Falling into the Siphon; [21]

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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Stale, bitter silence clings to the air, all things still except for limping steps over glass – mine. Nothing looks wrong – glass lies on the ground clean of blood, the dusty tiles only have marks of footsteps, the broken map display is bare of impact blood or puke. The center fountain still has its bullet marks but the carpet beneath it is a solid tan, I died there, but its unmarked. A finger slips through the hole that went through my lung, feels around the shaking and the shivering, and comes out with a ‘pop’ – bubbles of blood crawl down.

How could all of this happen.

Why did I even fucking try to come here, was it the phantom pulling that kept me from sleeping? I was doing so well, kept silent at the start but… then I just moved without care to the center. I was so fucking stupid, why did I even walk straight to the center when I knew that there were other people, and probably with a gang no less.

Wandering back to the first shop I stood, where I killed the helpless girl with a knife, carried her up the stairs in my arms, and left her in the dark. The knife goes through my skull twice, and I set it back into my arm when I’m able to stand. It wasn’t me that killed her, I could never do something like that. But I did, I remember her screaming for help and slicing her over and over, cutting her hands into ribbons, leaving her above in silence. Her blood wasn’t there, of course it wasn’t.

The door is still locked, but I jiggle the handle for reassurance. If there was a way to get out, it can’t be here, right? There must be another place to enter the building.

Yet I lean against it, count to ten, and begin to walk. Remembering fragments of my killer’s conversation with the kid down in the basement; they were talking jokes, on the other side of the wall. I have to limp past the stacked chairs and to the directory board. I hold one side of it firmly then lay back against the broken glass and the hole my head made in it, cutting up my back. The fountain is just straight ahead, I focus on the broken up dust and glass on the floor and take steps towards it. It’s still completely clean, the video camera sitting without a stain on it.

I turned it, several times until it was pointed at me with the hand I held over the hole in my chest. There was no way it was clean of blood too, but it was. I said to it I was sorry, that I was sorry about everything to Sarah. Why would I even say such a thing, why would she care?

This was where I died, so whatever brought me back was still here, doing whatever it did that kept me and all the people I… killed alive as well. Maybe here there is a way to end it. Do I shed my own blood on the carpet, will that satisfy whatever it is? Worth a try if it is or if it’s not. I can’t bleed out, so there is nothing for me to worry about until it ends.

Worrying about if it works, fuck it, I worry if it doesn’t work. Death needs to happen.

The knife slides out of my arm and I stare down at it, preparing for the pain? I have no idea, and press the blade against my left wrist and hold them both out above the carpet. It presses, I pull, and the blood pours out like a waterfall. Dry heaves are all my stomach can handle, watching the blood pour pass my legs and sink against the floor, splattering and circling beneath me. I can still stand, even as the blood squirts and seeps down. My focus is only on the circle of blood beneath me, watching it flatten into a disk and begins to spin. The blood from my arm slows into droplets, but I am still standing, and the floor below me soaked.

The blood is twisting around itself, spiraling around my blood soaked shoes and tattered pants. But the shape, the spiraling shape, becomes pronounced as time passes. The rims of the spiraling pattern turn into arms, and they shrink at each revolution. Isn’t this the same as the waving blood from the two that I got the knife from, when I moved them into another room?

I wait for it to sink away into the ground and left the carpet completely clean. Was this at the feet of every person that should be in all terms dead, but are sobbing and in pain behind a curtain of silence? Every one of the spots are in darkness though, and… some part of me can’t risk pulling them out into the light to see if they have a spiral beneath their feet as well. The battery of whatever flashlights are probably dead as well, just like the kid below that is the only one that’s found death. But the one teen, here’s still here, I can talk to him, get his opinion.

But… I sliced a guy’s eye open in front of him, and from his perspective I might as well been jerking off at the same time. Why, though, what brought me to do such a thing, and to assault those two girls, and attempt to eat one of their eyeballs.

The taste still lingers in my mouth. It’s… it’s been the only thing I’ve tasted besides constant copper in forever – how long has it really been? Oh god, I am such a fucking moron, the girl’s laptop had the time and date on it.

Stumbling back over there takes a while, but stepping in blasts me with the teenager’s droning on and the guy I smashed his face in moaning and attempting to shut the teenager up. I guess the both of them learned to accept it then, and the others might’ve too… they’re becoming more like me. Too much like me.

I have to crawl around for the laptop, feeling around the glass and the gaping backpack for the fucking laptop. Where the fuck is it? It takes so long for me to find it, but I finally find it – but the battery ran out I suppose. Smashing the power button does nothing, only take up time. It can’t be dead now. I… I need to know. How long have I been gone. What day is it. Is Sarah worrying, are the kids worrying?

Fuck, why won’t this fucking thing turn on, come on, please. I need to know. Please, please, turn on. Bubbles of blood pour over my chest again and air bursts past the flesh of my throat. Please, turn on you fucking thing, you fucking piece of garbage. “P…lease,” I croak, and the teenager and guy in the other room go silent. “Pl…ease,” a rolling pain goes through my chest, “t..urn-on.” Come on, turn on, “ple-aseuh. W-work.” It can’t be blood going down my face.

The teenager and the man are still quiet when I let the thing go.

Does the teenager have anything on him that can tell time? Or the man?

How would I even approach them, after what I’ve done to them and the girls. It was either… either the crushing feeling of being lost in time, or having a sense of how much I’ve lost since coming here – beside my own death and my… humanity. Could I really call it that at this point?

I pick the laptop back up and start dragging myself over to the back room, letting the walls guide me to where the quiet pair are lying. Bumping around is the only way to look for the room, since the flashlight the teenager had no doubt died out at this point, and they weren’t making any sound. I have no concept of time any more, I have at least walked back and forth a couple times at this point, right?

Yet, by some fucking way I get into the same room as them – only knowing that I entered because one of them moved and rattled a bottle or something. “He…hey, kid,” I choke out, looking off to the left where I’m pretty sure he still was. “Wh-what…. Is your-name?”

“Nick,” the teenager says in front of me, “why the fuck are you here, eye-slicer?”

“I… I’m… sorry,” I can feel the blood dripping down my chest again, and I step forward, paper moves in front of me, so I stop and crouch down, the laptop in one hand. “H…here, ta…take this.” Where would his hands be, does he even know I am handing him something… so I lay it down on the floor and step back.

“What?” I can hear the teenager moving somewhere in the room, picking up the laptop maybe, or reaching for the pipe. In the back of my mind, there is an urge to take out the knife and cut his mouth wide open, cut down his chest and break each rib. Nick, the teenager, he picks something up, and freezes when the knife slips from my arm with a wet smack. The blade goes through my mouth and out the back of my head – blood dripping through the hair. But the thoughts of hurting him are gone now. “What the fuck dude.”

“Sp… spi-rahls,” the blade is still sticking from my mouth when I walk away, and out of earshot of the adult and Nick. Fluid still drips down my face and neck, letting the knife stick out my mouth and tongue press against the blade and splitting, more blood seeping downwards and onto the floor. Every couple steps, up to the window close to the entrance, I look back for my foot steps and the blood that dripped to the floor. It’s following me, the spiral at my feet pulling blood down into the center. Nothing I can do about it, I can only wait now. Hopefully the driver of the dark car comes back, when she or he found a way to end all this, not become another one of this place’s victims.

God, I’m not one to beg, but… let the driver be the one to end this.

For three days I wait in the window, still as a statue, staring around a small corner in the day and at a side at night. The lights are so bright in the distance and green and red lights wrap around a house in the distance. It must’ve been over a month, if the Christmas decorations are already up.

I hope Sarah is happy.

 

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