Knife at the ready, I move down the bland gray hallway nice and slow, eyes taking in every detail of the new space and the door snaps shut behind.
Limping.
"So, Darren, what's this thing's disadvantage, huh?"
The speaker was at the other end, adjacent to the door opposite, a camera next to it, twisting abnormally to the right and oscillating to get a better view.
"For my leg, you know?"
I stare into the lense, "In your own words, it's only fair."
Still, there was silence.
"Fucking typical."
I let a breath out, and go forward; just gotta focus.
There's a longer, narrower hall extending to my right, the door a corner marker. There's no camera at the other end, no speaker either, just two other doors staggered down the bland grey walls and matching tile. Between the darker gray doors, there's a slim stretch of black table, three cabinets in it and a neat little Bonsai tree on top. I stop, hesitating at the choice; open the door or take a creepy walk deeper in this place House of a 1,000 Corpses style.
Just as I'm turning to step down -
"The door." The speaker crackles above my head.
"Oh hey, look who's talking."
"It's right in front of you." His voice echoes over again.
I don't move, "What's behind?"
"Just go in," he says, sounding as if he rolled his eyes.
"What. Is it?"
"Joanna -"
"What's the fucking Zonk, Darren?"
"Ha. Ha. There's No Deal, here Jo. Open-"
"Why?"
"Don't you wanna to find out?"
"Not particularly."
There's a small chuckle, "You are so infuriating."
"It's what I like most about myself. What if open a different door?"
"So curious all the sudden? You'll skew the results of the game, I've designed each of your matches carefully."
"How? You don't really know me or anyone else here."
"Neither do you. But I watch, and I pay attention, Jo."
"Ugh. Creep."
"You're so damn talkative. Before you open it, there's a walkie talkie in the table between the two doors. You'll want it.""
"Wha-"
"Don't get fussy, I'm agreeing to your terms sweetheart, I'm giving you an extra earning and I'm gonna give you a hint about what's behind."
I waited.
"Well?"
"Get the radio first."
I growl, stepping and yanking out the first drawer, taking the radio and snapping it securely to my belt before stepping in front of his desired door.
"Thank you. You're about to see my greenhouse, hun, my favorite place here. I got some cameras in there, but no speakers, so hence the Talkie. Usually there's more than one precious little thing living in there, but I've only got one for you. He's tall, not so dark, and…you get where that's going."
I scoff, "Sure."
Greenhouse, huh?
Not a banshee, Darren said 'he'. Plus there's something sexual about it, the way he put it. I'm thinkin Centaur or Hidimba or Ogre or something. They're known for stealing young women into the forest and…
I blink the thought away.
And I've only got a knife.
Why the fuck do I always fit the profile?
"You scared, babe?"
"Nope." I snap, re-gripping my only weapon firmly in one hand while I put my other on the metallic knob, "Let's do it."
I twist, and it's already open.
"Good luck," his voice cracks from my hip when I shut the door behind me.
Clear, plastic, seamless tarp stretches over white metal stands and paneled arches for yards and yards ahead of me. The natural light was fading, but I was relieved to be able to have some outside air, finally. No matter how chilly it was.
Simple growing lamps hung from the structure above me, some lit a dim yellow and some not at all. On my level, there were boxes of green planted in rich, dark soil. Some boxes were thin with shrubs and stalks, some deep with trees, some lifted and shelved growing flowers and other pretties of nature. Smooth, gray concrete floored the place, and weaved around the greenery, also making a perimeter around the entire greenhouse.
No doors other than the one I just walked through, so I take my first steps inside the new arena, eyes focusing on the upper parts.
Darren said tall.
There was a collection of trees near the middle, looked like it took up most of the back portion.
Could be hiding in there, whatever it is.
I start my walk to it, my step slow and careful.
There was some smoke, rising and snaking through the variety of greens; it was almost still, swirling slowly in the light.
It smells so sweet.
So god damn delicious.
Crisp dust.
Fresh-cut wood.
Cinnamon leather.
Brown sugar beer.
Spiced gunpowder.
Honey whiskey.
Cooked grease.
Uncut sea salt.
Baked lemon.
Wet, musky dirt.
All of it, god, it's perfect.
It needs to be the only smell I'd ever smell again.
I move, arms at my side, inhaling deep, getting closer.
Every tiny strip of smoke inhaled is absolute pleasure.
I was there now, standing outside of the dense center of trees.
Stepping up, I let my boots sink into the soil between the exposed roots.
Another step, and my fingers smooth over the trunks; they guide me closer to it.
The leaves over my head shake and rustle in the windless greenhouse; I keep moving.
A deeply hollow, wooded voice bounces off the scabbed or smoothed trunks, echoing in my ears.
I veer away from it, and a sudden addictive rotten undertone poisons the scent of my favorite perfume.
I keep inhaling, the rustle continues to be provoked without force, the laughter continuously rolls loud, louder.
I'm in the middle, at the source, I realize, of the smell, the leaves, the voice, all pressuring my skin, chest, and mind.
I turn, and it's there, towering - at least two feet over my head. It's almost humanoid, it's skin is bark-like, eyes smoldering, as if there's a fire inside. The smoke leaks out it's hollowed head top, pouring out slow and majestic. The mouth carved and remarkably polished from his wide, tree-face was gaped open, also glowing from the inside, like cherried ashes in a pipe.
A Kapre.
Scary tree monster-man who tends to hypnotize young women with their scent production and lead them off the forest trail, taking them to do god knows what then and or consuming/cooking them inside his slow-burning core to feed.
I've only read about them. Never had to face one.
Until now.
Fuck.
"Tall," I scoff in panic, and realize I've been stupefied.
I raise my knife to slash - but the tree-man's vine hands shoot out and twine around my forearm and begin to constrict my wrist.
My mind's fuzzy, senses smothered by the sweet scent; dulled and lulled.
Fuck.
At least I have the sense to avoid his other arm - roots shooting out to restrain my weapon-less hand. I swing my arm back around, and take the knife into the new palm.
I slash madly at the vines, feeling my arm throbbing under the intense squeeze.
The Kapre moans like a tree twisting in the wind, at the sawed end of my bowie cuts away, amber sap weeping like hot syrup. The carvings are easy to make, the bark layer is as thick as human skin. I cut frantically, all the while avoiding chaotic root-like fingers that burst in attempt to wrap around my wrist.
Fuck.
I slice away a finger (at least it wouldn't grow back instantly like in the movies), raise my boot and kick his trunk, as if it would help. I step on his trunk-leg, pushing with all my strength against it, hoping to slide it out of the grip, but the sappy blood trickled down and work to stick against my skin.
One boot against his leg turns to two, working at a leverage.
Growling my frustration, I hack and hack and push against from my boots, trying to pull my arm out, writhing my body out if the way from everything the monster's throwing at me.
The strain and constriction of my arm is too much - I'm feeling my shoulder being pulled from the girdle unnaturally.
"FUCK!" I scream, feeling and hearing the resounding pop.
Dislocated.
I hack harder, and snap another finger from the monster.
He releases me - I fall on my spine, sharp tingles waving from the impact point.
I roll - his rooted foot stomps.
I stab - he groans loudly and reaches down - the smoke seeping more intensely from the spaces of his barked skin.
Quick decision, I hold my breath. If he poisons me anymore, I won't be able to defend myself.
Back against a harmless tree trunk, I kick his reach away, dive between his legs and roll.
I gasp for new breath, I get to my feet and run. While I race through the greenhouse forest, I cut off an arm from my green long sleeve and quickly tie it painfully around my face, doubling the fabric over my nostrils and mouth to reduce the intake spellbinding smoke.
He's faster than I thought, I can hear him thundering close after me.
Fuck.
I've reached outside the collection of trees, and I jump back to the gray concrete floor of the greenhouse. What little light there was is gone now, and the darkness sheds a dark blue, the moon somewhere outside providing some cream light.
I'm out. Open space. No blending from him. My advantage now.
He's out now too, smoke pouring out in heavy heaps, swirling quickly to surround me. His huge ass body looms threateningly over, black shadow casting.
Maybe not.
I run away from it, and kick a raised unit of flowers between us as a blockade. He tips it over easily, fertilized mulch spilling over and wood breaking under his massive step.
I grip my father's bowie tighter in my left hand, watching him come closer.
Fuck.
My dominate hand is way too weak and dislocated to defend myself, my left will have to do. I've been practicing ambidexterity defense back at the compound, time to put it to use.
He's gaining speed, his eyes burning brighter.
I turn and sprint down the concrete path, the plastic waving with the force of our chase disrupting the air.
He's close, I can hear him. One reach and those vines could wrap around my - there he his, his 'finger' slithering around my waist to -
I spin around and cut, but it's just not thick enough. The sap seeps, and I'm forced to try and kick it off me again - but no avail. I shout, and he throws my body into the growing shrubs and stalks of crop with a roaring moan.
I'm fuzzy again, vaguely aware than my forehead hit the wooden box in which I was thrown. My right hand reaches up to touch the pint of injury, and see blood on my fingers. My makeshift mask is dislodged, the soil staining and streaking my skin and clothes, rubbing into my wound from that fucking Monticore and the new one on my head.
I go to move, get up to my knees but find him waiting - before I do anything else I raise the mask clumsily over my face.
He bends to reach for me again - I slash - he withdraws and hisses.
I lunge away, blade out and ready to whip his barked skin again - roll and dart away from the monster.
He follows.
I leap into a patch of planted shrubs, a tree in the middle of them in hopes to slow his chase of me down. His massive arm swipes to get me, but I duck just in time and it uproots the tree with the force, knocking it clean over.
Fuck!
I roll out, breathing hard, and keep down against the deep box holding the now damaged shrubbery, hopefully out of his sight. His moan and wild tearing at the contents let me know it worked. I'm going for a change in tactic. A fucking crazy plan.
Keeping my crouch, I cut some shrubs to hold in my right and get back down when they were free and follow the box until the corner and dump out, still in crouch. I creep behind him, still tearing up the soil looking for me.
Let's hope this works.
"Alright, you, fucked-up Groot, let's do this."
I'm up and charge his back.
His creaking growl shrieks through the air; he's heard me.
Before his massive body could turn around, I launch myself up and drive my blade into his back using it's deep insertion to hang from. He squeaks loud like it was his scream of pain, and I claw with my distantly controlled fingers on my dislocated arm to get some holds other than from my blade hilt. My boots scrape on his barked back, gaining traction to climb.
I climb, keeping my knife inserted, using it as a secure foothold while I cling to the sides of his open, hollow head.
The smoke slams my senses. The fabric isn't enough to protect me from it this close.
It's wonderful. The smell, the feeling, the instant happiness - FOCUS!
Inside, it's black, charred like a natural tree whose insides were eaten away by fire while the shell outside remains. From where the smoke is rising, a smoldering heart, carefully controlled ambers that make his supernatural life and power possible. Controlled is they key.
He's still a tree, and he will still burn when that fire isn't a nice smolder anymore.
A tree is a tree is a freaky humanoid tree.
With dulling thoughts, I drop the shrub I cut inside, and the fire peaks and rises so quickly that I jerk my face away from the instant heat.
But I forget I'm up high, I slide - I'm falling - my hand closes around my father's Bowie hilt; my right hand.
I scream, the dislocation tearing.
It joins in with the big man's screams, the fire was rising too high and was catching to the unprotected, outside layer of barked skin.
While he screams and shakes and whirls around in dying panic, I'm holding on; I let go, realizing the fuel was already burning out. I need to put more in. More shrubs, more flame = monster death.
I rush over to the shrubs he had uprooted, turn and take aim. The first misses, but the second makes it in the hoop of his head, clean swish.
The fire bursts higher, and soon licks from the inside of all his extremities. He falls with a massive thud, his life-force finally burnt out while I walk over to the burning, charring remains, put a boot on the disintegrating woody body and pull out the Bowie from his back.
Letting it cool in the night air, I begin my walk to the door I came in, a smug smile on my face and a pride in my step while I unclip the Walkie Talkie from my side.
I press down the button, letting my high cockiness run rampant.
Fuck yeah.
"Since this thing only has one frequency, I'm guessing you're the only one I can talk to."
Radio silence.
"Oh Dare-ren," I sing into it, "where'd you go? C'mon, another down! Gimme what's comin' next, I'm ready for it!"
I release the button when the receiving side crackles in warning of response.
"Jo." Comes a familiar voice from the speaker in my palm.
I freeze, and grip my Bowie tighter.
"Sam?"
