Turning his back on the door for only a fraction of a second, he pulled her head into his by the small of her neck, kissing her quickly, but passionately. “You never do,” he assured her. He’d always wanted to play hero, ever since he was little and saw the first episodes of Saturday morning cartoons, or heard those weird news stories from Atlanta. But when it was her, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t be the hero. Couldn’t think of the world or the town or even himself. It was just fear, the fear of losing her that drove every choice he made. “Go.”
Forcing herself to listen, she turned and ran.
He watched her go, making sure she actually got into the house safely, his backside still facing her front door until her neighbours’ closed shut behind her.
Then he turned to the real problem. A million and one scenarios bounced around in his mind. Even though not one of them ended with them living, he had to try.
He stepped back a bit, then rammed the door. It had already been partially off of its hinges and now ripped off of them, slammed to the hardwood floor with a loud thud. There was no need for stealth. He knew that whatever waited in there was expecting him. He reached to his left without taking his eyes off of the gaping darkness that now surrounded him, jiggling the light switch. No effect. If Black Womb was hidden here, he had made sure that he would stay hidden.
Mike stepped into the darkness surrounding him until it was all he could see. In the absence of shapes, his mind created its own images that danced about and lunged at him haphazardly. One looked so real that he almost jumped back a pace when it came at him. Shaking with fear, he bit his lip and closed his eyes as tight as he could, until small dots began spotting along his eyelids. When he opened them again, they had adjusted to the low-light and he could see. He almost wished he couldn’t.
He could see a blue-ish outline of many objects now. There was a chair a few metres in front of him that he moved to avoid, along with a Math textbook. Cathy’s computer and desk were there, off from the living room. The moonlight shone through a nearby window, bouncing off the desk and into his eyes.
The desk’s surface glimmered with a thick dark gel turned light purple in the blue glow of the moon. It dribbled down the sides of the desk in long, slow paths, turning this way and that every time it became obstructed by a nook or hole. The more he looked at it, the less it looked like blood. It looked like melted plastic, poured perfectly over the surface of the desk without any bumps or bubbles, just smooth and perfect. But the smell was unmistakable, that coppery vomit stench mixed in with putrid B.O. It was blood, enough to have almost covered the desk completely.
He gazed around the room once more. The lamp in the corner seemed to move suspiciously, rocking back and forth on its base. He’d noticed it once or twice before, even discussing it with Cathy’s father more than once, an optical illusion created by the feng shui of the room. Now, no matter how many times he told himself that it always seemed to be moving, he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. There was a long couch between him and the lamp where anything could be lurking, waiting. A shawl that Cathy’s mother had knit years ago was draped over it, filled with little black holes that could have easily been fingers gripping the top of the couch from behind it. Or claws. No matter how much he strained his ears, he could not hear anything, not even the sounds of the pipes or the house settling.
Forcing his foot forward, he took a step toward the table. Then another. He felt his foot collide with something on the floor, lifting to get over it as he walked toward the desk. When he reached it, he ran his finger over the desk, the path creating a long streak wherever it went. A small cascading wave preceded his finger by a few millimeters, but did not ripple through the surface of the liquid like it would have if it had been water. He squished it between his thumb and forefinger before wiping it against the leg of his pants until the skin on the tips hurt. Even when he knew it was gone, he could still feel it there, clinging to him. The blood was thick and had already begun to coagulate, and had been sitting there for some time waiting for him to discover it. That meant something, but he wasn’t sure what, his train of thought moving along at a snail’s pace as he watched the pool of blood seep into the gap he had made in it with his finger, swallowing the space whole until he didn’t even know where it had been.
-cree
A sound from behind him stopped all thought immediately. It was a long, deliberate creek that seemed to cut itself off the moment he twitched. It had been no more than two feet behind him and he could already smell the rancid blackness that covered the Womb. It smelt like all the sweaty orifices of the body rolled up into one.
Sweat rolled down Mike’s brow as he waited, knowing how close it must be. Knowing that if he tried hard enough he might be able to feel the creature’s breath on his neck even now.
-eek
He spun the second the sound finished, fists coiled and flailing in a wide upward arch to cover as much ground as possible.
