10

Sam pulled a length of something splintery and scratchy out of his backside and rolled coughing and sneezing onto his back. He could see the sky and he could see the occasional star trying to shine through a thing blanket of heavy storm clouds. Well it seemed obvious to Sam that he'd been laying wherever it was he was laying for a while now. His limbs ached. His head hurt. His arse was bleeding… he could feel the heat of the blood crawling over his cold itchy buttocks. His shoulders hurt, but one was completely numb and his arm and hand seemed wrong. He guessed that his shoulder was dislocated. There was mud in his mouth and up his nose, small insects crawling over his bare skin where they were caught in his sweat and in the mud he'd been thrown in.

'How the fuck am I still alive?' He curled his toes and pulled his knees up. One hand he left at his side where it wanted to stay and the other he moved down to the warmth and comfort between his legs. He wanted to pull his jeans up and get warmer but for now he didn't move. For now he just lay there and tried to concentrate on maybe getting Floyd out here to help him. He could smell crushed grass and the sap from broken flower stems. He could smell his own sweat and blood and he could taste tears and snot on his lips when he licked them. He'd been crying, but he couldn't remember doing that. It didn't really surprise him though. What was more of a worry was that he didn't know how long he'd been here. A while he'd guess by the way the plants seemed to be trying to grow around him. And this worried him too because that meant that either Floyd hadn't missed him or that Floyd didn't care. Why hadn't he sniffed him out and come looking for him. What if something had happened to Floyd in that house… What if he'd chosen to just forget his existence and move on just with Spencer? What if Spencer had encouraged this and now he was forever forgotten? Sam thought about sitting up. He pulled his hand from the warm place it had wandered back to and pushed up on one shaking elbow, but his head span and throbbed and his back screamed at him and a fresh gush of warmth exited his backside. Sam lay back down and continued what he'd been doing in his sleep and cried and coughed up mud and sneezed out wriggling creatures from his nose and he thought to concentrate and call Floyd to him, but the fear that Floyd was ignoring him was too overwhelming. Sam just closed his sore eyes and let self pity (which he thought was very deserved,) wash over him like a tidal wave.

And it began to rain.

o-o-o

Spencer also felt the rain beginning. He could hear it approach, like some slobbering wet monster… the rain pattering and splashing on the fresh green leaves… closer and closer… it sounded like the slobber from a huge black creature; something demonic, slithering its way towards him. It was with a gasp of horror, closely followed by relief when something wet and cold fell on the side of his cut face. He wanted to reach up and wipe it away and his hands jerked in their bindings bringing on a fresh bit of pain as he rubbed the cord against his raw bleeding skin. He then tried a smile… just to reassure himself that this was just rain and not a night monster come to rip him away from his secure place (maybe leaving his hands and feet behind) and it was actually just rain. Heavy rain. But just rain. The side of his face which had been cut was tight with both the actually wound and with the blood which was smeared over his face. The smile was lopsided and painful. He wouldn't be trying that again soon. At least there was no feeling that he'd opened the cut again. It seemed maybe to be healing… or… maybe… just maybe the side of his face was numb because it was rotting away slowly and being eaten by creature who would eat the pus out of his wound. He shuddered and peered out again into the darkness, hoping to see something glittering, a light, a movement… a sweeping arc from a flashlight… oh how wonderful would that be? But there was nothing. He knew that Floyd would be looking for him. He knew that. But now Spencer's thoughts drifted a bit towards Sam and the way Sam would look at someone. The way he'd beguile and manipulate. The way Sam would send out his own special smells and enchant anyone he wanted to… and he thought of his warm bed and what Sam and Floyd would be doing… Sam not caring that he was missing and Floyd having forgotten. It made Spencer angry. It make him feel hot despite the now constant splatter of rain on the side of his face and now soaking into his shirt. He shuddered and unknowingly did the same as Sam and curled his toes. It was the only bit of comfort he could find.

And if Floyd wasn't going to come looking for him then he was going to have to rely on strangers. Spencer carefully moved so that he was looking straight up into the dark canopy of big ancient trees and let the rain fall on his face, drinking it up, washing the dirt and blood away as much as he could… shivering with that deep down cold that attacks the bones and makes you feel as though you are packed in ice, but also shaking with anger, fear, and that heat his body was generating as he closed his eyes and imagined what Floyd and Sam were up to.

o-o-o

Well obviously Floyd wasn't with Spencer or Sam. He was pacing, drinking, smoking and glaring at the telephone which he hated now more than he'd ever hated it. He wanted to rip it from the housing and stamp up and down on it. He wanted to kill the son of a bitch, but he was waiting, waiting, waiting for it to ring.

It grew dark. Floyd lay on the floor where he had done before and he stared at the patterns the rain made as the light from an exterior light reflected the rain onto the ceiling. He tried to feel where Sam was and all he got was a taste of mud, the smell of plants and maybe a touch of hate mingled with fear. There was pain. Arse clenching pain… the lad was hurt. He was in the open. Floyd could feel Sam's shivering body and could feel the rain dropping onto him… but he'd be damned if he could actually contact him or figure out where he was. He at least needed a starting point. He had nothing.

With Spencer, Floyd could also pick up something. It just wasn't enough. He could feel that Spencer felt confined and Floyd right assumed that Spencer had been restrained by something. Again he could feel the cold, the fear and once again a sly loathing. It was more of a slithering slow hate he was getting from Spencer, not the full blown, miserable feeling he was getting from Sam. It made Floyd all the more certain that they weren't together, even though they were both in the open somewhere. The two of them were not drawing comfort from each other.

Floyd rolled onto his side and looked at the coffee table leg and then beyond that to the leg of the table the telephone sat on. He dragged his miserable self over to it and punched in the number the detective had given him as a contact number. He'd not called it yet and now he stood there with a look of fierce anger on his face… Sorry but this number is out of service Though why the bastard would do that Floyd didn't know, unless he truly was hiding something from Floyd… who was now pulling on a long waxed coat, snatching up a flashlight and walking out of the house which stood there teasing him with the warmth of the bed and the quiet of the night. It wasn't going to last. Eventually whatever had been here was going to come back again and that peace and quiet would be shattered – Floyd would then blame it on Sam and then Spencer… or the other way around depending on who he was favouring and then they'd wander off blood splattered and in shock and look for something else to amuse them. Though walking down the road at night in the rain was not Floyd's idea of amusement.

'Sam!' He decided that calling out would maybe produce a better result than just walking 'Spencer!' he tried that one too, but he didn't think that Spencer was so close.

That rich earthy taste mixed with stagnant filth was coming to Floyd again. He kept having to wipe at his nose with the back of his hand… and looking at it almost expecting to see something other that watery snot which he wiped on the inside of his coat pocket. 'Sam! Where the fuck are you?' Again he called… first to one side and then to the next… He crouched down at the side of the road where Sam had sat and he reached out a hand and wiped it over the grass where Sam had been sitting. Why the hell he couldn't get a proper hold on Sam he didn't know. It should be easy. He should be able to close his eyes and be able to see what Sam was seeing and feel what Sam was feeling… and to a lesser degree he should be able to do the same with Spencer.

And he was distracted by the terrible pain not just around his arse but deep down inside of him where it felt like something had been torn or ruptured. The cramping pains swept over his abdomen and around his sides to his back. It produced the sudden need to drop his jeans and squat at the side of the road and empty himself. Once done and with his jeans around his thighs he puked… then puked some more. He brought up blood, lumps of what looked to be liver or some sort of wobbly reddish brown stuff, and general puked up lumps of a former dinner or lunch. The force of it made his eyes water and made his nose bleed. He felt a popping feeling of vertigo in his ears as the grass verge swapped places with the sky and Floyd lay there for a while in his shit and puke and thought that this was such a wonderful way to die… and this was very likely why his boys were not answering him.

Slowly he got back to his knees, pulled his clothing back into place and wiped down the mess with a clod of wet grass. This wasn't going very well, but his boys were hurt and that bastard detective wasn't going to do anything about it. He'd have strong blood filled words with that man later. Firstly… firstly he had to find where Spencer and Sam were… and again because he had a feeling that Sam was closer, it was his name that was called. 'Sam!' The shout ended in a croak, a cough and a splat of muddy water he exhaled from down inside of him. 'Fuck this,' Floyd moaned and swished the flashlight around through the dark and rain.

o-o-o

Sam could hear that the wind had picked up and he could feel more than see the water running down the side of the ditch he'd been thrown into. Again he tried to sit and again he ended up falling back into a deep splat of water which was filling his grave (as he was now thinking of it) faster than he'd like. The plants around him were sagging with the weight of the rain and falling across his abdomen, tickling with freezing cold stems and leaves.

Then for the love of the gods! He could hear someone walking. He could hear the crunching of the undergrowth and at first he thought it was an animal and his body froze in terror that it might be a wild cat or a bear or something hideous and able to eat him in one bite… and then he heard a snuffling laugh. That was no animal. That was a person!

'Help me!' Sam wailed. His voice croaking and wobbling in complete joy and fear.

'Oh no worries… no worries little dark one.' The voice answered.

And Sam's joy left him and more tears… and the gods only knew where he managed to find so many tears and so much snot, but somehow Sam managed it in abundance. He used the hand joined onto the arm that was still working properly to pull the plants down over him… to hide… to slide back out of the way and be gone from here. 'Go away.' Sam mumbled as he squished and moved slowly, inch by pain filled inch back away from something he couldn't see, but sure as hell (no pun intended) could sense. He let out a small squeak of a scream when something landed in the ditch at his feet. The scream turned into a wail of distress as something so cold that it seemed to burn, grabbed his ankles and pulled him forwards again.

'Keep still. Just going to talk.' The thing said and Sam lifted his head to see what was there, but could see nothing.

'Please don't.' He whimpered. 'Please leave me alone.'

'So pathetic. So simply low.' The hands tightened and something dug into Sam's skinny ankles making the skin pop and blood trickle out.

'Whatever it was I did…'

'Shush baby boy. I'm here to talk. I'm here to explain.'

He tried kicking out. He tried to shout and the slithery something which he still couldn't see released his feet and slid up over his bare thighs and as one thing took a tight gut churning hold of his tackle another slapped firmly over his face, covering his mouth and nose. Sam's cries of alarm and his pleading and begging were cut off, but his eyes went wide. Still there seemed to be nothing there. Nothing he could see, but he could feel and smell it. It had a smell of rotting leaves and small dead animals. It smelt of death.

'Listen to me in silence or I kill you here.' It spat something hot over Sam's face and though he could feel the clawed hand over his mouth and nose, this hot stuff still managed to find skin where it landed and hissed like acid. 'Silence.' It said again and to add to the instruction squeezed Sam's balls to the point that the thought they'd just been ripped off.

He tried to fight it, but what was the point in having a life if you had to live without his manhood. Sam lay still. He lay so still that he could well have been dead and slowly he nodded at the invisible invader.

'Good maggot. Now hear.' The hand moved from Sam's face and his breaths were deep and gulping… sobbing, childish cries. The thing spoke in a deep rattling growl. 'Your master is going to attempt to summon me.' It spoke slowly now, as though talking to a half wit. 'He will try to call me back and he will try to make deals with me. I'm not interested in making deals with that lowly creature, Flanders. What I want is release from this cursed place. I need to be free to return to the pits I was spawned in… You see you and I are not so very different. We were both created in the same place. We are both trapped here. We can both blame that stupid wanna be, Flanders. So we, the pair of us are going to come to an understanding and you will agree to it. And you will agree to it here and now or I will tear your balls off and stuff them down that pretty boy throat of yours. Do you understand? Just nod.'

Sam nodded slowly. The dawning horror that this was the thing that had ripped apart the Specksons filled his mind and a snot bubble popped as though in time with his thoughts. Yes he would agree. He'd agree to anything whilst his balls were in danger.

'Flanders ruined everything and he knows he did and now he's going to suffer immeasurable pain and anguish as a result. You are aware what I can do if you refuse my offer?'

'I'm aware.' Sam muttered back.

'You will bond with me.'

'I can't. I belong to Floyd.'

'You will bond with me. Turn over.'

'I'm bleeding! I'm dying!' Sam howled at it and again a hand slapped down over his face.

'You will not argue with me. You are going to be my dog and do whatever I tell you to do. You want to die here in this hole in the ground or do you wish my help?'

Sam nodded again as he felt the weight of the hand crushing his lips against his teeth. The hand slid back out of the way.

'Turn over.'

'Please don't. I'm bleeding. I'm dying. Fucking me will kill me and I'll be no use to you.' Sam cried out in sobbing juttering breaths.

It seemed that this thing had more than one set of hands, which really wasn't all that surprising. A hand wrapped around the back of Sam's neck and pushed his face down into the watery mud. Another hand snaked around to play and taunt Sam quickly shrinking balls. Another seemed to be pushing Sam's legs apart… but it felt like a tongue and not a dick or fingers which probed Sam's arse. He opened his mouth to scream, tried to pull his head out of the mud and succeeded in pulling in a lung full of filth. The assault was over almost as soon as it had begun. Sam wasn't sure exactly what it was the thing had done to him apart from giving him a mother of a rim job. He was flipped back over onto his back and that tongue which had been so exploratory now slipped between Sam's parted lips as he coughed and tried to get air into his lungs which felt really as though they'd never work properly again. The tongue then slipped over Sam's tongue and made its way down his throat. Sam flapped his good hand around… tried to claw at the thing he couldn't see and felt his clogged up dirty lungs burning with pain. Then it was gone. The whole of it was over. The creature left as though it had never been there and thank the gods for that.

He felt that he'd fooled it.

He'd told it that he'd bond with it, but all it had done was lick him and give him the kiss from hell. Now all Sam could do was lay there in the dark and hope Floyd hurried up and found him… if he was even thinking of him. If he would ever remember that he existed.

o-o-o

Spencer sensed something was there in much the same way Sam had. The crunching of the undergrowth confirmed what he'd thought.

'Hello?' Spencer called out. 'Is someone there?'

A voice spoke directly into Spencer's ear causing him to jump and pull at his bonds again. 'Stupid question. If there was no one here then no one would answer. If there was someone here maybe they would answer and maybe they wouldn't.'

Spencer said nothing. The voice wasn't Floyd's it wasn't Sam's and it was a long way from comforting.

'I would like to make a deal with you.' Spencer felt the fallen tree he was tied to shift slightly as though something had sat on it. 'I will untie you and point you in the right direction, but in exchange you will assist me.'

It didn't sound like a very good rescue to Spencer. 'Who are you?'

'I am your very worst nightmare.' It answered. 'So will you make a deal with me in exchange for your life?'

Now the rescue really didn't sound like a rescue at all. It was a continuation of the hell he was already going through. 'I don't make deals with people if I don't know what the deal is.'

The shifting of the tree again as the thing moved… and Spencer was quite sure this was a thing and not a person. The smell alone brought back loving memories of the lands outside The Bastion. Disease, death, rotting…

'You want to die here?'

'Of course not.' Spencer spoke quietly, trying to keep his calm exterior. 'But I don't know what the deal is yet.'

A rustling of leaves and a deep stinking smell as the thing breathed over Spencer's face. 'When Flanders tries to summon me, you will stop him. You will do everything in your power to prevent it. You will find the scrolls he has and you will destroy them. Burn them. You will stop him from doing what he has planned even if that means killing him. That's the deal… in exchange I will release you.'

Spencer just lay there thinking for a moment. They were very likely the last thoughts he was ever going to have so he tried to think of something nice. He thought of cosy winter evenings sitting with Floyd reading to each other. He thought of the look of disgust on Floyd's face when he drank the coffee he'd just been given. He thought of the long bike rides with his arms holding on much tighter than he needed to, with his head resting against Floyd's leather jacket, breathing in that glorious smell Floyd carried with him everywhere… thinking of the way Floyd felt under his hands… the way his body tensed and relaxed.. 'You're going to have to kill me, because I'll do nothing for you.'

A claw picked at the scab on Spencer's face opening up the furnace which had been burning there and releasing a slither of pus. 'I will kill you slowly.' It spoke a promise.

'If you thought that you could intimidate me to go against Floyd then you thought wrong. I might not be the strongest or most stable person, but my loyalty is for Floyd and it always will be.'

'Except for when you're fucking Sam? But Spencer… you have to realise that Flanders intends to use you as bait. He's made a mistake there because that wont work… destroy the scrolls.'

'No. No… maybe he'd use me as bait, but he'd not let me die.'

'But your refusal to assist me is going to be your death anyway.' It let out a horrible sound, almost like a giggle.

Spencer blinked into the darkness and pulled back those comfortable loving images he had and used for moments like this. 'Then do it.' Spencer said. 'I'm hardly a threat to you as I can't move.'

'Destroy the scrolls. Initiate with Sam.'

'I'm not making a deal with you.'

'You will regret it.' The dirty foul voice hissed at Spencer. 'I will give you an example of what death feels like.'

'I know what it feels like. You can't use that as a threat.' Spencer thought that it could use it as a threat and was doing a damned good job at using it as such, but nothing was going to force Spencer to make a deal which would in any way hurt Floyd. Again Spencer pulled images over his mind. He forced back the pain in his face, the deep throbbing in his shoulders where his arms were wrenched back. He fought against it not physically, because Spencer knew that there was no way he could beat this creature in that way. The only thing he could do to fight against it was to give it no satisfaction… and when the clawed hand scraped over his neck and took a good grip and started to squeeze and release… squeeze and release… Spencer brought forward memories of Floyd doing this…

Spencer pictured his apartment and the way Floyd could lift him up off the floor with one hand. He felt not the woodland under him but the feel of the cool plaster of the apartment wall. He imagined this was Floyd beating him endlessly against that wall, making the plaster crack, making his head slam back into the wall whilst that hand…

Squeezed and released…

And the blood flowed to Spencer's face and his mouth opened and his feet rattled against Floyd's shins and the wall…

And he squeezed and released…

And it was beautiful.

It reminded Spencer of a time back when he was at school… He'd had a bad day and the day was getting worse. There was a particular group of lads – teenagers – who picked on Spencer relentlessly. One of them, a tall, thin, blue eyed creature with black wriggly hair which hung down to his neck… a long pale neck – Spencer wasn't sure if he thought that way about Nate at the time, but he was thinking it now… Nate wasn't part of the mob of jocks. Nate was intelligent and he felt his intelligence was threatened by the kid with the glasses and the brain which stunned anyone who spoke to him. Nate's eyes watered in anger that day. He'd brought along a group of bigger, stronger looking lads, but it was Nate who grabbed Spencer's backpack and swung him around, pushing him against the tree which stood out there in the street, but shielded any wrong doing as the bus stop was the other side, further down the road.

'You little son of a bitch.' Nate spoke with a slight lisp… and Spencer looked at that teenaged adam's apple bob up and down as Nate swallowed back his anger. 'You will stop making me look like a fool.' At the time Spencer had been terrified. The boy had a hand around Spencer's throat and was pushing him back hard. The backpack had been torn from his shoulders and thrown to the side… the bark of the tree pressed into Spencer's twelve year old back. 'You'll mind your fucking place.' Nate spat into Spencer's face. He knew at the time that things had been different. He'd not been staring at Nates neck the way he was now…

Squeeze and release…

… but now Spencer could see that creamy coloured flesh and he could see the marks, bruises on the neck, just below his ears and up under his jaw. Someone had done just this same thing to him… Spencer now watched that angry tear fall down Nate's face… a thick syrupy tear which looked golden in the fall light of the big tree with the golden leaves… At the time Spencer had been so scared because there was no Floyd… Floyd wasn't there to watch his back and Nate knew it. Nate for some reason knew that Floyd wouldn't come to his rescue.

'Learn to keep your mouth shut.' Nate spat anger into Spencer's face… and said something which Spencer didn't understand at the time and now as he felt blood trickling down the side of his neck… he could feel those claws digging into his flesh, pulling him back from Nate and pulling him back from Floyd… but didn't Nate say something…?

'He's mine you little bastard. He's mine.'

And at the time it had meant nothing… not really. He'd been too scared to wonder what Nate was on about, but Nate's hands left him and the teenager with the bright blue eyes walked away…

o-o-o

Floyd gave up calling for either of his boys when he got a waft of that smell. A dank, dark, evil smell which could only come from one thing… well two things if you cared to include Floyd and he didn't… so yes, one thing. He followed the tendrils of smell the way a dog would follow a scent. He sniffed the air and pulled that stink to himself. Had he been able to actually see it, it would have looked like a thick green soup of a cloud. It was low to the ground and often Floyd had to crouch down and get a better sniff of it, but it was strong and fresh and it was almost alive with malice.

It took Floyd to the other side of the road and about half a mile down until those tendrils became one large cloud. Now he stood and looked and waved the flashlight around and he thought of calling for Sam, but something told him that there was small point in that. A physical search was what was needed. It was only ten minutes later that he found Sam in the ditch. The rain was still hammering down and the ditch was a good few inches deep in water now. He jumped down next to his Sam and hunkered down next to him. Sam's eyes were closed and his face looked bruised and battered in the light of the flashlight. And that smell… that thick smell which was making the back of Floyd's throat hurt was here so strong that there was small doubt over what had been going on. Carefully he moved Sam's head, looking at the marks on his face. Small purple bruises on the side of his face… and that bluish tinge of something around Sam's mouth… now he moved down and looked at Sam's exposed body. It was obvious that the lad had been down here for a while, but some of these marks were fresh. Floyd closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. 'Son of a bitch.' He muttered and then scooped Sam up and dragged him out of the ditch and took him away from the road and further into the woods. There he sat with his back to a tree and held Sam in his arms. He listened to the laboured breaths and watched Sam's chest heave in and out. He pulled Sam's jeans back up again after inspecting his backside and looking for more marks to confirm his suspicions which made Floyd's hackles rise and a sick, sad feeling fall into his stomach. 'Come on now… time to wake up.' He licked at the side of Sam's face and then spat out the vile taste in his mouth… no flowery taste of roses today… a thick, evil taste of something long gone… rotting. 'Fuck it.' Floyd hissed at Sam. 'Wake up now.' He gave him a small shake. 'Come on! Got to find Spencer. Wake up.' And another shake and Sam's eyes opened and then his mouth opened and he started screaming and scratching and trying to get away. 'It's only me. It's me. Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you.'

'Floyd.' Sam's voice croaked a flat note which still managed to sound like he was on the verge of hysteria. 'Oh fuck.'

Floyd patted Sam on the shoulder. 'You have a dislocated shoulder. I'll put that right then we go and look for Spencer.' He didn't bother asking Sam what had happened because Floyd thought that there was just going to be a long tirade of lies. 'I've been out of my mind worrying about you.' He told Sam, using the same flat and emotionless tone Sam had used on him.

'I thought I was going to die.' Sam cried as Floyd pushed him to the ground and stood next to him ready to… and willing to… rip Sam's arm off if he had to.

'Well, aren't you lucky that I found you.' Floyd hissed back as he placed one foot on Sam's shoulder and then wrenched his arm in one hard jerk or a twist. Sam's shoulder cracked… Sam screamed a long howl of pain and Floyd dropped down to his knees next to him. 'We need to go. Can you walk?'

'I can try.' Sam moaned as he clutched his arm to his chest. 'How did you find me?'

Floyd gave Sam a small side long glance and raised his eyebrow. 'I followed the sound of your snotting tears.' No sympathy. Nothing. A cold reply which made Sam shudder. 'Move it or stay here.' He moved behind Sam and shoved him forwards. 'I found you first but that doesn't mean I wanted to.'

'What did I do wrong?' Sam snivelled between wiping his nose on his hand and taking in shuddering breaths. 'I was attacked!'

'Do I look like I give a shit? Move it.'