Falling into the Siphon; [11]

Summary:
Few people notice the absence of Victor Lewis, an Urbex that targets one building a month, taking pictures and recording video. Two weeks ago, he targeted an abandoned mall, and told friends of his plans – only they made the connection to his plans and disappearance, and share it on a small local forum. As the rumors spread, more follow after Victor’s footsteps.

Mature | Death; Body mutilation; Body horror;

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How do I keep people out?

I lean against a window to the outside, staring at the lamps sticking out of the increasing blanket of snow as faint light dots across the empty parking lot. For as long as it has been dark it’s been the only view I let myself see, the sheets of snow and the distant lights of life. The sounds from outside are lost to this place, the rings of sirens and even the smallest sound of an engine mute behind the glass. Even a single car that made laps around the place didn’t make a sound, no matter how close I press my bloody face to the window. Past the streets I can see people walk straight over the street and over the small concrete wall – please don’t let them come, I don’t want to see more dead like me.

A car, the one that ran laps a few time, stops short of where the group hopped over and they stop. Make them go away, person, this is not a place for them. A person gets out, all bundled in a dark coat with white fluff and walks over to the five standing beneath a light. They’re probably talking, they don’t move a lot, a few steps here and there and sideways glances. One pulls at another, a third pushes them apart, it’s all I can see with their dark colors combining against the snow. The person that pulled a part of one of them moved closer to the driver of the circling car, and the driver points over in the direction of the entrance. God damnit, no. Two are already walking to it, only to stop, and turn back. The driver looks straight at the window, a line of white outlining the dark face. They are still talking, and the driver still stares straight to the window, one from the group looks back then away.

Oh no, three of them split and were walking to the other side of the building. There is no way I can keep them out from here, or anywhere. The other three just stand and talk; then they turn away and to the dark car and drive away. Only three came in. Still three too many.

A twist in my gut forces me to turn and walk, I must face the three that are going to enter. Hoping to scare them away won’t work, they will only stay for longer trying to do whatever they wanted. I can’t change that. I can only take away their death.

I take care going down the stairs, barely listening to the crackling of glass breaking beneath my feet. No sound of helpless screams or whimpering cries make their way through the darkness that surrounds me, not even a glint of moon and starlight luminating the center covered in the stains of my blood or of the glass covering the ground. Everything is silent, painfully silent; it is the only death here – the death of sound.

The glare of flashlights is slow to come, even as I drag myself towards the dark wing. I go past the bloody and broken map, stepping over cans that rattle over glass, all in a daze covered in the constant pains and the deafening silence. All I can do is listen to voices grow into the darkness, the slamming of a heavy door echos deeper than the slightest broken glass. They’re calling for someone, two guys and a girl, with a single flashlight between them. The light cuts through the darkness and I can only watch them walk into the view, the light flashes between them and going to the ceiling.

I work up a voice inside myself, bubbles creep through my throat and the bullet hole again. “Goooo,” it rumbles and echoes through the silence, the light strikes my face. “Ah-waaaaaaay.” They don’t move, I can’t see anything past the gaze of the flashlight. “Leeee-“ I can’t work past that part before one of them screams and the crunch of glass cuts through the air. Whomever started running took the light with them, and a large person stood before me and struck me down. Something sharp digs itself through my side and drags down, the instant I begin gurgling on blood it plunges in again. I reach for the person sat above me, the one stabbing me, and another set of hands grab my wrist and pulls them away. They are scream at each other and I can’t hear them through the pain and blood bubbling across my face. Again, and again, the object plunges in, dragging down – they are carving me, and they stab back in open wounds, over and over. Each strike bursts my stomach. Everything is burning; I’m going to throw up. I struggle, and struggle, the hands still hold me back. The knife plunges deeper into my stomach and cuts my organs apart, stirring them. I can hardly breathe.

“Why isn’t this thing dying?” screams one of them. I can’t concentrate on which.

Please stop, why can’t I speak now?

“I don’t know, keep stabbing it!” the one over my head yells. More, and more; I can feel blood pooling around me. “Jesus fucking christ, he’s bleeding all over the place!” No shit, fuck, I’m being stabbed, of course I’m bleeding. And the knife plunges up to my lungs and I gurgle more, I can only feel the pain. Please leave me alone. Stop, leave me, go away. My sight is gone and I can only feel each cut into me. If I don’t move, they’ll leave me, please fuck off and leave me alone. I dare not speak or move when the stabbing stops and my arms are free to smack hard against the tile flooring.

“Is it dead?” one of them says.

“Maybe? Should cut its neck to be sure.”

“It’s neck is already fucking cut, even before I stabbed it – what, 60 or so times?”

“Well good thing you started, it’s your turn to burst the nut.”

Someone kneels over me and they are quiet, and a sharp burst of pain rips through my chest. My heart, they stabbed me in the heart! I let out a scream, and the one that sank the knife deep in my chest falls back. I roll forward into a sitting position, the knife still deep within my chest and covered in bubbling blood from my throat. The one sitting on the ground, a woman, is the first one struck. My bloody broken hand hits her hard in the head, and I scramble over her, sit on her, and keep punching, and punching until the other person drags me down. The knife, I can’t let them get the knife, the person wrestling with me can grab the knife!

The second person’s face turns into a punching bag and I pull the knife from my chest and plunges it into his. He’s screaming, the bruised girl behind me is screaming, and I’m not laughing – I’m crying. The pain is still there; the remains of stomach acid leaking through the multiple stab wounds across my chest and stomach. Heaving in every breath, blood bubbles through my throat and mouth. The guy beneath me, the knife plunges deep into his chest – he knows nothing. I pick the knife back up and stab him again and again and again, moving from his stomach to face, and I stay there. The woman behind me, I haven’t heard her scream again.

Another pain goes through my lung, from the back. I can’t help but gasp.

Turning away from the mangled man I sit upon, feeling his fluids soak deep into the tile and merge with my already spilt blood, I see the face of the woman, her face puffing and blood drips down and out her mouth. “I fucking stabbed you, piece of shit, not him.” I take the knife and slash at her. She avoids it, of course, but a second slash cuts through her legs and she falls. The guy tries to pull me back when I crawl to the girl by holding my leg, but I kick him away and plunge the knife into the girl’s legs over and over, and up into her chest. She’s screaming, the guy is shouting, they both can barely move now – I realize this as I stood with the knife clutched within my hand.

“I…” I croak, a vocal tone repeats and bubbles burst, “tollllld” I begin to walk, following the way of the fleeing flashlight. “Yooooooooooooou,” echoes through the building. The third person, a small man, hides in a closet. He’s shriveling on the floor.

Only after he’s whimpering on the floor do I realize.

He ran away. He didn’t want to die.

And I still kill him.

All he had was a flashlight and he drops it when I stab him in the throat, turning a loud voice into a mere whisper.

Then I broke his legs.

What have I become; I’m killing when I can.

In a flash of memories I remember Sarah, the kids, the happy times. Yes, I breathe it in. That’s what I want, that is why I am doing this. For them, to live to see them again. I walk back down the tile, past the two that reach for each other in the dark, sobbing each other’s name, past the broken map, past the bloody fountain, and back up the stairs. Just to stare into the distant night. And wish.

Wish so much that I could just be back home.

The snow continues the fall uninterrupted, the street lamps still present their orange hue, and the buildings are still dark, the distance completely black. One day

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