A.N. I feel obliged to post an author's note to explain a few things:
1. I apologise for the format - there shouldn't be that much spacing between the lines, but I suppose it's because I uploaded the document and published it straight. I hate runningby the site's document editor because the glitch would stick letters together.
2. Sorry if this chapter covers something you may have gone through (i.e. the subway), but it's all apart of what I plan to do with the story.
3. Yes I plan to deviate from the story a to some degree - thank you diddly day for the encouragement. All I can say is that this version will focus more on Henry than Walter, so expect less refrences to the cult
4. Feedback - it really warms mein kalt herz. I'm not demanding any, but it really fuels my writing and motivates me to provide you with a better quality. Don't underestimate even the simplest words. As long as I know someone is reading, I'll keep on writing.
5. This is embarrassing - I apologise for the sentence "Flashing a long pair of incisors." I was refering to the fang like teeth and was told they're called incisors. Only when I checked in the dictionary (like just now) did I discover that incisors were the front teeth. Please overlook this embarrassing error. I admit that English is my second langauge so there are these minormistakes that might occur.
Henry pushed forward. The line of his motion was abnormal.
With the narrow space, he was barely able to squirm his way about, hardly able to extend his elbows out.
Henry knew his hands or feet wouldn't have created enough force to move him as much as the distance he ate with each push. Rather Henry felt he was being "pumped" out of the tunnel, an unseen force aiding him to push forth. If he stopped, he wouldn't budge.
If he attempted to move, he'd find himself being pushed forth.
The tunnel width wouldn't allow him to look in any direction but straight ahead.
He saw the light at the end of the tunnel clearly, but the closer he got, the more this sensation of his vision failing increased, turning the circle of light into a mass of white speckles, distorting, stretching and flickering.
Growing frantic, he tried to crawl faster, but his pace wouldn't change. It didn't matter.
In the end he would reach the end of the tunnel, and the light would consume him.
-- - -- -- -------- - ------- - -- -- - -
There was a mechanical drone. The light receded as the lamp passed overhead. After a moment of blindness, escalator steps materialized below his feet.
He looked about, mildly disoriented, and found himself seated on one of the ribbed steps, descending.
The area was barely lit – the only source of illumination was the line ceiling lamps suspended over the escalator. Their glow brushed highlights on the trunks of pipes on either side of the escalator. The area seemed abandoned and condemned.
Finally he reached the bottom of the escalator and got off. It seemed the area was in the final stages of construction, yet had been abandoned and remained barren. No more than a few steps ahead, he could see something standing at the end of the poorly lit hallway.
Henry squinted to make out colorful attire; a flamboyant contour, no doubt belonging to a woman in its dainty occupancy. Familiar it was, though Henry couldn't remember where he had seen it.
The shuffle of his boots reached her ears. She turned to face him.
"Who are you...?" She squinted stepping into the circle of light.
A rather odd questions to ask a complete stranger. It's not something one would ask while, say, crossing the street or riding
the subway…
Of course! That's where he'd seen her: the woman who stood by the subway entrance this morning.
But if this was the subway how did he end up here?
"Well?" She insisted.
"I'm sorry?"
"What's you're name?"
He hesitated. "Henry. And you?"
She laughed, "this is my dream and you don't even know my name," she answered, widening her light brown eyes in amusement, "it's Cynthia."
"Your… dream?"
"That's right. This is just a dream," she looked about with her arms loosely crossed and added with a bored huff, "and a really terrible one too."
What was this crazy woman saying? Then again he wasn't exactly the model of perfect mental health.
"I hope I wake up soon."
She walked about, studying the decaying walls. There was a slight accent in her speech. Or perhaps her tongue was heavy.
Did he really intrude her dream? Or was it the other way round?
"So you think this is a dream, huh?"
"Well, if it's not a dream, what is it?" she brought her tan hands up and shrugged, as if her answer was the only one that made sense.
"Anyway, I want to get out of here," she started for the turn at the end of the corridor, "but I can't find the exit," she added as she looked into the dark path beyond the turn.
Henry looked back at the way he came from, but the glow of the light made it hard to see his original path, curtained by the shadows. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he faced the escalator and knit his eyebrows together in concentration, trying to connect the dots between his apartment, the hole and the subway.
"Say," she started as she approached him, "Will you help me find it? I'm kinda scared all alone," she flirted brushing his shoulder.
Then she looked up at him and added, "I'll do a 'special favor' for you later..."
Her breath indicated she was intoxicated. Yet Henry couldn't conceal his discomfort about her blatant remark. He looked to the side in embarrassment. She laughed at his unease, stepped back and walked ahead of him, shrugging, "it's just a dream, so I might as well have some fun."
Henry sighed wearily. Apparently he wasn't going to get any reliable answers from her.
Throughout their walk in the subway, Cynthia barely said anything. He wouldn't have known she was following him if her high heels weren't clicking behind him. At some point he looked back at her. Perhaps it was the poor lighting, but Cynthia appeared to have grown paler.
When they passed by the restrooms, she let out a sickly moan.
"Wait a minute," she leaned forward, bending at the waist, a hand to her mouth, "I think I'm gonna puke."
She groaned and ran into the women's room.
----- -- ------ --- -- --
Cynthia let out a sickly moan and staggered towards the restrooms. She retched audibly, pouring the contents of her stomach into the toilet seat.
When she was done, she leaned back on the stall door and dazedly stared at the ceiling, trying to stop the stall from spinning.
----- -- ------ --- -- --
He stood waiting for her, leaning at the wall opposite the restroom doors. He wasn't sure how much time had passed and was starting to nod when he heard the door creak.
The Men's room door, opened slightly.
We're not the only ones here?
From the dark crack, Henry felt something squirming behind the door. Or no, he only thought he saw something.
The door burst out open and a creature sprung out and fell by Henry's feet.
Henry stood frozen with shock, but now he saw a good reason to grow sick.
The creature was a dog with mould infested flesh. Only a few patches of fur remained, but not an amount to be considered fur at all.
Its face has been tightened enough to force it's snout to distort into a gaping maw bearing only a pair of fangs and a long, red proboscis hanging out. The hardened flesh about its eyelids grown hard and heavy that the creature's eyelids were forced shut.
A pool of blood oozed out on the floor, and the creature lay still.
The men's restroom's door swung. Two beasts, very much identical to their fallen kin trotted out and approached Henry, their red tongues down dragging and sweeping at the floors. Henry got the impression their tongues were their ways of exploring their surroundings - either these beasts didn't care for his presence or they couldn't see him.
Long tongues brushed the floors like a blind man's stick until they touched the carcass of the bleeding dog. Each dog stood on one side of the carcass and using their probing tongues they proceeded to suck the carrion's remaining blood. At some point, they'd pull the tongue into their maws with a swift movement; perhaps to swallow what they had absorbed then whipped out again ravenously to have more.
Henry stood witnessing the gory ritual, pegged stiff.
And yet if he was to be asked how, he wouldn't be able to answer how he gathered his wits enough and generate the strength to swing the pipe, beating both dogs engrossed in suckling with full force. He swung, once, twice, thrice. After the fourth impact, both dogs fell into a state of convulsion.
The quivering beasts whimpered in a peculiar manner, sounding like something between gurgling and soft moans.
Raising one leg, he brought down his foot and stomped the creatures' necks. Both creatures howled in union before falling dead.
He lowered his pipe, breathing heavily after the odd events that had just unfolded before his eyes.
Henry burst into the women's room.
"Cynthia," he called before approaching the stalls.
It was a fairly small space, enough to only fit three stalls. A hole, much bigger than the one that was in Henry's bathroom was gaping upon the wall next to the third stall. The first stall appeared occupied, yet when he tapped it, no one seemed to answer. The other two were empty.
He regarded the hole. It was framed with a strange, red graffiti design.
It seemed rather possible Cynthia had gone through there to escape the dogs around here.
Determined, Henry climbed into the hole.
Henry felt he was being sucked up a twisting tunnel. This tunnel was roomier than the tunnel he originally used to get into the subway realm. Faster and faster the tube disappeared beneath him.
The experience was short lived, and at some point Henry was aware his physical body didn't exist.
But he did find his body. It lay on the wool blankets that covered his bed. His hand grasped a handful of it for assurance; his vision was still adjusting to the flood of light.
Another dream? But it seemed so real. Or could it be? Was I really inside that woman's dream...?
He walked into the living room and peered out of window towards the subway entrance. There was nothing alarming or suspicious about it.
He then noticed something about the small cupboard by the couch. It had been there since he had moved in. He had two of his framed pictures set there, one of him as a kid and the other was of him and his friends in their graduation gown.
It appeared someone had moved the cupboard and hastily returned it to place. One of the framed pictures has fallen on its face.
Who could have done it?
Henry pushed the cupboard away from its original position, exposing a tiny hole on the wall. It seemed whomever carved it was aiming to create a bigger hole; the area surrounding the hole was cracked and badly damaged.
Henry stood before it, pondering. He had an idea where it might look into. But he hesitated - was it a vile hiss he just heard coming from the hole? Perhaps it was just a breeze blowing through the tight hole. He kneeled before the hole and looked through.
Eileen sat on her bed. She looked around, muttering, "Hmm, where did I put that broom..?"
Looking about the room, her gaze finally settled on the direction the hole in her wall was at, alarming the peeking intruder.
Did she see the hole?
She stood and walked in the direction of the hole. His hazel eyes widened and he swiftly pulled away from the hole, holding his breath. Did she see him? Oh, he'd be grateful to have been seen, but not caught stealing a glance that appeared ill-meant.
"Oh, there it is," she walked by the hole. He heard her footsteps trailing off, followed by faint click of the door being shut.
Slowly, after he exhaled, he turned and looked into the hole. All what was left was the stuffed pink rabbit sitting on her bed.
Henry sighed and leaned against the wall, feeling both relieved and perplexed that she didn't notice the eyelet.
-------- - - ---- -- -
A small crowd gathered about the ill woman lying on the tile floor. There was a confused murmur amongst them on how to take care of her. A man in a trench coat pushed through.
"Please let me handle it," he said reassuringly, "I'm a doctor."
He dutifully checked her breathing and pulse with his black gloved hands. His eyes were almost invisible behind the thick framed glasses. The coat collar and hat brim concealed most of his face as well.
"She'll be fine," he told them, "but I'll have to carry her outside."
Before anyone could say anything, he lifted the dazed woman and carried her out.
There was a mutual relief amongst the crowd as they scattered. Who would want to put up with a drunk woman anyways?
- - --- ---- - -- ----------
Sharp noise sounded in the atmosphere. It was muffled but it nagged. Then it occurred to him: The phone was ringing.
In his haste he stumbled, but ran to his bedroom, determined to catch the call before the ringing stops.
The phone was indeed ringing. He yanked the receiver off the hook, almost pulling the phone off the side table, and barely caught his breath to utter a "hello" when he heard on the other end.
"Where did you go? Hurry! Save me. If you need a token there's one here. It's him! He's coming!" The line was cut. It was Cynthia.
Henry was in cold sweat. He hurried to the bathroom and crawled into the hole.
Moments later Henry found himself standing in the bathroom with the hole behind him. While his eyes adjusted to the dark, he sensed something occupying the middle stall. He turned and nearly jumped out of his skin.
It stared at him with empty eye sockets, extending a gray bloody hand. The expression of anguish was frozen and silent.
In the dim light he came to realize he was staring at a mannequin that looks like Cynthia, or at least dressed like her. It held something in its extended hand.
He hesitated to touch it, fearing the mannequin was holding out a bait for him to take, so it could pull his arm and reach for his eyes.
Lightly he tapped the hand with the steel pipe. No reaction.
Holding the pipe steady, just in case, Henry took the token from the mannequin.
Henry ran down the hall way. Two booths were erected by the gates. Henry wasn't sure which one he would take.
He looked through the metal bars and noticed something. Lipstick, a compact mirror and several makeup items scattered about the floor by the ticket booth.
There was no slot to receive the token from Henry so he tried Lynch Street Line's gate. It received the token and revolved the turnstiles gratefully.
He ran down a set of stairs, taking a turn towards a corner that led down another set of stairs. They led down to the subway tunnel. The train had remained in the station, rusted and useless. He walked alongside it cautiously, wondering where to head to next and decided to try the first compartment at south end. As luck would have it, it appeared to be the control room. A solitary red button glowed in the compact compartment, indicating it was the only thing operating.
Upon pressing it, Henry heard a small beep followed by mechanical whir.
As he climbed out, he noticed something floating towards him.
It was a specter, much like the other ghost he had seen crawling out of the apartment wall.
Henry suddenly felt a sharp blow followed by a dull ache in his head, his vision was blurring. The pain had his limbs weak for a moment and the pipe slipped out of his hands. But he was too busy nursing his head.
The specter drew its arm back and pitched it forward, stabbing its hand in Henry's chest.
He gasped, falling victim to a series of shivers. The hand was still impaled in his chest, sending cold waves that numbed his nerves. It wasn't physically embedded in his torso, and yet he could feel the greedy fingers groping about for his heart.
Grabbing the ghastly arm, he pushed himself back while pulling the arm until he finally managed to dismember it.
The ghost fell back, but insisted on floating back towards him and trying to resume the torment session. Only this time it was met with Henry's trusty pipe. He wasn't aiming to finish off the menacing phantom, just enough sweeps to get him out of the way.
The pain in his chest was still fresh. Pressing one hand to his heart protectively, willing it to regulate its pulse, he staggered towards the train pulling the pipe along.
- ----- - - - ------ - --- ----- ---------------- --- -- ------ - ------ -
The ticket booth was empty, as the line was closed today due to maintenance.
"Perfect," he thought.
Though the couple looked curious, people were used to the sight of someone plastered enough to require an escort home. For added effect, she screamed, "it's him! he's here!" while he supported her. All he could do was answer the suspicious looks with a charming smile to aid in the conclusion that the woman was plain simply drunk.
He didn't require to put up with it for long. He didn't intend to go as far as to take her home. It was too risky.
The empty booth will do fine.
- ----- - - - ------ - --- ----- ---------------- --- -- ------ - ------ -
The train itself was not a sanctuary from the ghosts. It was hard to dodge them in such a tight spot, but the ghosts' sluggish manner proved to be a handicap for them.
He finally found an open door that led to the opposite platform. Thankfully this time, one of the subway exits was open.
He hurried up the escalators and reached the turnstiles, out of breath. The ticket booth's door was left ajar.
The booth was ribbonned with blood. Cynthia lay in a pool of it.
She breathed laboriously. Henry kneeled by her.
"Are you okay?" he asked in hushed anxiety.
It was hard to tell the source of her bleeding, she seemed blanketed with a scarlet web.
She gasped, "It's just...a dream, right...?" She smiled faintly, "...I think ...I drank too much last night..."
She turned her face to face him, "...I never got to do that..."special favor" for you..." she raised a hand to him, "...I...I feel like I'm dying..."
He cursed his inability to offer any comforting words. He took her hand, "its okay...it's just a dream..." he whispered to her.
She heaved sharply and lay limp, her topaz eyes void.
Henry brushed Cynthia's eyelids shut.
-- - - - - -- - - - - -
Man, what's that noise out there...?
Sirens wailed outside his window. It took Henry some time to warm up his limbs. He had the impression he slept for a while. But who can tell when there are no means to tell the time, he reflected while flexing his arms and rubbing his stiff legs.
Indeed an ambulance was to be seen outside the area of the apartment building. It was parked precisely by the Subway entrance next to a police car.
Is it Cynthia...?
Noise crackled in the living room. The radio was emitting it. Apparently it had picked up a signal and was broadcasting something, Henry noted, heading towards it.
"... Hurry up and get that ambulance... "
His ears perked at the word.
"...Quit yappin' and move her already!".
".. Damn...she's got numbers carved into her chest. I wonder if... "
The signal broke. Henry tried to tune the radio but all he got was white noise.
It was apparent he wasn't hallucinating about the ambulance. Even Eileen, who was sitting on the bed when he peeked through the hole in the wall, got up and appeared to be heading towards the window to check the source of the noise.
Suppose he was in the subway, and Cynthia did die and the police are investigating the crime scene, what is this crater that gapes the timeline between Cynthia's death and his return to the apartment. What happened after he closed her eyes?
It could have been a dream. But it stirred something within Henry; something old. He tried to block it, but was met with such a surge of emotion. His face remained expresionless less, but he couldn't stop two tears from rolling out of his eyes.