Falling into the Siphon; [23]

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;

Want to read it in its entirety? It’s available on [ Amazon ] for $1!


Away from this all-consuming silence, outside among the dense white and dark shadows, it came back. I watch it roll to a stop at the curb, the dark car of the dog-owning driver, and the driver gets out first. But, the driver is not alone anymore, two more people go out and walked to the rear of the car, as well as the driver. Bags were in the truck, one for each of them, throwing them over their backs and getting prepared to enter?

Are they really thinking that they’d get in here, that they’ll get out?

I can’t hear why they are saying – of course I can’t.

The driver leans into the car for a little while, and slams the door, then the trunk, and the three of them stand outside of the dead ring of trees. The driver steps in first, the two other people follow behind. They’re making their way to the entry door – they’re actually coming in, I hope this means I’ll die soon.

Silence still holds the building tight, and I step away from the window and closer to the rail overhanging the first floor. I wait for them, standing still for their voices and their beams to break the silence. A spiraling puddle forms at my feet, and I retain a statue form.

The first beacon of their arrival moves across the ceiling, the dusty hanging fabrics, and back to the first floor. “Why didn’t you answer?” A male voice, young, teenager?

“What?” A female, the driver?

“I asked you what we should do now, but you just kept standing here.”

“I heard nothing, seriously, I can barely hear the wind from here.” So, they already figured out the rules of the silence – would they find anything though? The bright light turns away from my sight.

“What did you do that for?” Another man, older, Indian accent?

“Where you trying to say something when I flashed you?” The driver.

“Yeah, why, you want to answer it?”

“To the question about what we should do now?” The area is quiet, and someone steps on glass. “I said something in there, and neither of you heard it?”

“Should we search one shop at a time? Just to be sure,” one of the men brings up and a light beams at the double doors of the two-floored store.

“Yeah. Let’s look over on that side first, looks like the rest of it is off to the left,” it’s the driver again, and someone kicks glass away, and they walk into my view before the two-floored store. The driver is there in a dark coat and fluffed hood, a bag hangs off her back and a large flashlight is in her right hand, the skin of her face is dark – a deep tan? One of the men carries a large backpack and wears a jacket with internal fluff, long hair strung out the sides, before he turns away. The taller man keeps his back turned, and his right hand stays at his side. A gun?

The short kid is hidden in one of the stores, and they’re walking to the two stores around it. How will it be explained to them, what are they going to do when they find him, do I stop them? How can I stop them, I must slice them, shut them up. The knife digs into my head again, and I twist the blade, falling back among the glass. Must not think of killing them, don’t kill the driver, let them find an end to this. I need to let them go to find peace for everyone.

A scream breaks the silence and vanishes again – one of them found him.

Pain stabs again with the knife, pulling it from my head and stabbing in again. Let them find him, don’t get up. I pull the knife out again to slice into my neck but… something prevents it from going in and it slides back into the hole on my arm. My body turns over, elbows dug into the dust and broken tile shards, head bent down and blood drips from my lips. A smile, twisting over oozing bullet holes and bruises, crawls over my lips and my body sits back, head to the ceiling. I must stay here, let them find the truth, no, stop moving, get back to my knees! The knife shrugs away into an open palm and I stab myself in the mouth, cut through my tongue and into the top of my head. Still, I must remain still for them to keep going.

But the knife slips back out in another hand, and jabs deep into the elbow of the left arm. I spit, bubbles drip among the red saliva. My feet are moving back to the railing. One hand presses away from it, the right one holds onto the dirty brown rail, and my body falls into a rhythm – back, forth, up, down, to the left, and forward against the right hand.

Blood in taste, a burst skull, I’m on the ground. Broken bones again, I can’t see and the left hand clutches onto the handle of the knife. More pain in my skull, and a second gunshot rings my ears.

“Run!” the female screams, and a parade of glass breaks in their steps. I rise up, the knife in left hand, and stumble forward. The three of them are running to the center – oh please no, don’t go there. Another step, dragging a broken right leg, more sheer pain, and I can only watch them stop on their way to the right. One of them shines their light on me and I stall, spitting blood and letting the knife dangle in my hand. Through the brightness, one of them went down into the fountain and grabbed something. The one shining the light shoots and misses, but the ring of it hammers into my head. It’s my gun, one of them picked up my gun.

They vanish around the corner – now they’re in the area of the teenager and the laptop.

As well as I could with a knife in my hand, I fall to the ground and pray.

Please let them be the ones to end it.

But my body still moves forward, a yearning for new blood stains my head and the knife won’t penetrate again. Too far gone, I’m too far gone, and the spiraling blood follows my steps, I gradually lose the limp made by the fall, and my sight returns to how it was before. Regeneration, that was how I was kept alive for so long – is it also the reason I cannot die?

Though bones are still broken, and the pain fails to go away, my body still stumbles to the direction where the teenager waits.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s