Crimson thoughts: The rabbit hole

The quickened rhythm of drums switched his feet to hasten! His eyes were glued to the yellow poncho following it with feverish tremble of a dying man, not quite ready to face his doom. That yellow color mesmerized him, his feet just moved him towards it, and his mind would not accept other color than it. Sounds of crashing metal and breaking cement went by his ears, but his brain was too empty, too strained to hear the warnings. His breathing was so quickened, as if following the rhythm of the drums that echoed in his mind. His feet dragged, slipped and rose him again, his hands scratched forwards, his whole body as if rove through time and space, as his eyes detected a sudden stop! He was running with all his strength and will, and yet he was staying on one spot, the serial killer moving farther and father away from him, the very corridor stretching, closing in on him like the insides of some gigantic snake!

He was going to die. The thunderous steps of the monsters got closer and closer. They were so close that he could smell the dried blood on their claws, the sickening smell of putrefaction coming from their mouths, snapping teeth inches away from his legs. Then Kilpatrick turned around and pointed his left hand towards Tony! A sudden screeching clawed his ears like nails on a blackboard. An inhuman silence bestowed the detective, the corridor returned its shape and length and suddenly, the speed returned to Tony, thrusting him right in the serial killer, who caught him by the collar. “st*&_^radasn!” came from the branded man’s mouth. A maddening ring tuned in his ears. He could not concentrate. A sudden shake cleaved him back to reality, and harsh words clobbered him back to a dreadful state of soberness.

“Stupid little runt! You almost died. Use it now!!!” he roared in annoyance.

“Use what?” Tony asked. Kilpatrick lifted him by the collar as if he was a child and shook him.

“Why do I always have to force them.” He shouted smacking the detective in the face. Suddenly a gas tank burst through the metallic door, they had gotten to, open. “Thank you.” He said as he let Tony fall down. “Now move. I don’t know how long this will keep them down.” He said, pulling his companion through the door, as Tony saw out of the corner of his eye the frozen in space gargoyles.

As they continued up some stairs, he could see blood dripping and human parts and leftovers scattered on the ground. He was stepping on them, slipping and falling, he was covered in them. He felt as if he had tasted them, every one last of them, pouring the blood down his throat, crushing the bones with his teeth, biting the flesh off, intoxicating in it, arousing from it. Any other time he would have felt sickened by the very thought, but now there was no time to ponder, no time to doubt or to think twice. He had to live! He had to get to the bottom of this, and in this case to the top of the stairs.

At the top of the stairs were the remains of a two-winged door, but nothing could prepare him for what awaited him through it. As the two men went in, they came upon a grotesque scenery. The huge police station was painted in red, with aggressive body-shaped paintings producing different patterns of the phrase gruesome death. As Kilpatrick went on, Tony could not believe his calmness when his legs were drenched in a sticky, sickening liquid, the same which pumped in his veins. The serial killer turned around and urged him to continue with a hand. Tony started walking slowly, and for the first time since he had woken, he felt his stomach turn, as he saw the lying corpses with gaping mouths; empty, white eyes; shrugged in agony limbs, though there was always one hand that was extended towards the emptiness of space, as if they had tried to grab life itself, to stop their souls from leaving, to beg the killer for mercy. So much death, so much agony! “Why?”

Tony woke up from his dazzle as Kilpatrick pulled him towards the entrance of the station. He had now the time to look only at this stone-cold man that felt as if at home in this slaughter house. Tony felt that if he watches only him, he would have strength to continue. Kilpatrick stopped in front of the doors, and took out a small pouch from his trousers. It was from dark brown leather, small and light.

“Come on! Come on, Jerry!” he said as he took out some white dust from the pouch and through it over the door. Suddenly the dust formed a symbol which as if floated in the air. Tony had never seen anything like it. “Jerry! Come on, break it!” shouted the serial killer. Nothing.

Suddenly the symbol started falling apart from the center. “What?” Kilpatrick exclaimed, as a huge dark hole gaped in the symbol. “Oh, never mind!” he said as he jumped through the hole and vanished out of sight. Tony could not stay, but he felt a strange chill coming from the gap. He knew that once he went through it, there was no turning back, but staying here was not an option either. He took two steps towards the gap and suddenly felt that time had slowed down again for him. The floor not far away from him cracked open like a volcanic eruption and from the pit climbed the two gargoyles. His eyes widened as he saw the Gargoyles charge at him. His feet were too slow; he would not make it in time! He was about to jump when a thought came to his mind. He stopped for a second, in hope that the creatures would not expect that. With that the gargoyles who had expected Tony to jump threw themselves between him and the hole in the door, missing him by a few inches and landed on the ground on his right. He took this opportunity to jump inside the gap, far away from the horror house that had stained his mind permanently with a silent scream that tore his very essence slowly apart.


to be continued...