-Chapter 5 - Toluca Prison-
Immediately to Ron's left was the prison's reception desk; dirty, smashed, and ancient. As Rod shined his newly acquired flashlight around the area it was in, it resembled what would basically be your condemned building. Broken marble, various trash, even some graffiti here and there that would suggest this to be a spot of adventure among teenagers. Rod hated kids. Aside from the environment, there was a door immediately ahead of him at the end where the fork into the hallway began.
With his gun drawn, he quietly walked to the door in front of him. Upon twisting the metal knob, Rod accidentally pulled it off the door and dropped it; making a sound as it hit the floor that echoed down into the darkness of the hall to his left. With a curse, he then turned his attention to the stairs on his right as well as the doors one each side of it's entrance. Unfortunately (yet, odd), the stairs were sealed off with iron bars; allowing no entry into the upper levels of the prison. Rod didn't mind, though. It meant less for him to look at.
Then turning his attention down the hall ahead of him, he treaded down into the depths of what was the visitors hall. Ignoring the bathrooms as well as the other doors due to lack of interest or hunches that he wouldn't find anything in them anyway, Rod finally stopped at the visitation rooms. Rod didn't see any other ways that might lead further into the heart of the prison. Pulling the handle of what read, "Visitation Booth 2," Rod walked inside.
Inside there was but only a single chair that faced a wooden bar with a pane of glass dividing the room in half. There was nothing of interest on his side of the glass, yet on the other side of the glass laying on the oak banister, was a torn photograph. Rod pressed his temple against the dirty window and shined his flashlight down in an attempt to see what it was. Not that it was all that important to him, not knowing what something was.
Rod, wanting to try and get on the other side, picked up the chair below him and brought it against the window again and again. Light scratches on the surface were the only things it produced. With another curse, Rod threw the chair to the side with a loud crack! Giving up, he decided to try the next room.
But to his surprise, as well as his small delight, the room was in shambles as if a bomb had obliterated what separated him from the other side. Rod then continued to the door at the end and exited the room. He was now in a larger, longer, and much filthier hallway with even fewer doors. He then remembered the picture in the last visitation room and decided to try the door directly in front of him to his right. Thankfully, it was open. As he walked inside, his eyes instantly darted to the picture. Now upon closer inspection as he picked it up and held it to the light, he could see the image it held.
There was a man, bound to a chair with chains. He was dressed in an auburn colored suit with cuts in the fabric here and there. It appears he had been cut and beaten mercilessly by whatever put him there. There was also blood all around the floor as well as coated on the man's chest. He's identity, however, was still a mystery since the picture was torn diagonally upward from right to left; cutting the mans head from view. Rod turned the picture over and written at the bottom was almost enough to rise a gasp out of the veteran. It read, "Hinkley, J. - We still couldn't find the rest of what was missing."
"Dear God, Jerry…" Rod whimpered.
The small sounds of creaking could be heard from behind outside in the hall. Rod spun around and aimed at whatever it was behind him. He was able to make out the back of something in a wheelchair rolling by. But that was all. At last, Rod's fear had finally returned to him. With the hairs on the back of his neck upright, Rod tip toed out the door and it wasn't long before he could hear what he prayed he never would again.
The sound of canine growling.
To his left, the skinless beast leapt unto him; knocking him off his feet and onto the floor. Snarling and chattering it's teeth, slime dripped from the animal's jaws as Rod tried to push the animal away. Then another from some unknown direction joined the feeding frenzy. As the second one latched onto his right coat sleeve, Rod's left the other animal for a moment as he drove his knuckles into the snout of the dog; knocking it back with a yelp. Before the first demon dog could claim him, Rod fired a bullet through it's mouth and out the back of it's cap. Forgetting the other dog, Rod ran for his life down the hall away from it. He could hear the barking, the gnashing of teeth. And it grew louder, with many more! Nearing a dead end, he flew into the nearest door and slammed it shut behind him.
The sound of wild animals instantly ceased. All was silent once again. Rod, sliding to the floor and breathing heavily, pondered if he truly would ever live through this. As many times as he tried to figure it out, why were such horrific apparitions trying to kill him? Rod looked down at his right arm and confirmed his dread. The fabric of the coat's arm was torn. The creatures… were indeed real.
"Frank…" he whispered. "What did we bring back with us from Vietnam?"
Finding whatever mental resolve to stand, Rod took a step forward and then stopped. His skin went cold and clammy, as if Death had just spread itself into every space of the hall. For in this hall, there were no doors. There were cells. Rod swallowed hard as he looked around; peaking every now and again into the different cells for any signs of life or unlife. They ere all different, yet the same: disgusting and unfit for humans to be caged in. It wasn't until the fifth cell block that he noticed something… a puddle of red on the floor with what looked like "meat" at the center. As Rod came to it, he knelt down for a closer look. The meat appeared to be a bearded severed bottom jaw.
Then there was dripping. Rod didn't look up. There hadn't been enough time for him to try. It was upon him as he came to the conclusion as to who the jaw belonged to. Something wet coiled around his neck like a pink noose of flesh; pulling him off the floor and higher into the prison rafters. As Rod struggled to look up, he flashlight in his coat pocket could see faintly the source of his hanging. He being pulled towards what looked like… a small pool of black. Another one of his dead comrades was trying to kill him!
"Oh! Oh, no…!" he choked as he was pulled closer towards the bubbling crude of the void.
Rod's head stopped but inches from the tarrish puddle above him as the tip of a head peaked out to meet his frightened gaze. Then came a sound of strained moaning with cracks in its sound. Rod met the eyes of Hell, and those eyes belonged to Jerry. Rod lifted his gun with what zapped strength remained and shot it in the skull. With a shriek, it sank upward back into it's pool and released Rod; sending him crashing back to the floor. Ignoring the pain of his fall, Rod coughed as he tried to suck air back into his raped lungs.
And then it wrapped around his right ankle. Rod looked down to find yet another black mass bubbling into the surface. Rod looked down at the pink, slimy muscle that clutched him. It as a tongue! The same head then popped out from the black fluid, accompanied with two arms clawing at the surface. As the dead figure of Jerry pulled itself out of the floor, for the first time since his days in war, Rod let out a shriek of pure horror. The bottom of Jerry's mouth had been ripped off of his face, leaving only his tongue and broken upper teeth behind.
It began to make that same skin-crawling sound as before. Rod was too paralyzed with fear to move. He laid there, reduced to a blubbering baby as Jerry's mutilated form crawled across the floor in jerky, mechanical movements as it dragged it's feet from behind.
I don't want to die…
It was clawing up his legs.
No in this place…
It's teeth now scrapping across his stomach.
Not now… not alone…
Jerry's tongue coils around Rod's throat once more; it's fingernails now digging into Rods face and eyes.
MOMMA, DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!
"Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggghh!" Rod lifted his gun and fired into the ghoul's chest until his gun was finally empty.
At last, it left him. But not from the gun shots. Something was dragging Jerry back into the pool! Once Rod's eyes came back into focus, he struggled to see what it was that was dragging the spirit back into the abyss. He saw nothing but the panicked look on Jerry's twisted half-face as he was dragged back down into the depths of Hell by an unknown force. Rod sat there for a moment as he watched the black spiral in the floor close up and disappear again.
Rod then brought his hand to his eyes and wiped the tears from them. "I… I can handle this."
Rod pushed himself back onto his feet and continued down the hall of cells until he reached the door at the end. He pulled the handle and exited. All was silent once again. He was now in a hall similar to the one he was in before he escaped into the southern cell blocks. Rod now realizing his gun was useless without bullets, he shoved it back into his coat pocket. If I get into anymore trouble, I will be toast this time, he thought.
Rod then came to two doors: one on the left, and one set of double doors on the right. "Storage," was to the left, and "Courtyard," was to the right. First, Rod chose the storage room in hopes of finding anything-anything that would fend him from the beasts and ghosts that lurked on these grounds. Twisting the knob, he walked inside and looked around. The shelves were littered with various things, but nothing of interest or defense. It was then that in one of the corners, he found a wooden baseball bat. Rod hurried to it and gripped it by the handle. Once he was certain that it was sturdy enough not to break on him, he walked back out.
Rod then looked at the doors of the courtyard with an air of uncertainty. Not as if the whole building wasn't unsettling enough, but there was something different he felt beyond the doors. It was cold, and familiar… Rod didn't want to go out there yet. He then continued up the hall to the final door on his left. He pulled the handle, opened, and walked inside as he closed it back behind him. And to his dismay, he found himself in another cell block. He had went in a complete circle.
"Just fuckin' great…" he whispered.
It was then, that he heard… whistling.
Curious, Rod traveled towards the tune of what sounded like it was coming from human lips. The further he came to the source, the more familiar it sounded. It wasn't until Rod began humming it to himself that he remembered what it was. It was a song. The song was called, "Sonny Boy." Rod knew of only one person who would sing that song to himself.
"Is… is that you?" Desperation now accompanied his tone. "Yo', Professor, is that you?"
"Huh, wha? Who's there?"
The voice. It was human. Rod ran towards what looked like faint light from one of the cells ahead. Rod ran to the bars, relief now feeling his troubled heart. Gripping them firmly, he smiled as he peered inside and then shouted, "What the-! Hey, your not him!"
