Chapter Seven:

Violation

My headache came back, stronger than ever. My hands were pressed against my temples, and I could feel them throbbing. Everything was throbbing. My heart was racing at about three hundred beats per minute, and with each beat I felt blunt hammers pounding inside of my skull in perfect yet furious rhythm.

I don't know how long I stood like that, at least a minute, maybe more. I couldn't move, couldn't even dare it. Whoever – whatever – that thing was in the hall, it paralyzed me, made me feel terror in ways that nothing had ever made me feel before, worse even than the inhuman monsters I had seen in the time I'd been in town. This was something far worse, far deadlier, and it was that sense of mortal dread that convinced me. Physically, it wasn't too bad. If anything, it looked more human than the mannequin and the straight-jackets, but that rationale didn't fly when you saw it. It was maybe my size but to look at it, well, it looked like it was fifteen feet tall.

I think it was right then and there that I first seriously questioned what I was doing here. It's not as though seeing some of the other things I'd seen didn't bring to mind some serious doubt, but I suppose this is the first time I really stopped to think about it. I came here looking for Mary, and all I've found so far is something not too far removed from the back of Lovecraft's twisted little mind. Something seriously fucked-up was going on, but only now did I wonder if it wasn't just coincidence that everything hit the fan the very day after I get a letter from a wife three years dead?

I still had the letter in my pocket, and I leaned against the door staring at it. It was so perfect, that handwriting. Slight tilt to the left, flowing but not overly-fancy, and far more legible than mine ever was. It was her handwriting, and more importantly, it was her words. I knew that as well as I knew anything else about her. I could hear her speaking them to me in my mind, with her voice.

So was it really her after all? Only now did I doubt it in the slightest. But as I folded the letter and put it back in my pocket, the things I had seen so far flashed across my mind in an instant, just too fast for me to catch any in particular except for the Pyramid Head. I was knee-deep in shit and sinking fast, there was no question about that, except why. The answer was the letter now in my pocket. The letter that appeared out of nowhere yesterday morning, its arrival heralded with what felt like a miniature earthquake. It felt too real to be a hoax, and I continued to believe that despite the house of madness I seemed to be trapped in.

And this particular room of that house quickly proved to be as mad as the rest. The very first thing that caught my attention was the television set in the corner on the opposite side of the room. It was an old console unit, it looked like the one we had when I was growing up, old, bulky, and unremarkable. Except, that was, for the large crimson stain that spread all over the top and halfway down the front, dark and evil-looking in contrast to the snowy static that blared from the screen.

Even from this distance I was pretty sure what it was I was seeing, and from ten feet away I was more than pretty sure. Blood soaked the television set, an explosion of it. Dripping gore leaked down the sides and the screen, still mostly wet and fresh, judging by the sheen from my light upon it. Some of it had begun to congeal though, and within it were specks of white and chunks of milky gray and pink, some of them revoltingly large.

There was a chair parked in front of the television, a ratty-looking old thing upholstered in ugly yellow plaid. On the floor behind it I could see skid marks left on the dirty, dusty floor, indicating that it had been dragged towards the television quite recently. I really didn't want to look at this macabre display anymore, and I was about to turn away – I would have just walked right off – except, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a human arm dangling limp over the chair's arm. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have looked. I could have safely ignored it. But once I saw it, I couldn't unsee it. I couldn't stop myself from getting closer now.

Curiousity killed the cat, my mind told me.

I knew even before I got close enough that I didn't want to see what was in that seat, that I would very much regret doing so if I did. That knowledge did nothing to stop me from doing it anyway. Boy, did I ever wish it would sometimes, and now in great particular.

The limp arm was attached to a very limp, very dead body. Said body was soaked in even more blood and gore than the television screen in front of him. The top of his head was an utter ruin of skull shards and pulped brain. Even now I could tell that this wasn't a suicide, the angle was completely wrong. He'd have to have been shot in the back of the head for any of this to make sense. The position of his body seemed wrong too. He sat in the chair, relaxed, almost comfortable. I don't know for sure if that meant anything, but it was creepy.

Nothing, however, was as bad as when I saw the man's face, when I really gave it more than just a cursory glance. The eyes were open and the mouth hung slack, the whole face distorted in utter shock and surprise that was a huge contrast to the absurdly relaxed look of the rest of his body.

That wasn't what unnerved me so much though. It was the face itself. I knew that face. God knows I've seen it enough times. And once I saw that, once I realized what exactly I was seeing, I choked on my own breath. No way was I really seeing this. No way was I seeing the obliterated face I was seeing. I couldn't look any more, I had to stop. If I kept staring at that face, I would lose it. I would lose whatever was left of my mind, too much to even end my misery. I'd fall to the floor and babble like a lobotomy patient until I starved to death probably. Because that face was…

I ran. Not towards the hall, even then I had the presence of mind not to go back that way. I ran into one of the bedrooms. It was the only way out that I could see, the only escape from the terrible scene in front of that television. That face. That horrible, ruined face. Oh God! Even now in my nightmares, after everything that happened, that probably sticks with me more than anything. But I didn't fall to the ground sobbing again. I couldn't do that. Even now I was beginning to come to grips with the reality of my situation. I kept encountering one thing after another that was bending my sanity just that much further, and if I succumbed every single time, I had no chance of figuring out what was going on, and no chance to find Mary. That was my focus. I yanked the photo out of my wallet and stared at it, the photo's gloss reflecting the harsh glare of my flashlight. Mary. She was why I came here, fake letter or no. I took a deep breath and returned the photo to my wallet.

I found myself in a small room that was in bad disrepair, paint flaking and wallpaper peeling off of every wall. The room itself was completely empty except for a clock against the far wall. It was a grandfather clock, and an old one at that. It was probably quite a beautiful-looking item once upon a time, but it was as much a victim of neglect and age as the room around it. The wooden frame was chipped and the glass on the doors was almost opaque with dust and dirt.

I noticed that the section of the wall behind the clock was in considerably worse shape than the rest. It seemed as though the clock was concealing a gigantic gouge in the wall, one large enough for me to fit my body through, as I could trace the jagged edge of the demolished wall all around the frame of the clock. I could get through if I could get the clock out of the way, and that didn't seem like a hard task.

Yet, when I tried pushing the clock, it did not budge, not even an inch. I threw my weight into it, lowered my shoulder, and charged it, and was rewarded with a sore shoulder and nothing more.

I looked down at the floor, to see if it had been anchored somehow. There were runners on the floor, extending to the left of the clock's base, one runner for each pair of legs. It was designed to be moved, apparently, but it wasn't. I could see nothing blocking the runners. They looked pretty clean except for the layer of dust that pretty much covered everything in this whole building. Who would design something like this? I was in no position to guess, but it was blocking a way out, and perhaps the only one. It seemed too coincidental that it happened to be locked in a position that covered a hole in the wall that obviously was not intended to exist, but what could I do except find a way to move it?

I lay on the floor and inspected the runners more carefully. I couldn't see any sort of catch that prevented movement, likely meaning I couldn't just trip it with my hand. I stuck my hand as far as I could fit it under the clock and fumbled around. I felt no latch or lever, but I did feel something, a piece of paper, it felt like. It was pretty far back, but with a little work I was able to clamp my middle and index finger on it and pull it out.

It was a poem.

"Three different sizes,

time on the run.

Three young men circlin'

round the sun.

Henry is short and

very, very slow,

Scott can't stop,

he's always on the go."

It didn't make much sense the first time I read it, until I thought about it. Henry's short and slow, Scott can't stop, on the go. It was describing the clock, or rather, the hands on the clock. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw the note scribbled on the back, in a different hand: The scars of the past shall remove the nail that stops Time."

I stood and brushed the dust off of my clothes, then I pulled open the glass door on the front of the clock. It was stopped at about 7:20. With my finger I turned the minute hand clockwise, looping it around. When I passed 9:10, I heard a very loud click. At first, I wondered if I had broken it, but when I turned it back to 9:10, I heard it again.

I closed the door and pushed again from the side. The clock slid smoothly along the runners. The hole was now exposed, and I poked my head through to see if there was any threat inside, hoping that if there was, it wasn't standing right there. I shone the light around, but the new room was almost as empty as the one I was in. Holding my breath, I squeezed my body through the hole. It was a pretty tight fit, and I caught my shirt on one of the exposed mini-beams.

This new room held nothing of interest whatsoever. It was completely devoid of furnishings except for a battered old TV tray in the corner. It was also completely devoid of things that go bump in the night, so it wasn't a total loss. There was only one door, leading to the hallway. If my guess was correct, I was very close to where the red pyramid thing was standing before, and I really had to screw my courage together to push the door open even so much as a peek. This time I had the pistol in my hand. If it really was standing out there, I wanted to be as prepared as I could be, especially if it turned out to be as hostile as I felt it would be.

I finally pushed it open ever so slightly, holding my breath and feeling a dread sort of anticipation I don't think I've ever felt before, ready to empty the clip at a moment's notice.

The hall was empty. There was nothing in either direction. I stepped out, my gun arm almost completely extended, but there was nothing, no sound, and definitely no sickly red glow. My breath released in an almost explosive burst, and I almost laughed at myself. Not because I was afraid, I had every reason in the world to be afraid. I laughed because if I had fired that weapon one-handed, I'd probably have broken my wrist from the recoil. I knew enough about firing handguns to know that the one-handed crap you see in movies is bullshit.

I holstered the gun in my belt and continued to the end of the hall, as it was the only way to go. Providentially, the blue door at the end was in perfect working order, and it opened into a stairwell. I pulled out the map, scanning the first floor. And I almost cried with happiness. There was a way out! I couldn't believe my luck! I shoved the map back into my pocket and raced down the stairs. At the bottom was another blue door.

And it was locked. The knob turned, but the door did not give. It was bolted shut.

My euphoria suddenly crashed, and now I wanted to cry for a very different reason. I pounded the door in frustration. It was made of steel, and was quite solid. There was no shooting this lock off or kicking in the door. No amount of action hero crap was going to solve this one.

Goddammit!

There was still the third floor, and I climbed the stairs toward it simply because there was nowhere else to go. This too had a blue door, and unlike the one on the first floor, this one opened quite easily.

I didn't see anything inside, but I could hear, and I knew this hall wasn't empty. There was a raspy tapping sound and that strangled choking sound, which I recognized as belonging to one of the straight-jacket monsters. I placed the plank on the ground, it would be useless in such cramped quarters, and instead held the handgun, this time with a correct grip. Closer and closer I inched, and I could hear that it was actually moving away from me. I was about fifteen feet inside when I saw it, the flashlight reflecting its oily sheen as it lurched aimlessly down the hall. I raised the gun and aimed at its head. I was only about six feet away, and I was good enough. The shot was deafening in the small hallway, and it made my heart race even though I was expecting it, but the shot was a good one. The bullet passed right through its head, sending a small shower of blood and ichors flying. The creature dropped to the ground, twitching and heaving convulsively. I almost thought to just let it die, until I remembered when that last one nailed me after I assumed it was finished. I gave it two solid kicks, one striking its head and the other its torso. The torso kick was rewarded with a sickening wet crunch. The monster shuddered and finally lay completely still.

I found myself standing outside of room 307, and the door was open a crack, though I could see nothing inside. There was a light on though, and I could hear some sort of sound inside. I tentatively poked in the door to see, the gun still tight in my grip.

The door opened into a small alcove, and it prevented me from seeing into the whole room right away. A few steps forward placed me where I could see. And I found myself looking at something that made me wish I hadn't taken those steps.

It was here. That red pyramid thing was here. The waves of fear and anger radiated from it as strongly as before, if without the same focus, because this time it wasn't staring me down. No, it was actually rather busy. It held a mannequin in its hands, one of those four-legged monstrosities that I encountered downstairs. It was pressing the thing against a counter in the kitchen nook, and I could see another mannequin behind it, lying limp against the counter. And the pyramid head was thrusting his body at the one that he held, moaning as it did so, an impossibly low, almost dinosaur-like moan. It was fucking the monster. I know that sounds crude but I can think of no better way to describe it. It was savaging the mannequin sexually. The mannequin was thrashing violently, obviously not at all willing to be a part of the action.

Just when I thought I saw it all…

My breath caught dead in my throat and I stood there for about three full seconds, shocked stupid and scared as a puppy, watching this grotesque rape scene play out five feet in front of me. Suddenly, the pyramid head dropped its weakly flailing victim to the ground, and that brought me out of my shock enough. I looked around wildly, looking for some way, any way out. I should have run for the door, but the first escape I saw was a linen closet. I leapt inside and quickly closed the door. I could see through the slats at the pyramid head. It still faced the sink, and I wasn't sure if it saw me or not, but was turning. It took two steps forward, and then stopped, flailing about itself. One of its red-stained hands grabbed at its odd-shaped headgear, and the other grasped out blindly in front. It groaned and screamed, but only for a few seconds. Then, it seemed to compose itself and started moving again, a slow, plunking movement. It took a second for me to realize that it was coming right at me.

The flashlight! Shit!

I completely forgot to shut it off, and it was doubtlessly shining bright through the door slats, providing anything that had eyes a large, glowing sign pointing it right at me. I panicked. My imagination was providing me with many unpleasant scenarios that could possibly take place if it got me, rape hardly the least among them, but there was no way out. It was too close, it could easily grab me if I tried to run.

I raised the gun and aimed at its head. If this was the end, I wasn't about to go down without a fight, which was an amazingly courageous thought considering how close I was to a complete mental breakdown at that moment. I fired the gun, fired it as fast as I could, each shot punctuated by a flash and deafening blast. I fired all nine shots, emptying the clip and never taking my eyes off of the monster. I ejected the clip and fumbled in my pocket for one of the extras I had found with it in the shopping basket.

I couldn't tell how badly I had damaged the pyramid head, if at all, but it did scream and thrash about some more. I finally grabbed a loaded clip and slammed it in, but the pyramid head turned away from me and plodded towards the door. I heard him push it open hard enough to slam it into the wall.

It was gone.

7