Brian Keene - Urban Gothic

“Quiet,” Javier whispered. “Listen.”

Kerri had to hand it to him. Just moments ago, when the door had disappeared, Javier had sounded as scared as the rest of them. But now, with danger once more imminent, his cool, no-nonsense demeanor had returned. He kept his voice calm. Almost detached.

“Where are they?” Brett moaned. “I don’t—”

“Everybody hold hands,” Javier interrupted. “Heather, give me the knife back, but be careful not to stick me with it.”

They fumbled around in the darkness, seeking one another. Someone’s hand encircled Kerri’s. The palm was sweaty, and thick calluses rubbed against her skin. She squeezed tightly, seeking comfort, and the hand squeezed back. Long, pointed nails grazed her wrist. Kerri froze. Her stomach lurched and her muscles tensed. Brett and Javier had short fingernails. So did Heather. She complained about it anytime that she, Kerri, and Steph got together for a day trip to the spa. Every time she tried to grow them out, they got brittle.

The hand squeezed harder. Kerri shrieked. She tried to pull her hand away, but the stranger’s grip tightened. The nails dug into her skin. In the darkness, she heard Javier, Brett, and Heather crying out in confusion, but she was too panicked to warn them. The club slipped from her other hand and clattered onto the floor. The attacker jerked her forward, and Kerri nearly fell. She felt hot, rancid breath on her face, as something warm and wet slithered across her cheek. She realized it was a tongue. Shuddering in revulsion, Kerri opened her mouth to scream again. The slick appendage slipped between her lips. Half in shock, Kerri chomped down.

Now it was her attacker’s turn to scream. It did so in short, muffled bursts because its tongue was firmly clenched between Kerri’s teeth. Blood filled her mouth. Nauseated, Kerri released the tongue and stumbled backward. Something groaned in pain. Seconds later, footsteps pounded down the hallway as the wounded attacker fled.

“Kerri?” It was Javier. “What’s wrong?”

She tried to answer, but all she could do was wail. She fumbled in her pocket with one trembling hand, pulled out the cigarette lighter, and flicked it on. The flame jittered. Brett, Heather, and Javier stared at her in concern.

“What’s wrong?” Javier repeated. “What the hell happened?”

“There . . . there was something in here . . . with us. It grabbed me. At first I thought it was one of you, but . . .”

She couldn’t finish. Stomach roiling, Kerri sank to her knees, released the lighter wheel, leaned forward, and vomited. She heard small sounds of shock and dismay from her friends, but when she tried to answer them, her stomach heaved again. The stench rising from her own puke made her throw up a third time. Javier, Brett, and Heather pulled out their cell phones and used the display screens to give her light. Heather stood over her, holding Kerri’s hair back. She rubbed her friend’s back and whispered soothing words. Kerri stayed there for a few moments more, retching. Finally she tottered to her feet and wiped her mouth.

“Are you hurt?” Brett asked.

“No, I—” She turned away and vomited again.

“Sorry,” she said when she was finished. “I’m not hurt, but I definitely hurt it—whatever it was. I think I might have bitten its tongue off.”

They shined their lights toward the floor and found dime-size splotches of blood.

“I’ll say you did,” Heather agreed.

Kerri spat, trying to rid her mouth of the horrible taste. Her teeth, tongue, and the insides of her cheeks felt like they were covered with slime.

“Can you bleed to death from your tongue?” Brett asked, eyeing the scarlet droplets. “I wonder how badly it’s injured.”

“Let’s not stick around to find out,” Javier said. “Come on.”

Using his cell phone, he snapped a quick picture of the hallway. Then he crept down the passage. Kerri picked up her club, and she and Heather followed. Brett balked.

“Hold up.”

“What now?” Javier asked, annoyance creeping into his voice.

Brett pushed his glasses back up onto his nose. “We’re not going that way?”

“There’s no other way to go.”

“Yeah, but whatever it was that attacked Kerri—it went that way, too.”

“Good,” Javier replied. “If it ain’t dead yet, then we’ll finish the job if we run across it.”

He started forward. The girls followed. Sighing, Brett trailed along behind them.

When the lighter grew hot again, Kerri put it back in her pocket. With the flame gone, the darkness seemed denser. The cell phones did little to lessen the gloom. As far as she could tell, there were no rooms along this corridor. The walls were featureless.

Javier halted, staring ahead into the darkness. The others followed his lead.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he muttered. “There’s no doors leading off. No rooms. It just keeps going. If Kerri’s attacker came this way, I don’t know where he went.”

“I told you,” Brett said. “We ought to go back.”

“We can’t go back,” Kerri reminded him. “Remember? The hall is blocked.”

Brett didn’t respond. Heather rolled her eyes.

Javier cursed in Spanish again. “I don’t know what to do, guys. I guess we just keep moving forward. See where it goes.”

Without another word, he started down the hall again. After a moment, the others followed. Kerri slid her hand into her pocket, but her lighter was still too hot to flick. The floor changed under their feet, becoming uneven. The floorboards began to squeak and groan with each footstep. They slowed their pace, almost tiptoeing.

The dark hallway ended in three doorways—one directly ahead of them, and one on each side. All three doors were wide open. Each doorway opened into more windowless rooms full of junk and debris. Kerri moved up to the front of the group and stood alongside Javier. Their arms touched, and she felt a momentary flush of warmth. The sensation comforted her. She glanced at him, but Javier seemed oblivious. He stared at all three exits, his eyes flicking from one to the next as if waiting for something to jump out at him. When nothing happened, he held his cell phone aloft like a torch and stepped into the room directly ahead of them. Then he stopped and turned.

“Let me see your lighter?”

Nodding, Kerri handed it to him. Javier winced as his fingers came in contact with the hot metal.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “It hasn’t cooled down yet.”

Javier pocketed his cell phone and held the lighter high over his head. Then he checked the room thoroughly. He stepped around a rusted bunk-bed frame and thrust the flame into the corners. Then he returned to the hall.

“It’s empty,” he whispered, “but it’s a dead end. No way out.”

His voice sounded resigned, as if he hadn’t expected anything less.

“What about the other two?” Brett asked.

Scowling, Javier entered the room on the right. A few moments later, he emerged from the room and reported the same. He handed Kerri her lighter and then sucked his thumb and index finger.

“Burned the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” she said again, and returned the lighter to her pocket.

Kerri watched as Javier stepped into the third room. He pulled out his cell phone and fumbled with it as he walked. He’d only gone a few feet into the darkness when the floor disappeared beneath his feet. One moment he was there, glancing around the room and opening the cell phone. The next instant, he plummeted from sight, as if the house had opened up and swallowed him. He didn’t even have time to scream. The only sound was a crash. To Kerri, it sounded like a million glass windows breaking.

One heartbeat. Two.

And then Javier began shrieking.