Pikemen's Bridge

Pikemen's Bridge

Published in Necrology Magazine 04/08

Honorable Mention in the Twisted Tales Contest 04-08

(A homage to H.P. Lovecraft)

By:  Matt R. Konopka

         
Mike sat in his usual seat at the Wolf's Moon Bar, a mug of Guinness clasped in his bear claw of a hand.  Miniscule specimens of chips and nacho cheese littered his scraggly beard, but he didn't mind.  He just sat still on the bar stool, head titled off to the right so that he could watch the baseball game.  His foot tapped to the light country music playing from the juke box, a Johnny Cash song if he wasn't mistaken. 
         
The tavern was for the most part empty, aside from Greg Hashenburn, who had earned himself the title of Town Drunk, which wasn't an easy feat in a rural Wisconsin town.  In the town of Fisher Hill, half the population drank in the hours past six.  Seeing as how the clock had yet to strike noon, the bar was a void of drunken misery and washed away hopes.  Mike's best friend of over ten years, Hal, sat next to him, as quiet and glued to the T.V. as he was.  Benny Boy, the bartender, stood washing a glass, also watching the tube. 
         
Benny wasn't actually a boy, and if anyone but his friends referred to him with the nickname, they were destined to either getting thrown out or getting thrown out with a black eye and a lack of pride.  Despite the size and dormant power lying underneath Benny's wide arms, he had gotten the name simply because he had a boyish face which refused to grow any facial hair.  A few hairs sprouted here and there on his chin, but that was all.
         
Everything seemed completely ordinary in the bar, the three of them watching the game, Greg asleep on a table in the far corner with spittle hanging from his lips.  None of them were prepared for the stranger that was about to come through the front door.
         
Mike finished his drink and smacked it down onto the Wolf's Moon coaster.  Benny turned to him and nodded at the glass.
         
"Another one for you Mike?"
         
"You got it, Benny Boy."
         
Benny grabbed the glass and walked to the end of the bar.  Hal snickered and swiveled on his stool, facing Mike.  He tilted his fishing cap and grinned, revealing a hole where his two front teeth should have been.  Mike never could look Hal in the eyes because of that.
         
"You goin to git drunk b'fore we head out on da boat, Mike?"
         
"Just making the day go by quicker.  Done it a hundred times before Hal.  Ain't gonna make no difference now anymore than it has before."
         
Hal opened his mouth to say something when the tavern door swung open and slammed against the wall.  The two men turned to see who had come inside in such a hurry.  Benny lowered the mug he had started filling for Mike.  Greg slept on obliviously.
         
The man standing in the doorway looked as if he had taken a spin in a washer.  His clothes dripped from head to toe.  Bits of plankton and sticks stuck in his hair and in his clothes.  Caked mud covered the man's skin, making his eyes seem to glow through the goop.  His jeans hung loosely off him in torn rags, dragging across the floor as he stepped forward.
         
"You have to help me!  It got her!  It got her!"
         
Mike had never seen this man before, and neither had anyone else it seemed.  He continued to come forward, stumbling past a snoring Greg.
         
The smell hit them almost instantaneously.  It smelled of fish and ink, along with a stench that Mike couldn't quite put a name to, like an ancient thing that had lived out the years at the bottom of the sea floor. 
         
Hal waved a hand in front of his face. 
         
"My God boy, what the hell ya been doin?"
         
The crazed man shuddered, wobbling so ferociously that he temporarily seemed to be unable to move. 
         
"It took my wife, under the bridge.  Pikemen's Lake.  It took my wife and sucked the flesh off of her bones!  I heard her screaming the entire time!"  The man breathed heavily in and out, wide eyes glancing apprehensively at all of them.
         
Out of the corner of his eye, Mike noticed Benny lowering his hands underneath the bar.  He kept a sawed-off shotgun under there, illegal in the eyes of any persons from the city, but there were times such things could be looked away from in rural areas.  Times like now.
         
The stranger started to twitch.  His arms jerked like a squashed bug still clinging to the last bit of life it has. 
         
"When it finished with her it came after me, and it, it..."  The man fell forward onto his hands and knees.  He clutched at his stomach and hissed in tormented pain.  Mike thought he could hear the faint sound of something bubbling.
         
Benny came up with the shotgun and pointed it at the stranger.
         
"Now sir, you just stay right where you are."  Benny leveled the gun, getting the sight right.  "I'm going to give the cops a call and they're going to help you with whatever happened.  Understand?  I don't want to see your brains on the floor in my bar.  It's bad for business.  So ease up."
         
The stranger lifted his head and sprang forward with such swiftness that none of the men saw it coming.  He grabbed the shotgun and tore it from Benny's hands.
         
"I'm not going to let it happen to me!"
         
The stranger twisted the gun around so that the barrel faced him.
         
Mike couldn't move.  He heard Hal gasp behind but that was all.  Only Benny managed to reach out a hand and shout before the stranger pulled the trigger.
         
A loud bang cracked through the room as if thunder had found a way inside the bar.  At that close of range, the stranger's head blew like an exploding pumpkin.  Chunks of sinewy brain and red mess flew into the air, splattering against tables and chairs.  Pieces of scalp wet from the blood smacked onto the tables with a sickening squelch.
         
The body fell to its knees.  The dead mans fingers loosened on the trigger and dropped the gun.  It clattered to the floor just as the body fell forward.  Blood surged out of the open wound, spilling onto the floor in a sticky red pool.
         
Smoke wafted up from the barrel of the gun, sheathing the body from view in a gray mist.  Unable to see the body, Mike wondered if what he had just seen was real or not.  Shock couldn't seem to pry its iron fingers from around his nerves.  The nervous beating of his heart and the rush and exhilaration of his blood told him that he had seen a man take his own life.  He had watched him put that gun in his face and pull the trigger, followed by so much blood.
         
Mikes stomach wriggled around like a jittery worm.  He put his hand to his mouth to keep the still fresh nachos down.
         
"My Christ in Heaven, why'd he do dat?"  Hal took off his hat and set it on the bar.  He ruffled his shaggy hair and turned his eyes towards Mike.  "Why'd that crazy sum'bitch have to do dat here?"
         
Mike shook his head.  "I don't know."
         
"The man was a crazy lunatic," said Benny.  "Jesus, what a mess.  I don't think I'm ever going to get that image out of my head.  I'll be seeing brains for the rest of my life."
         
Benny leaned back against a cabinet of liquor.  He was a big man, and being a big man, when his heart raced, it took a long time to catch his breath.
         
The smoke had dissipated, and they could all see the gruesome sight on the floor.  Pieces of flesh burnt from the smoldering bullet crisped around the jagged edges of the strangers neck.
         
"We should be glad that we still have our lives," said Mike, nodding at the stranger.  "He could've just as easily used that gun on us, and you know that Benny Boy."
         
"I know.  I know."  Benny spoke quietly.  "I've never seen nobody die before.  Never knew anyone who did either."  Benny glanced at Mike distressfully.  "At least, no one I ever knew personally."
         
He knew who he was referring to.  After two and a half years, Mike still thought about his boy Herb who had drowned in Pikemens Lake.  He'd fallen out of the boat one morning when they were fishing.  Mike hadn't given him a lifejacket because he was a good, strong boy for eleven, and a good swimmer to.  He had waited for his son for a moment, and after Herb didn't come up, Mike dove in after him.  He never saw a sign of him in the water, and they'd never found the body.  Herb simply vanished in the lake, deep somewhere that no one had thought to look.
         
Mike blinked the memory away. 
         
Herb. 
         
He'd been the only thing his bitch of an ex-wife had left him.
         
Hal clapped him on the back. 
         
His friend was a simple-minded man who didn't know the difference from his asshole and his nostril, but in being simple he was also sympathetic, and he could always sense when Mike grew upset.
         
Benny looked away from the two of them.
         
"Well, I suppose I ought to call Sherriff Bentson, being my bar and all."  Benny lurched away towards the phone and dialed the number.
         
Mike gazed down at the body of the stranger, trying to ignore the bits of tissue scattered everywhere.
         
Why had he done it?  Something had seemed wrong with him, much more than the man being crazy.  He'd seemed like something was killing him, making him sick.  But what?
         
"Look at that," muttered Hal.
         
"What?"
         
"Ole Greg is still snorin like a baby.  Rotten drunk."

         
Sherriff Bentson arrived a half hour later with Deputy Tails.  The paramedics followed into the parking lot right behind them, but of course there would be no life saving today.  They would scoop up the remains of the stranger, pack him up, drive him away, write a report, and be done with it.
         
Benny spoke with the Sherriff while Mike and Hal answered Deputy Tails questions.  Benny Boy had sent Greg home the moment after he had called the Sherriff.  He didn't want Sherriff Bentson knowing that he had let Greg drink far past the limit before noon.  But then, the Sherriff probably wouldn't have been much surprised either.  Greg always had the walk of the classic drunk.
         
The smell of gunpowder had cleared out of the room through the front door.  But the smell of blood still lingered.  That acrid odor still clung to the floor and the walls, and to each of them as well.  When Mike got home, he would throw his clothes into the trash.  The smell would probably never part from them.
         
"Now you say he came in here acting all crazy like, then he took Ben's gun and shot himself in the head?"  Deputy Tails waited for their answer, pen and paper in hand.
         
The deputy was a decent man when he was off the clock.  In fact, he had even been one of the first to say that he was sorry about Mike's loss when Herb had drowned.  There must have been something about putting on that sparkling badge and that gun of his, because when Deputy Tails stepped into uniform, all the decency of the man seemed to vanish.  Mike couldn't help but notice the suspicion in the Deputies small, squinty eyes, nor the way he thinned his lips while waiting.  No matter what Mike or Hal said, Deputy Tails would believe that there was something they weren't telling him.
         
And there was.
         
Because Mike had no idea how to describe that it had looked as if the man was being eaten from the inside out before he killed himself.
         
Hal spoke first. 
         
"Yeah, dat's exactly what happened." 
         
"And you two are telling me everything?  Make sure you get all of your facts straight.  It aint every day a man comes into a bar and blows his head off with a sawed off, which is illegal by the way, but we can overlook that."
         
"I'm sure Benny Boy will be grateful for that," grumbled Mike.
         
"I'm sure he will," Said Deputy Tails evenly. 
         
Out of the corner of his eye, Mike could see that Benny wasn't having much easier of a time with the Sherriff.  Though the Sherriff stood at half Benny's size, and probably weighed half as much, Benny still thumbed his fingers and kept his eyes away from the Sheriffs. 
         
Deputy Tails finished his questions, and eventually the paramedics finished packing up the body and drove off.  Shortly after that Deputy Tails took off to, leaving just the Sherriff.
         
Benny Boy had joined them at the stools.  He sat next to Mike, staring down at the floor where the Strangers body had been.  Now there was just a wide, dark brown stain mixing with the dusty wood, a mere phantom of the violence that had taken place there.
         
The Sherriff stood leaning against the table in front of them.  His left leg sat rigidly on a chair, his hands folded over his knee.  He to gazed down at the floor, shaking his head.
         
"Terrible thing that happened here.  Just terrible."
         
Benny spoke quietly.  His eyes never left the floor. 
         
"Yes, it was terrible."
         
The Sherriff made a sucking sound with his cheek and nodded. 
         
"Yep.  Why, I haven't seen a mess like that in nearly twenty years I think.  Damn shame.  Now, before I go, you sure there isn't nothing else you boys can tell me?"
         
Mike took a sip from his mug.  It tasted stale, but that wasn't the beers fault.  Everything had probably lost its taste for the day.
         
Then he remembered.
         
"Jesus, how could I have forgotten.  He said something about his wife or girlfriend, I can't remember which.  Said it had gotten her."
         
The Sherriff furrowed his gray brow and scratched at his parched face.  "It?  What it?"
         
"We don't know, sir," said Hal innocently.
         
"Well, the man seems to me to have been a complete whack job, so there's no telling what actually happened to him.  Did he say where 'it' got her?"
         
Mike tried to remember.  "Yeah, Pikemens Bridge."
         
"Well, there's too much to take care of right now to be going on a goose chase for some girl who might not even exist.  Once we identify the man and find out if he did have a girly up here with him, then I'll take a drive out there myself."
         
"Well, me and Hal here, we're going up to the lake anyway.  We could take a look there if you want."
         
Hal turned to Mike, dumbfounded.  "What?"
         
"Come on Hal, we'll be right there.  Aren't you curious to see if there's anything there?"
         
"No." 
         
The Sherriff chuckled softly.  "Well, I can say it's probably pointless, but if you fellas want to take a look, I'm not stopping you.  Just be careful.  If you do find anything, you call me right away, you got it?"
         
Mike nodded.  "Yeah."
         
The Sherriff smiled, losing all the power of intimidation that he held, yet still, something bothered Mike.  His eyes.  One feature of the Sherriff was that he had eyes that could look right through you, deep down into the marrow of your bones, and Mike got a chill from those eyes now, because while the Sherriff smiled, his eyes did not.  Those eyes were filled with a sadness that Mike couldn't quite place, and a glint of something else...

         
The water lapped calmly against the boat on the way to Pikemens Bridge.  It wasn't much of a boat, quite small actually, and though the waves caressed the wood paneling gently, Mike and Hal still found themselves rocking roughly back and forth.
         
Gathering storm clouds brooded over the lake.  The heavy winds and the chilly cold that seemed to cling to all storms had yet to come.
         
The day was peaceful.
         
Aside from relentless images of smoking brains.
         
"Almost there Mike.  I'm already startin to feel a bit uneasy."  Hal rubbed his stomach.  Mike knew he didn't want to do this, but some force compelled him to continue.  It seemed like the right thing to do.
         
Pikemens Lake had received the honor of being known as one of the largest lakes in the state.  It stretched at a length of about ten miles long, one mile wide, and Lord only knew how deep.  It was the perfect place for fisherman and families alike, with two beaches on either side of the middle of the lake, and plenty of niches entirely hidden from view of the swimmers where a man could fish all day and not be bothered.
         
The bridge was located on the eastern end of the lake, furthest away from the swimmers and the boat launches.  No one really came by the bridge that much.  It was a useful way of getting across the lake and to the trail that encircled the area on the other side.  But many preferred to go around the tall grass and trees.
         
The children of Fisher Hill all thought the place to be haunted, and though Mike didn't agree with them, he could understand why.
         
The bridge loomed high off the water from where it rose at the center of the lake, where the trail ended and the bridge began.  Pikemens bridge itself only extended to about a quarter of a mile long.  A thin stretch of land came out to nearly the center of the lake on either side, needing only a small portion to be covered by the bridge.
         
Pikemens Bridge stood about ten feet high, maybe more, and being as it had been built hundreds of years ago, the stone had begun to crack and splinter.  Growing out of the cracks was a fungus with a strange smell and texture.  It was more seaweed than fungus.  Odd that it would grow on a bridge.
         
What frightened the children the most was that no matter how brightly the sun burned, light never penetrated the darkness that lurked under the bridge.  Where the bridges shadow began, tenebrous shadows lingered, so dark even that you could barely see through to the other side of the bridge.  Science didn't support it, but then, science had never really been a part of a town like this.  Towns like this were built on old ways. 
         
Sobbing cries haunted Mikes ears as they neared the bridge.  Herb had drowned right around this spot. 
         
Maybe he haunted the bridge.
         
"Mike, how come it's always so dark unda da bridge?"
         
"I don't know Hal.  That's just how it is.  You bring that flashlight I told you to grab?"
         
"Yes sir, right here in my pocket."
         
An object emerged from the darkness under the bridge, coming towards them slowly. 
         
A boat.
         
An empty boat.
         
"Would you look at that," whispered Mike.
         
Hal scratched his head nervously.  "You think it was dat strangers boat?"
         
"Yeah.  I do."
         
The boat drifted quietly along the lake, as if some spirit was steering it toward an otherworldly destination. 
         
The two men floated by in their own rickety boat.  Getting a closer look, they could see now that it was a rental from Mick's shop at the other end of the lake, a newer boat with white trim all around.
         
A purse sat on one of the seats.
         
"I don't think our friend from the bar carried a purse."
         
"Huh," said Hal perplexedly.
         
"Never mind.  Give me that flashlight."
         
Hal handed Mike the flashlight.
         
They were passing underneath the bridge now, converging into the sheet of darkness. 
         
Mike looked up at the bridge, watching it block out the sky.  A nest of webs travelled underneath the stone.  The eight legged owners were hidden away.
         
The shadows swallowed the two men and the boat, plunging them into what could have been another world.  Mike couldn't see Hal sitting right next to him.
         
He flicked on the flashlight.
         
An orb of light spat onto Hal.  He squinted and held up his hand.
         
"Jesus, Mike!"
         
"Drop the anchor."
         
Hal nodded and grabbed the anchor that lay curled up at their feet.  The length of chain attached to the weight measured at thirty feet, give or take, plenty to sink to the bottom of the lake.
         
Hal dropped the anchor into the water.  It hardly made a sound or splash, as if the water gulped it down.
         
The chain clinked against the boat as it sank deeper and deeper into the water.  The two men watched as more of the chain disappeared into the murky depths.  By the time it stopped, only a couple feet of the chain remained. 
         
"Twenty eight feet," grunted Mike.  He hadn't imagined it would be that deep.
         
"Let's make it quick, Mike.  I want to git outta here."
         
Mike wanted to stay no more than Hal.  He obliged him and traversed the light around the bottom of the bridge.
         
The same strange weeds that grew out of the top of the bridge grew down here to.  They hung from the bottom, hanging down at about three feet long.  A blackish slime dripped from some of the weeds.  It smelled of ink.
         
Clumps of weeds blocked out sight of anything else, except for one peculiar item.  In the center of the bridge was a spot where no weeds grew.  Aiming his light there, Mike spotted a circular carving etched into the stone.  A tentacled creature was carved in the middle of the circle.  One word had been written under the gruesome beast.
         
Chthulu. 
         
"What is that thing?"  Hal pointed at the carving.  Fear rattled his voice like Mike had never heard.
         
"I've never seen anything like that.  Maybe something the kids drew."
         
"But da kids don't come down here, Mike.  Lets go, huh?  We didn't find nothing, so there ain't nothing."
         
Mike swallowed a wad of saliva gathered in his throat.  It sunk down to the pit of his stomach, tingling his nerves all the way until it plopped into his anxious gut.
         
"Okay.  We can go."
         
Something splashed in the water.  Mike pointed the light at the disturbance.  He thought he saw a hint of white whisking beneath the surface, gone before he could be sure.
         
Ripples of water bumped into the boat, rocking it back and forth.
         
"I'm pullin the anchor up," murmured Hal. 
         
Hal reached down and grabbed the chain.
         
Mike circled the boat with the flashlight.  Nothing moved in the water, which he had begun to think looked much like ink in the darkness.
         
A high pitch chittering reverberated around them. 
         
Hal let out an agonized scream as the chain suddenly pulled through his grip, tearing through his hands.  He let go and fell back down into the boat.
         
The chain slithered quickly into the water.  It reached the end of the slack, stretched tautly over the surface.  Something started to pull.
         
The boat began to tip.
         
The two men had no choice. 
         
Mike leaped out of the boat, followed by Hal.
         
The icy current bit through Mikes bones, like an icicle being dragged along his skeleton.  He couldn't see anything in the water.  It was just as black here as under the bridge.  The scent of ink and algae filled his nostrils.  He had been right.  The water wasn't normal here.
         
He swam.  Mike beat his arms and legs through the water, slicing with his arms like a pair of scissors cutting through paper.  He reached the surface, out from under the bridge and embraced by the light of day.
         
Mike turned back his head, hoping to see Hal right behind him.  Instead, by the light of the flashlight that he had left floating under the bridge, Mike witnessed a sight that would surely plague his nightmares.
         
Hal bobbing in the water, screaming desperately in terror.
         
A white, muscular tentacle breaking through the surface of the black water and wrapping around Hal, lifting him into the air.
         
A bulbous white shape emerging out of the water.
         
Mike turned away, listening to Hal gargle on choked screams.
         
A heavy object that might as well have been a wall knocked into Mikes head, and then he could see nothing.

         
He awoke to Sherriff Benstons somber frown.
         
Darkness had washed away the sun on Pikemens Lake.  Thunder roiled overhead while lightened trembled behind the clouds in the distance.
         
Mike tried to move, but found that his hands were tied behind his back to a tall, wooden post buried deep in the earth at the shoreline.  The heavy rope dug into his skin, a warning not to struggle.
         
His vision defied him.  It swirled and blurred and spun, putting everything out of focus.  Everything except for the bridge in the corner of his eye, and Sherriff Bentson standing in front of him, looking up at Mike tiredly.
         
"I'm not happy that it has to be you Mike.  I didn't want you to come here."  The Sherriff spoke matter of factly.
         
Lightning clashed through the air, followed by a grumble of thunder.  The storm was coming closer.
         
He heard voices around him, all chanting a single word.
         
"Chthulu.  Chthulu." 
         
They spoke reverently, growing excited with each new burst of thunder.
         
His vision cleared and Mike looked around him, seeing the faces of those that encircled him. 
         
They were all dressed in a brown robe with a golden sash tied around the waist.  Some wore strange, silver masks with the faces of fish.  Other faces were shrouded under their hoods.  Still others wore no disguise among their features.
         
He knew all of them.
         
Miss. Lipsy, the librarian, her usually bright green eyes gazing emptily at him.  Mark Hodge, the local mechanic, always wearing dark sunglasses to cover his blind eye, now letting its white body glow in the darkness.  Ben Trayner, Polly Mauder, Trent Gintstein.  All old faces, all nearly unrecognizable with the way they watched him blankly.
         
Only the Sherriff seemed to have any sort of feeling within him.
         
"You should be honored, Mike.  Many, many men and women have been given over to Chthulu, and all who have gained a rightful place by his side."
         
Mike sensed that he himself was speaking, but all of this seemed too much like a dream to know for sure.
         
"What are you doing to me?"
         
The Sherriff held out a hand and touched it to Mikes chest.  He realized then that he had no shirt.  The Sheriffs cool, wide fingers pressed forcibly against his skin.
         
"We are offering you to our God, Mike.  He is more than your God, more powerful than any God.  After centuries, we have begun to purge this world of the nonbelievers.  The man from today was the first.  You will be the next in the first step to a new world."
         
Mike strained against the post.  Warm blood dribbled down his wrists.  The rope must be shaving his skin.
         
"I don't understand."
         
"You will Mike.  You don't have any choice."
         
Lightning flashed directly overhead.  A booming surge of thunder erupted in the sky.  The earth trembled beneath the pillar, sending shivers through Mikes body.
         
The Sherriff took his hand away.
         
"It's time."
         
The Sherriff walked away behind him.  The rest of the visible group vacated the shoreline, all of them joining the Sherriff behind Mike where he could not see.
         
In the darkness, the water appeared just as black as it was underneath the bridge.  The wind howled, tormenting the water and raising great waves that ran and crashed into one another.  The lake was a savage torrent, the very essence of chaos.
         
The chanting rose louder behind him, all of them speaking words now that Mike had never before heard.  They cried out louder and louder with each passing second, shouting for Heaven and Hell and all of the other spiritual plains to hear them.
         
Mike kept his eyes on the water.
         
The sky tore and rain dropped down from the clouds, pelting against Mikes body. 
         
A shadow moved underneath the surface of the lake, darker than the inky water under the bridge.  It came towards him, moving at a monstrous speed.
         
Cheers rose up at the sight of it.
         
Mike watched with insipid terror as the end of a white tentacle vomited up from the water, whipping into the sky in a flash of otherworldly lightning.
         
He choked on a scream, seeing the thing writhing and gesticulating above him.
         
The tentacle was more muscular than he had thought in seeing it consume Hal.  Its trunk was two feet wide, with an impossible length.  Black, thorny spikes bristled the tentacle from one end to the other.  The strange weed from the bridge hung from every orifice of the ghost-white tentacle.  Small suction cups lined the bottom of it, each filled with serrated, pearly teeth, much like that of a piranhas. 
         
His bladder let go.  Urine streamed down the leg of Mikes jeans, dripping to the wet ground under him.
         
Fifty feet away, water splashed into the air as a fat, swollen white head pushed up out of the lake.  An inhuman roar resounded through the night, like nothing that he could ever describe.  The beast's head was shaped like a ball of chewing gum, round in some places, indented in others.  It had no eyes, only a smooth sheet of clean white skin.  A mouth like a birds beak, colored black, snapped open and shut urgently. 
         
More tentacles thrashed out of the water, lashing around against the surface, spewing water in an unfathomable fury.
         
He had seen this creature before, etched into the wood under the bridge.
         
Chthulu.
         
Mike sensed that the main bulk of the creature could come no further.  The water was not deep enough. 
         
But the tentacles were close enough.
         
The first tentacle squirmed down towards him.  Mike winced at the inky smell of it.
         
Its tip met his skin.  His stomach curled with revulsion.  The thing felt like a slippery tongue probing his chest.
         
Slimy fingers seemed to crawl over his skin as the tentacle slithered up around his neck and came back around to face Mike.
         
The chanting rose to its peak.  The worshippers nearly screamed.
         
"Chthulu!  Chthulu!"
         
The smell broke through Mikes nose, filling him with the sickening odor.
         
The end of the tentacle shuddered, twisting left and right.  Only then did Mike scream as four slits appeared along the skin of the tentacle and the end opened up, revealing a slimy black tube wriggling its way from deep inside the appendage.
         
With his mouth open and inviting the thing inside, the tube shot forward, springing down Mikes throat and into his stomach.  The muscles of his throat stretched to allow the long, spongy tube down through his esophagus.  Before shock dulled his senses and knocked his mind into dreams, he thought he could feel something drop into his intestines.

         
Benny shut the door to the bar and sighed.  He was relieved to be going home after the long day that had transpired.
         
Only a few customers had stepped foot into the bar since the stranger shot himself, and that had been hours later when Benny had decided to open the bar for the night.  He'd needed something to take his mind off of the blood.
         
Now he needed a drink and a comfy bed.
         
The rain came down hard, pelting the roof of the bar.  He hadn't brought an umbrella today.  Weather reports said it would be clear and warm throughout the night.
         
Benny hurried to his old Toyota and hopped inside.
         
He started the car and turned on the lights.
         
Mike Carney was running towards him in the light, coming out of the trees.  Mud and seaweed covered his naked chest.
         
"Ben!  Ben!"
         
Benny opened the door and got out hurriedly.  Mike looked frantic.  He never looked that way.  Not since the day his boy had died.
         
"Mike, what is it?  Where's Hal?"
         
Mike planted his hands on Benny's large arms.  He gripped him hard.  Even through all of the muscle and fat on his arms he could still feel that grip.
         
"It took him!  And it, oh God Ben, it..."
         
A coughing spasm overwhelmed Mike and he fell to the wet mud.  He rolled and writhed in agony, screaming at the top of his lungs.
         
"Mike?  Mike, what's wrong?  Jesus!"
         
Benny couldn't think of what to do.  Mike was screaming too loudly.  He couldn't think!
         
"Run!  Run, Ben!"
         
Mike convulsed as if some invisible entity shook him around.  His waist lifted into the air and he screamed mightily, a scream that climbed into the high reaches of the night sky.  He rolled over, facing the ground.
         
Ripping and tearing came from Mike's body.  He screamed again and stopped. 
         
His body fell back into the mud limply.
         
"Oh no.  Oh no, Mike!"
         
Benny bent down and examined his friend.  He wasn't breathing.  He had no pulse.
         
He was dead.
         
Benny's nerves rattled in his arms.  Twice today, he had seen death.
         
Mikes body twitched on the ground.

Something squirmed underneath him.
         
Cautiously, Benny reached out and turned him over.
         
He cried out and fell back against the lights of his car.
         
Five short, white tentacles sprouted from his stomach, drenched in blood and moving about wildly.  And in the center of the tentacles, a pouch of skin bulged, not yet broken by the creature that waited patiently there.


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