Brian Keene - Urban Gothic

EIGHT

Javier clamped his hand over Kerri’s mouth before she could scream again. She squirmed against him, her mouth hot on his palm, and let loose with a string of muffled squeals. Javier squeezed her tighter, and Kerri’s hands flailed, slapping at him. He barely noticed. Instead, he stared wide eyed at Heather, who had just emerged from a room to their right. Her expression of astonishment matched his own.

“Javier?”

“Heather! Holy shit, where have you been? Are you okay?”

Kerri went slack. Javier released her and embraced Heather, hugging his girlfriend tight.

“Are you okay?” he repeated. “When you took off like that . . .”

“I’m fine . . . now.” Sighing, Heather slumped against him. “Feel like I’m going to throw up. That’s probably the adrenaline.”

He stroked her hair. “Are you sure? You cut your foot.”

“It stopped bleeding, but it still hurts. I lost my shoes. I’m a little banged up, but nothing serious. I was so worried that you guys were . . . that he’d gotten you.”

Javier squeezed her tighter. “We got away. So did Brett.”

“Where is he?” Heather glanced around, looking for him.

“We don’t know. Kerri saw him take off in the other direction. We’re guessing that thing went after him.”

“Oh my God. I hope he’s okay. And Steph, too.”

Neither Javier or Kerri responded.

Heather’s eyes grew wide. “Steph’s okay, right? She got away, too?”

“She’s dead,” Javier said. “That . . . big guy got her.”

“Steph . . .”

Something scratched behind the walls—light, feathery scuffling noises. Heather and Kerri both jumped, startled by the sound.

“Just a rat,” Javier whispered. “Ignore it.”

Heather wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then brushed tears from her eyes. Javier watched her, cracking a slow smile.

“What’s so funny?” she asked. “How can you be smiling, with everything that’s happened?”

“Your mascara,” he explained. “It’s running. You look like a raccoon.”

She pushed away from him. “Asshole.”

“Hey, come on. I was just kidding.”

Heather gave Kerri a quick hug.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Kerri shrugged.

“I’m sorry about Tyler,” Heather said. “I know you guys were having trouble lately, but still . . .”

Before Kerri could respond, Javier interrupted. “We need to—”

A door slammed. All three jumped at the noise. Footsteps shuffled toward them, but they sounded weird—as if the person was hopping on one foot and dragging something along behind them. They heard a faint electric hum from somewhere in the house. The string of lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling flickered to life. After growing accustomed to the darkness, the sudden brilliance blinded them for a second. They squinted, shielding their eyes from the glare.

“What do we do?” Kerri’s voice trembled.

Javier motioned toward the room Heather had just emerged from. When the girls didn’t move, he shoved them forward.

“Hide.”

They ducked into the room, and Javier shut the door behind him, quickly but as quietly as possible. He held his breath, hoping the hinges wouldn’t squeak. They didn’t. His cell phone was their only source of light. Heather’s and Kerri’s faces seemed almost ghoulish in the illumination. It didn’t help that his night vision was all screwed up now, thanks to the hallway lights. He glanced around the room, only able to see a few feet in any direction. The room was sparse, but he found a piece of termite eaten wood about the length of a baseball bat. A long, rusty nail jutted from one end. He picked it up and tested its weight. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel better. More confident.

In the hall, the strange footsteps grew louder, accompanied by wet, raspy breathing and a slightly sour stench. It didn’t sound like a human being’s breathing. Instead, it sounded like an animal.

“What if it’s Brett?” Heather whispered.

“Shhhh,” Javier hissed, motioning at them to go to the back of the room. He stuffed his cell phone back in his pocket as the girls retreated. They vanished from sight almost immediately, swallowed by the shadows, and Javier reluctantly wished that he’d told them to stick by his side instead. The room seemed more sinister without their presence, and even though he knew they were still close by, their absence seemed greater. He couldn’t believe how dark it was inside the room. Hefting the piece of wood, he flattened himself against the wall next to the door and waited. His heart beat faster. A strand of cobweb brushed against his face, sticking to his hair and skin.

Something pawed at the doorknob. Javier tensed. The door slowly swung open. The light in the hallway seemed like a mini sun. The sour stench became overwhelming. A shadowy form stepped into the room. Its asthmatic wheezing seemed to fill the space. With a cry, Javier whirled, swinging his makeshift club at the space where the intruder’s face should be. The length of wood whistled through the air and smacked against the doorframe. The shock vibrated through Javier’s arms. Dust and plaster from the ceiling rained down on his head.

I fucking missed?

Javier’s eyes adjusted to the light. He glanced down at the figure and saw why he’d missed. The intruder was a midget.

With a very large knife clutched in one gnarled fist.

“Gotcha,” it wheezed, and then slashed at his crotch with the blade.

Heather and Kerri screamed.

Javier leaped backward, narrowly avoiding the attack. He winced as the tip of the blade brushed against the fabric of his jeans. Luckily, it went no farther. Javier swung the club again, this time in a downward arc. The midget shrieked as the nail tore a ragged gash in his lumpy forehead. Blood ran into his eyes. He stumbled around, squealing with rage. Not pausing, Javier swung a third time. The nail caught the dwarf just beneath the chin. His jaws slammed shut as the nail sank deep into the flesh.

With a cry, Javier jerked the nail out. Part of the midget’s jaw and throat came with it. The skin stretched, and beneath it, muscle and gristle ripped and snapped. Blood gushed from the gaping wound. The intruder’s eyes opened wide with shock. Dropping the knife, he brought his hands to his ruined throat. Blood jetted out across his fists and ran down his stubby forearms. He squawked, then toppled backward. Emitting choking noises, the midget jittered and shook on the floor. Blood continued to pump from the wound.

Heather and Kerri continued to scream.

Javier let the club drop to the floor. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and turned to the girls.

“Shut up!”

Grimacing, he bent over and grabbed the midget’s feet. The dead man wore no shoes. The bottom of one grimy foot was covered with thick yellow calluses. The other foot was terribly malformed—more of a withered stump than an appendage. His skin felt rough and flaky. His ankles were covered with scabs and insect bites. His legs twitched in Javier’s grip. The midget uttered one last warbling cough, and then he was still. The stench roiling off his unwashed body was revolting. Turning away, Javier dragged the corpse into the room. He let the legs flop to the floor, then shut the door again—leaving it slightly cracked so that a thin sliver of light crept into the room.

“It’s okay,” he whispered to the girls. “He’s dead.”

There was a rustling in the shadows as Heather and Kerri crawled forward. Javier pulled out his cell phone again and opened it. He aimed it at the midget and took a picture. All three of them blinked at the flash.

“What are you doing?” Heather asked.

Javier shrugged. “Evidence. I’m documenting everything.”