified eyes, the fluid seething across the floor more than eager to soak it up.
No sound came from the body, not the slightest sound of air being dragged into the open chest. The fingers twitched to either side of the body, rattling momentarily against the ground before curling into the throes of rigor mortis.
Crawling closer, his hands and knees thickening with the bloody mud atop the floor, he lowered his head, staring intently into the rapidly bluing face of the cooling corpse. The eyelids were fixed back beneath the sockets, the marbled eyeballs drying and splitting. The open mouth gurgled slightly from the settling of the organs.
Closing his eyes, Scott rolled onto his back, exhaustion having taken its toll on his weary body. His breath slowed, his pounding heart returning to something resembling the more regular fearful thundering as he seemed to melt into the ground, the tension that had literally tied him in knots slowly seeping out from him tensed muscles.
Scott opened his eyes and stared up at the blackened ceiling for a moment before rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself up to his feet. Wiping his muddy hands of his wet jeans, he realized the futility and just shook them at his sides as he limped across the dirt floor towards the stairs. Hitting the landing, he grabbed onto the railing and prepared to pull himself up the rickety old stairs.
The stairs wobbled beneath his weight as he advanced, creaking and groaning as he worked his way towards the kitchen. Pausing, he glanced back over his shoulder towards the dark lump that lay in the middle of the floor below, cloaked in the shadows.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, a tear creeping from the corner of his eye.
Sniffing, he clambered into the kitchen and crossed the plywood floor towards the open front door. The rubber soles of his shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor, which was still damp from the snow that had blown in from the storm. Crossing the threshold, he stepped out onto the porch and lumbered down the stairs to the lawn.
He stopped and stared up into the night sky. The thick mass of clouds overhead had parted just enough to allow for the dim light of but a few stars to shine down from the night sky. The enormous flakes had dwindled to tiny balls of ice, slowing from the blizzard rage with which they had once fallen to a mere trickle of flakes.
Lowering his head, he rounded the corner of the house towards where he had parked his car, his eyes catching on movement at the line of trees far across the open field of white straight ahead. Walking around the wide trunk of the dead maple, he stared towards the start of the forest as a shadowy form stood as but a silhouette against the darkened trees. His eyes fixed on the shadow as it just stood there, watching him in return. And then, with a flash of movement, the form was gone, replaced by the crashing sound as the underbrush was hammered beneath pounding feet.
A large buck bounded from the wall of trees, prancing into the field for just a moment, its eyes reflecting the starlight with a golden glare. Its large rack cast a long shadow across the white snow, as it stopped, its eyes flashing one final time before streaking across the field and disappearing into a grove of pines.
Nodding, Scott turned to the vehicle and slowly fished his keys out of his pocket. Turning them over and over in his hand, he stepped to the driver’s side of the vehicle and looked into his open palm for the key to the door. His flesh was stained deep red, dirt and dust crusting the fluid into a caked mess on his skin. Glancing down at his clothing, he debated for the briefest of moments whether he really wanted that on the seats of his car, but that logic seemed more than a bit silly to him as he popped the lock and hopped into the car. Bringing the engine roaring to life, he flipped on the headlights and stared at the yellow rays of light that flooded the field from the car.
Slowly, he shoved the gear into drive and gripped the wheel, turning out into the field and heading back towards the road. Finding the groove in the road from his tracks from when they had driven here earlier in the night, he pressed the gas, gaining momentum as the car headed for the forest on route back to his house.
A bleak look was etched into his pale face that was splotched with the quickly drying blood. His eyes fixed blankly on the road ahead as his dry lips slowly sealed shut. Unblinking, he watched the two lines from the tire tracks in the snow- covered road in the glow of the headlights. The only thought in his head was of grabbing a shovel so that he could come back and bury his friends.
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THE BLOODSPAWN
Michael McBride
