Go For Stories

Big, wet splats of albinoid guts hit him in the face as the limp figure cartwheeled through the air. He took a shocked breath in, nearly vomiting at the taste of the blood that seeped between his lips. Its bitter palate exactly what he would have imagined if asked to do so. Up until now, he hadn’t counted himself lucky to have been denied the experience but, with the thick, cloying taste of the afterlife on his tongue, he knew he had taken his own tastebuds for granted. He raked a hand over his tongue and squared his shoulders against the seconds to come.

“Jarrod!” he called to the flickering dark as chunks of albinoid slid down the walls around him in big, torrid glops. “Jarrod Anderson! I know you’re there. Stop playing with me and come in. We can finish this right now.”

He took a number of steps backwards in a sweeping arc, traversing the hole-riddled floor with probing feet. The way he felt, he knew he couldn’t fight the beast that was once his victim; he could barely keep his eyes open, let alone battle with a part-bat, part-scorpion, human/demon hybrid. All he could hope was that the beast was too blinded by rage to watch its own feet. Perhaps it would fall through the gaping wound in the floor, perhaps it would be unable to deploy its wings and fall to its (second) death, perhaps it would get wedged and be unable to reach Nigel’s exhausted body with its deadly talons. Then again, perhaps it would reach him and end his misery in one effective and undoubtedly bloody swipe.

“Stop playing, you evil son-of-a-bitch. I’m waiting.”

He felt the pressure in the room shift half a second before the beast entered. It was as if the atmosphere itself took in a deep breath. His body tingled with anticipation as a looming black shadow stepped quietly through the door. It had to bend to avoid scraping its head on the frame and its leathery wings sat folded on its back. The scorpion sting swung wide, hitting against the door jamb and releasing a shower of splinters.

Nigel watched the beast, fighting the urge to glance down at its feet. He wanted nothing more than to watch as it lost its balance and plunged into the depths of the building. For each step backwards that Nigel took, the beast took one forward.

“Murderer,” the beast said, licking its black lips with a long, scaly tongue. Nigel hated to admit how much that single word cut through him like a knife. This beast, this black and repulsive thing that held only the barest vestiges of humanoid form was calling him a murderer? But it was true, wasn’t it? He had murdered the man in cold blood. He had stared in his eyes as the life left them and his soul drifted away. He was no better than any of the creatures down here. Not the albinoids, not the flying eels and certainly not the thing in front of him.

He forced a pained smile. “Murderer,” he echoed, taking a step back and feeling the press of damp wall on his shoulder blades.

The killer Anderson took another long step, bringing it half a foot away from the void before it. One more pace and it was over. As much as he fought the urge, Nigel allowed a single glance at the crumbled edge between them. Just a flicker of a look. The beast paused with its back foot half off the floor. It looked at Nigel. It stared at him with those horribly familiar eyes. It smiled and took the step.

At the last second, it twisted its hip to the side and landed next to the hole. Nigel groaned. The game continued after all. With the realisation that death was upon him, Nigel didn’t flinch as Jarrod Anderson, the beast with the wicked smile, put in a burst of speed and grabbed him by the throat. The strength used to lift him in the air was staggering. This was not a material strength, this was strength born of the impossible; strength from years of living death and pent-up rage.

Nigel swallowed, feeling the hard lump of his adam’s apple being crushed between the black fingers. He watched as the tail swept up between the folded wings and the very point of the sting pushed against his forehead. Not enough to pierce the skin, but enough to be the single most threatening thing he had ever felt. It dragged down his face, pausing at the tip of his nose before dropping past his mouth – sticking for a moment on the dry, cracked skin of his lips – and finally resting against his throat.

The beast leaned forward. Nigel could feel its hot breath and smell the reek of years of decay on his face. Beyond the wings and the tail and the elongated, fanged mouth and the charred black skin, there remained a hint of the beast’s human life. Just a hint, but there it was in the lean body and the bunched muscles of its outstretched arm. It leered at him and opened its mouth to speak.

“Run.”

One word, but enough to give him hope. Hope that this constant toying would end in his escape. He didn’t truly believe it, but it was a thought to live by. The grip on his throat relaxed and he fell to the floor.

“RUN!” It roared, spreading its wings and baring its sharp teeth.

He did run. With a staggering and belaboured gait, he ran over the holey floor and out of the room. Not fast enough to escape in normal matters, but it didn’t matter now. Jarrod Anderson lumbered behind him, step by taunting step. Each one a deliberate thud designed to fill Nigel with that heart-shaking dread and anxiety of pursuit.

The hall, it seemed, held more secrets for Nigel. He stumbled along the corridor, accosted by flashes of shadows that grew clearer and more definite as he passed. The nearer he got to the shadows, the more he could see the humanoid shapes that made them whole. No doubt more spirits come seeking the way out of this world. His ragged breath filled the corridor, playing back to him in a solid indication of his poor health. This wasn’t going to last long. No matter how playful his pursuer felt, there was not much fun to be had from a dead man. At least not that he wanted to think about.

He stumbled, bumped against a wall and fell through one of the shadows. It was both warm and soul-numbingly cold at the same time. He rolled to his back, to see a hollow face leering down at him. Its eyes were empty and its mouth wide, as if ready to swallow a grapefruit whole. He shuffled back on his bottom until he was clear of the wraith and clawed his way back to his feet.

Up ahead, a corner neared. The blue light flickered stronger there, distorting the hungry faces that his gasping pleas for air attracted. He fell to his shaking knees and crawled to the ragged corner, dragging himself in front of the beast that neared, expecting to feel a foot stomp down on his back, ending his struggle forever. Turning the corner, he felt the world open out. The pressure in the air lightened and he found himself on one of the upper balconies. Not two floors up, the reactor hung above him. Its colour was reduced to a fitful and pale blue. It quivered in its position, giving the impression of an eye, looking out over its crumbling world, verging on losing complete control.

Seeing the atrium before him gave Nigel some comfort. He pushed himself up on his feet and clambered towards the edge. As he did, he felt the pressure of a hundred eyes locked on his actions. He didn’t need to look to know that the wraiths were waiting, lining the balcony and watching his final fight. He twisted his head to check on his stalker to find he had stopped less than four feet from him. Though still smiling, there was a hint of fear on the creature’s weasel-like face. Its eyes flicked between Nigel and the gap behind him.

Nigel didn’t think. He couldn’t afford to think. Whatever lay at his back had to be better than what awaited him if he stayed. Even if it were death and eternal damnation it just had to be better.

So, he threw himself head-first over the railing.