Horror Sensation/HORROR.iso/stories/6.txt

Text File | 1980-11-27 | 25.9 KB | 490 lines

@ BESTIAL INFLUX (Part 6)

# By Andrew Campbell 1993
# Continued from Part 5...



 It was half past two, Sunday morning when Peterson's eyes opened. The
first thing he saw was me, looking down at him with a delicate smile.
 "Linda," he croaked. "What are you doing?"
 "Holding you." I whispered. "You fell athleep."
 "What time is it?"
 "About half two."
 "Where are the others?"
 I shook my head. "I haven't been downthtairs."
 He sat forwards, eyes never leaving mine. We looked at each other for
a few seconds, trying to merge our inner-most thoughts.
 "You saved my life." he said eventually. "I don't know how you did it,
but you did, and I think you are quite possibly the bravest person I
have ever met-"
 "Don't." I murmured, blushing. "I juth did what I thought..."
 "I knew you were special the moment I laid eyes on-"
 "Peterthen, pleathe..." I said, avoiding his gaze.
 He sighed very softly. "Sorry. I did not mean to embarrass you."
 "You're really nithe." I said, feeling hot all over. "You don't make
fun of me like the other boyth do."
 He touched my hand. "I have to go downstairs to see if Robert and the
lads are alright. Do you want to come?"
 "I'm not thtopping here on my own." I said, scanning the pitch-dark
room. It was raining outside and the wind was howling past the windows.
I hadn't noticed the hostility of the weather until now, which
reflected my great interest in Peterson.
 "Does the creature sleep?" he asked.
 "I've never theen it laying anywhere." I told him.
 "Right," he tittered. "So it could well be awake."
 "I gueth tho."
 He slid off the bed and wobbled on his feet. His hair was no longer
messy (I had combed my fingers through it whilst he had been asleep)
but his nostrils were coated with maroon and his arms were scratched.
I took his hand without hesitation.
 "Is there a loft in the house?" he asked, opening the bedroom door and
peering down the empty hallway. His eyes remained at the hole in the
floor where his gun had fired.
 "There'th a loft and a thellar." I said. "Why?"
 "I just wondered. Perhaps it has made a kind of nest somewhere. I
would really like to know where it hangs out. And more importantly, how
it moves around."
 We stepped out onto the landing. The carpet was ratty and torn and
scarred with thousands of claw-marks. Mum will have a fit, I thought.
 The floor-boards squealed and rattled beneath our weight and long
hidden dust poured into the air. I clung on to Peterson's hand tightly
whilst we tip-toed passed the half-open bathroom door before arriving
at the foot of the stairs.
 "Is there a light switch?" Peterson asked, staring into the blackness.
 I nodded and pointed to a small white square below a watercolour
picture hanging on the wall. He flicked it, turning on a dim yellow
light at the bottom.
 The stairs were shabby and torn and there were dirty black markings
on the walls at either side. Above us, Paul's blood had dried up
completely.
 We started to descend. Upon closer inspection, it became quite clear
that the black marks on the walls had been created by the Creature's
tail.
 To the left of us, the living room door was wide open. Inside we
could see total blackness. There was no sound or movement anywhere. I
feared that Robert and his friends had perished, or fled out of the
house, and shivered at the thought of the boys being pursued through
the cold, wet night by the Black Creature, with no where to hide and
no protection.
 We came within inches of the front door but neither of us suggested
using it. It was strange ; our minds knew what was happening, why we
were trapped here and why the Creature had not killed me, yet we had
spoken very little to each other about the matter. However, I could not
be certain that Peterson knew what I had inside me. I was afraid of
telling him because I did not want him to pity me any more than he did
already. My stomach ached and stung perpetually, but I said nothing.
 "I am going to go into the living room." Peterson told me. "I want you
to stay here and-"
 "No." I said. "I'm coming with you everywhere."
 He studied my face for a moment, then nodded. "Very well." he stepped
towards the door. "Stay quiet."
 His fingers slid across the wall and found the light switch. There was
a bright flash during which we saw the outline of a huge, misshapen
monster, then a loud bang and a shower of sparks. Glass from the
exploded bulb rained onto the floor.
 "I thaw it!" I gasped and dragged Peterson away. "It'th in there!"
 Confused and panting, he side-stepped from the opening, pulling me
with him. The two of us scuttled along the carpet, pressed ourselves
against the kitchen wall and remained still.
# Footsteps.
 Peterson began to shake ; because of his terrifying encounter, his
fear of the Creature succeeded even mine. I squeezed his hand.
 Footsteps again.
# Louder.
 It emerged gracefully from the doorway like a grotesque demon crawling
through a dark portal from hell. Its quietness made it all the more
fearsome.
 Peterson's eyes were enormous and I felt him slide further towards me
as the Creature stood undecidedly in the hall. His calmness had been
short-lived ; now he was panicky and afraid.
 The Creature swung it's head around and peered into the kitchen.
 Peterson's face gazed into mine, twisted with fear, dampened with
tears and saliva.
 Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something scurry down the
Creature's chest and burrow in it's stomach - a fast, dark blur.
 Before I could make any further observations, it swung around, tail
cutting through the air and slapping against the wall paper. It's feet
thumped on the carpet like distant bombs, the floor boards cried out
and the hallway light popped and died, cancelling my vision.
 Unable to see anything but blackness, I listened to the footsteps.
 They stopped suddenly and without any warning, and once more,
Rosendale House was filled with nothing but complete and utter
silence.

                                  *

 "Has it gone?" Peterson whispered, his cheek against mine. Without
sight, our gentle touches were intensified, more meaningful and
emotional. It was natural for us to kiss at that moment, and we did,
but it was merely a shadow of a kiss ; our lips brushed and made a
minuscule attempt to stay locked, but failed.
 "What are we going to do?" I asked him quietly. "Ith all dark now. The
kitchen light doethn't work either."
 "Our eyes will adjust to the darkness in a while." he told me, his
confidence apparently returned. "We have to find Robert's bag. He has a
powerful torch amongst his belongings. We can use it-"
 "Can't we juth run away?" I whimpered, desperate to be free from the
restricting boundaries of terror.
 "I want to get away from here as much as you do." Peterson said. "And
we will leave soon, I promise. But I have to make sure Robert is
alright. He fell down the stairs-"
 "He might be dead." I said morbidly.
 "Yes," Peterson agreed. "But he might be alive, trapped in the house
somewhere and we can not risk leaving him. Do you understand?"
 "Yeth." I said and sniffed up. "Okay."
 He ran his hands through my sweaty, tangled hair and kissed my
forehead. "I think we need each other, Linda." he said, cuddling me to
his body. I knew he was right ; the thought of being alone now, after
seeing the true ferocity of the Black Creature, did not make sense.
 Alone would mean death.
 Or insanity.

                                   *

 I don't know how long we stood in the kitchen for.
 It could have been several minutes or a whole hour. Distant noises
from the angry weather beating against the windows disrupted our
thoughts and made us feel vulnerable and trapped.
 But at least we were together.
 Just as my eyes became properly accustomed to the darkness, my stomach
began to flare. The things inside me were once again ready to take the
trial of life in the outside world.
 "I'm going to be thick." I whispered and unwound from Peterson's
grasp. He let me go without protest.
 I shuffled into the corner of the kitchen and threw up live maggots,
most of them as thick as earth worms. They poured out of my mouth and
began to wriggle their way across the floor. To my terror, I heard them
squealing.
 Revolted, I stamped my bare feet down on top of them, coating my
ankles with their sticky, glutinous innards. When I could hear nothing
but the wind, the rain and my own sobs, I made my way back to Peterson.
 "Jesus," he whispered as we came together. "You need medical help."
 "No." I wailed. "Pleathe no. Pleathe, pleathe...."
 "But Linda," his hands slid under my top and ran gently across my
back. "Jesus... Jesus you poor kid."
 "No medical people," I said with my eyes closed. "I'll be alright,
I'll be fine. I juth need to get out of-" I gasped and opened my
eyes.
 A bluish beam of light fired out of the livingroom and hit the wall
just in front of us. Startled, Peterson swung around and pushed me
backwards. A bright circle appeared on the wall adjacent to the
livingroom doorway and performed a circular dance.
 "Robert?" Peterson said. "Is that you?"
 Bill King appeared out of the dark, still chewing gum. His army jacket
was ripped and his shaven head was splattered with blood. He looked
like a topless boiled egg with red yoke.
 "What's happenin' dudes?" he chuckled as though he had arrived late
at a birthday party.
 Peterson laughed and snatched the torch from him. "King, as much as I
hate offensive language, you scared the shit out of me."
 "Sorry," King said. "Did you see that gigantic motherfucker? Are you
tellin' me that was a fuckin' ghost?"
 "Where are the others?" Peterson interrupted, handing me the torch. I
took it and pointed it at the roof, casting a dim light over the three
of us.
 King rubbed his injured head. "Well, Chip flew out of the patio doors
from what I can gather."
 I breathed deeply. "Ith he dead?"
 "Dunno, babe." King said and gave me a brief smile. "His body flew
right out across the garden. Can't see anymore because-"
 "Where is Robert?" Peterson interjected.
 King slowed down his chewing. "I heard somethin whilst I was hidin'.
Sounded like flesh and bones bein' chewed, but I can't be too sure
about that."
 "Oh God." I whispered.
 "How did you escape?" Peterson asked. "From upstairs, it sounded like
all hell was being let loose down here."
 "I used my nut." King grinned and resumed his lively jaw movement. He
tapped his finger proudly against his forehead. "That big, black
motherfucker took some foolin'. Skin's as hard as rock, I tell you.
Ended up hidin' from the bitch behind the settee-"
 "You hid under the sofa?" Peterson said disbelievingly.
 "I said I hid behind it." King corrected. "I couldn't get my head down
in time though." he released a sharp laugh and pulled his fingers away
from his scalp, covered in blood. "Son of a whore gave me a second
haircut."
 Peterson stepped forwards. "We have to find Robert. If there is any
chance that he is alive, we must search for him-"
 "Not recommended." King said apprehensively.
 "Pleath, can we get out of here?" I whispered. "We can come back in
the morning. Pleath Jameth?"
 King grinned broadly. "Woah, James eh?"
 Peterson edged around anxiously on his feet. "Shit." he whispered and
turned to the front door. Rain lashed at the distorted glass window
embedded in it's surface. "This could be a grave mistake."
 "It could if she doesn't change first." King said and his eyes slowly
wandered up my body, pausing a while at my breasts. "Sorry babe," he
said when he noticed my gaze. "but you can't go out in those pyjamas."
 Peterson took off his massive coat and began to pull it around me.
 "You don't have to..." I said as he buttoned me up.
 "No, I don't have to do I?" He smiled and flicked my fringe. His eyes
twinkled like two stars. "I did not have to fall in love with you
either," he said. "but I did."
 I gasped with utter shock. "Peterthen you thaid... you thaid..."
 "Lets talk about it later shall we?" he turned to King whilst I caught
my breath. "Single file : I will lead out of the door, Linda shall
remain central, you guard the rear. Take the torch. Dig?"
 "Deep as a mine shaft." King saluted.
 "I like you, King." Peterson slapped the boy on the back. "A lot."
 He walked to the front door, turned the handle, opened it wide.

 Cold wind and rain thundered into the house, blowing our hair and
splashing our clothes. An empty crisp packet swirled up from the
black, whistling doorway and scuttled across the roof as though it
was alive.
 "Move out, people." Peterson waved. "Linda, hurry. King, stay on your
guard, mate."
 "Fuckin' wind," King muttered, waving the torch frantically as I
shuffled passed him. "Can't hear jack shit, never mind see."
 Peterson began to scamper backwards down the driveway, his eyes
scanning alertly across the garden. "Let's go." he called and I ran
out to him, almost tripping over the material of the enormous coat I
was wearing. It swished around my feet as I moved.
 King strode backwards out of the doorway, his torch beaming into the
house. In his left hand, he was holding a very big knife.
 "Hurry, mate." Peterson called.
 King stood triumphantly on the doorstep, switched off the torch and
swung his head around. "Ugly fucker must be asleep." he laughed,
sliding his knife away.
 The Black Creature swooped down out of the darkness of the doorway and
enclosed it's mouth around King's head. With a loud, brittle snap, it
decapitated him. His corpse fell forwards - blood exploding from the
crimson halo above his neck - and thudded lifelessly onto the ground.
 "NOOOOOO!" I screamed.
 Instantly, the gigantic monster leaped out of the doorway, crunched
onto the gravel and scanned it's surroundings, tail lashing, body
leaning forwards, head hung low.
 Hissing white steam drifted from it's head, elevating in giant
tendrils which rose high above the house.
 His body shivering with cold and fear, Peterson hugged me again.

 The wind howled as the Black Creature galloped towards us through the
icy rain. It's feet splashed and thudded down the drive as it ran,
arms held out, twisted, alien fingers pointing at us.
 It's jaws opened wide and an inhuman scream pierced the night. I
smothered Peterson with my body again, but I knew that this time - out
in the open - my efforts to protect him would undoubtedly fail.
 The terrifying footsteps climaxed and I felt a warmth flood between my
legs. I felt sure Peterson's grip on me was going to slacken and that I
was going to find myself holding nothing but his decapitated body.
 His hands remained securely locked around my back. The thudding
footsteps were now behind me, as were the splashes and nightmarish
screams.
 "Linda, why am I still here?" Peterson whimpered through chattering
teeth. His eyes were tightly closed and his fringe was plastered over
his face.
 The footsteps faded away and we slowly unwound from each other.

 Rain was pattering into puddles, wind was soaring past our faces and
stinging our cheeks, and the dark was almost complete.
 "I think ith gone." I whispered. "I think-"
 A huge wide-open mouth flew out of the blackness and shrieked at us.
We both cried out with terror and bolted back to the house, the angry,
rampaging monster in hot pursuit.
 I risked a brief glance behind, saw blood-coated, gaping jaws only
inches from me, then focused ahead and, propelled by fear, stumbled
across King's cadaver and ran blindly into Rosendale House, dragging
Peterson all the way.
 Barely able to see, we rushed into the livingroom, turned around and
began to close the door. When the Creature's nose was only inches from
the wood, Peterson cried out and slammed the frame closed, only to be
thrown back by an explosion of sharp splinters.
 The demon's head tore through the surface and wrenched the entire
structure from the wall.
 "LINDAAA!" He yelled and rolled across the carpet, the Creature's
snapping, growling snout gliding after him.
 "Under the chair!" I shouted and ran towards the demolished patio,
toppling Mum's precious vases and ornaments in my wake.
 "Oh SHIIIIT!" Peterson screamed as he stormed across the floor on his
hands and knees with the Creature's gigantic feet crashing either side
of him. He reached the sofa, ducked his head under and whipped his feet
out of sight, just as the jaws of death came down and snapped.
 "Over here," I called, waving my hands. The Black Creature's head rose
and it's insect-like eyes blinked at me.
 Panting, I grabbed one of the chairs from around the dining table and
made a stance, ready to throw it. "Come on!" I shouted breathlessly.
"Come on you bathtard, come and get me!"
 The Creature growled like an angry wolf, bearing it's lethal, razor
sharp teeth. It remained stationary, tail thumping again.
 Peterson's pale, trembling hand slid out from under the settee and the
Creature snapped at it crossly. It's arms wrenched at the cushions and
tore into the fabric and I shouted again to try and divert it's
attention.
 "Hey, over here, come on!" I banged the chair on the floor and picked
it up again. It was made from pine, a strong, heavy weapon that I
fully intended to use with all my strength on the menace.
 It moved away from the sofa again and took several steps towards me,
this time taking more notice. Peterson moaned in pain from his hiding
position and an ugly head briefly turned to make sure he had not
emerged.
 "Over here you big bitch!" I yelled and regained it's attention. I
held the chair high and ready.
 In contrast to it's previous attacks on the boys, the Creature closed
in on me slowly and silently, with it's mouth firmly closed.
 It was a horrific, fearsome foe, and I felt my bowels loosen as it
moved into the dim, bluish light radiating from the open patio. Rain
whipped against my back as I edged closer to the windowsill, cutting
my feet badly on broken shards of glass.
 "You can't kill me." I said, knowing I spoke the truth.
 The Creature grunted and gave the settee another quick glance.
 "What are you?" I demanded. "Where did you come from?"
 It's inquisitive snout came forwards and engulfed me in hot steam. I
brought the dining chair down over it's head with all my strength. My
body leaned and fell through the air.
 There was an impact, but only with the floor.
 I landed on my stomach and the chair bounced across the room, hitting
the gas fire with a loud clang. Confused and winded, I rolled onto my
back, expecting to see the Creature's mouth descending to kill me.
 But there was nothing but the sound of the wind and rain.
 The nightmare had vanished.

                                   *

 "Where did it go..." Peterson asked me weakly as I helped him settle
down on my parent's bed. "Did you kill it? Did you kill it, Linda?"
 "Juth go to thleep." I smiled vaguely. "Ith gone now."
 "But I want to know-"
 "Not now." I whispered and unbuttoned the coat in which he had dressed
me. I threw it onto the bed and looked down at a damp stain between my
legs. The smell of urine was strong and off-putting. "I have to
change." I told him and staggered out of the room, leaving a trail of
thick, bloody foot-prints.
 The bathroom light blinked several times, then illuminated.
 Breathing harshly through my teeth, I waded across to the medical
cabinet and opened it. Bottles of medicine toppled and smashed on the
floor, tablets rained and reels of white bandages drifted through the
air.
 Clutching my stomach, I pulled down the toilet seat, sat down and
lifted my right foot onto my lap. I sighed when I saw my blood-soaked
toes.
 "Let me help you." Peterson said softly.
 I turned my head and saw him standing in the doorway, a gentle smile
on his face. He came into the room, crouched down before me and began
to tend my wounds.
 "I have to extract the glass." he told me. "Bite into your finger or
something whilst I do it, okay?"
 I nodded and began to chew my thumb.
 "I shall be quick." he whispered and I cried out with pain. He threw a
huge, bloody shard of glass into the bathtub and hushed me. "There are
two more, Linda. Bite yourself."
 I did as he told me.
 When the second fragment of glass tore out of my foot, blood entered
my mouth, but I did not make a noise.
 "Last one." Peterson said and I heard my flesh rip. He tossed the
debre into the bath and smeared his hands across his trousers. With
gentle care, he washed my feet with handfuls of cold water.
 "Huh-how come you know all thith medical thtuff?" I asked him as he
worked, shivering with cold.
 "My father is a doctor." he said.
 I felt something churn in my stomach. It wasn't the maggots.
 "I want to be a doctor too." Peterson finished and began to dress my
wounds. I stared at him.
 "You hate doctors, don't you?" he said, binding my feet.
 "Yeth." I admitted.
 "I thought so." he murmured and began to work on my left foot. "Do
you hate me now? Do you think I will hurt you?"
 "I'm not thtupid." I said crossly. "I know you wouldn't hurt me, why
did you me athk thuch a dumb quethtion?"
 "I was simply-"
 "Treating me like a little baby." I interrupted impatiently. "Well I
have a perfectly rational ethplanation for being thcared of doctorth."
 Peterson rolled up the remaining bandages and placed them neatly into
the medical cabinet. I watched him, wanting him to say something, shout
at me or make me angry so that I could defend myself. I was desperate
to make him realise how much pain I had suffered. I wanted yell, even
hit him if that's what it took to make him understand.
 He sat down in front of me and inspected my feet. My toes were
sticking out from the bandages and I wiggled them, making him smile.
 "You don't know fuck all about me." I barked all of a sudden.
 As though he hadn't heard me, Peterson picked up my feet, rested them
on his shoulders, leaned forwards so his chin was supported by the edge
of the toilet seat, and looked at me with his big brown eyes. "I do
know one thing." he said.
 "And whath that?" I snapped, eager to know.
 "You have pissed yourself." he said.
 I looked down at the wet patch between my legs and we both laughed.
 "You are right, though." he said when the joke had died. "I have known
you less than half a day, and here I am sat with my head inbetween your
legs."
 I giggled. "Don't be dithguthting."
 "What is your last name, Linda?" he asked.
 "Fairhurtht." I said. "Linda Fairhurtht."
 "Fair-hurthed." he said, mocking my lisp and I frowned at him. His
eyes scrutinised every facial change I made. He observed everything I
did with what seemed like incredible fascination.
 "Apologithe for taking the pith out off me." I demanded.
 "I am sorry." he said. "For taking the pith out of you-"
 "Oh fuck you!" I shouted. "You're juth like the others."
 "I'm sorry, really." he pinched my leg.
 "Leave me alone." I said and tried to squirm away from him. One of my
feet slid down his chest and he caught it and kissed it. I stopped
moving around.
 "What're you doing..." I muttered as he kissed my toes individually.
 "You have very gorgeous feet." he said.
 "Don't!" I shouted and kicked him. Even then, he snatched my feet back
and started to kiss them again, making me bite my lips angrily.
 "And gorgeous legs." he said, then added, "Not that I have seen them or
anything, but I bet they are gorgeous." he went on complementing me on
having a splendid anatomy, concluding with, "Hell, you just ARE
gorgeous."
 There was a moment of silence, during which the humour drained away
from the scenario like pure, scented water trickling down a drain.
 "Jameth..." I whispered, my head down. "Why are you doing thith?"
 "Doing what?" he said.
 "Pretending."
 "I do not understand." he said and wrapped his arms around me, sliding
me further towards his body. I forced myself back away. He recoiled
looking terribly confused. "Linda?" he said. "Have I offended you? I
did not mean to. I am really sorry, I did not mean any-"
 "Ith not that." I said.
 "Then what is it?"
 "You make me feel like a real girl." I said. "You make me forget that
I'm ugly, make me feel ath though I'm really pretty-"
 To my surprise, he giggled. "Linda, what are you talking about?"
 My lips trembled. "I'm ugly." I said. "I'm ugly, everyone knows that-"
 He searched my eyes for signs of humour, but found nothing. "Jesus you
stupid, crazy sod," he laughed and scooped me up from the toilet seat.
"You are the prettiest girl that I have ever seen!" His hands supported
my legs, his chest pressed against mine and our noses touched. My eyes
filled with hot tears. He kissed them away.

 When they finally found the way, our lips did not just make contact;
they crashed together and locked, threatening to stay that way for all
eternity. My hands pressed against Peterson's chest and instinctively
tried to push him away, but eventually relaxed and spidered around his
back.
 Instead of trying to free myself from him, I held on to him for dear
life, feeling the emotional turmoil inside my head scream and cry in
protest as I allowed my long imprisoned love to roam free.
 Breathless, cuddling each other tightly, we collapsed to the floor.

 "Linda," Peterson whispered, panting. "what the hell are we going to
do? This house is hardly the place for a hot romance."
 I shook my head slowly, still recovering from the shock of my first
passionate kiss with a boy. I could taste something sweet and exciting
on my lips ; something delicious and masculine. I could feel my nipples
against his chest, my hands on his shoulders and his whole presence
around me.
 "I never thought thith would happen." I whispered so quickly, I barely
heard the words myself.
 Peterson kissed the side of my nose, my eyes, my forehead, my lips.
 I felt the memories of Paul fade into nothing. I realised that Paul
had been a monster, not a boy. I had nothing to fear anymore. Peterson
was at this very moment, proving to me that boys could be warm, soft
and full of love.

                                   *

 Half an hour later, after more fantastically long kisses, I went into
my own bedroom to change my clothes. I discarded my pyjamas and
wearily put on some clean socks, panties, a pair of jeans and an old
black tee-shirt.
 It was ten past three, Sunday morning when I settled down - freshly
clothed - beside Peterson's sleeping body. I cuddled him and listened
to his breathing, and to the slightly calmer weather outside.
 There were no footsteps or hissing noises.
 No agonising screams.
 The Creature seemed to have gone.