Falling into the Siphon; [25]

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;

The knife digs its way through my head, wedging amongst the bits of shotgun shatters and skull fractures. It just sits between my eyes and the handle sits barely in sight. They found them, the camera and my gun. How long will it be until they watch it, what will they do with it; are they going to do now, that they know that I died, and only I was able to walk again?

They spent a lot of time in the room with the chubby kid, the… the kid I first sliced his eyes opens. If I had anything in my torn up stomach, anything like food, I’ve would’ve thrown up by now – but the bleeding takes care of that. Blood puddles are still forming underfoot, and I can only watch them roll into circling lines, shrinking into the broken tiles.


What drove me to do those things; was it the thing that brought me back, healed my wounds, drove me on? Sarah, oh god do I miss her, her and the kids – but only now do I remember her. And didn’t I promise to keep going that day I got myself shot with my own gun; Is that how this thing keeps control of me by promising me happiness? I need to tell them, warn them, with the laptop of the girl I tasted her eye.

I want to puke.

Would her laptop still have enough life in it to type up more for them to read. How will I get them to find it, would they find the teenager – could he talk to them? So close to finding the end of this, I’m so close to having my permanent death for real this time. The knife wiggles around in my head, a hand twisting it through and breaking up bone. Retaining control, keep away the urge to keep going. I don’t miss Sarah. Not anymore.

The three of them, they must have found a place to hide out with my camera and my gun. At least they will now what happened here, much more than anyone else besides the kid in the basement. I’m glad he got out of this fate – what happened to the other one? Did he die, did he get out of town? Questions – something I need to write down on the laptop still lying on the girl’s backpack and in the fractures of glass, beside the dust covered chairs pulled in from another part of the mall.

Why is it not here!

Down on bleeding knees, pushing around mounds of dust, dirt, and glass, throwing the backpack away into the light, I feel more than warmth roll from the gash in my head. Where did it go, it should still be here – what happened to it? Did they already find it, was it someone else, did another person pick it up and carry it off. Was that person lying in a room in a spiral of blood? God FUCKING damnit, it was my only chance to talk straight with them, to the driver of the dark car. I fell into a ball, letting glass scratch across skin and embed, the handle pressing against the ground and twisting and getting stuck in its twist. Arms coil at the sides of the knife handle and entangle in the knots and mats sticking on my scalp – what was I going to do, what was I going to do, how was I going to talk to them.

What about the teen in the next room. He could hear everything that went on in this part, but would he even be willing to talk with me now, after all that I put him through and forced him to see?

It was only a chance, and I stay lying on the floor. Cursing and blaming myself, how stupid I am for coming in here, for taking interest in the mall, to divorce Sarah, from getting an expensive camera I wanted to take pictures with. Moving here, forcing them here with me, abandoning them, I miss them so much, why did I have to fuck everything up?

The knife was sliding from my forehead and the butt leaned against the floor. I pushed my head forward and buried the knife through the slowly sealing hole and one ear, feeling for the prick of the dulling tip with two fingers. Yes, it’s secure now, and I can talk with the teen still – a lot better than when I shoved the knife through my mouth. But, getting up of the ground, its near impossible – why should I even try? Still, their lives and everyone’s death hinges on what they do, and I’m so close to getting them to listen!

Pushing away from the puddle of fluid that pooled and brushing away the scattered contents of the backpack, I get to my feet and head to the side room. It’s silent, but I can hear the teenager’s breathing, slow and steady, almost as if he was sleeping. The guy on the floor, with one eye popped just lies still in broken mumbles, and a crying sound rose from him as I stood in the doorway. “N-Niiiick,” I croaked and stumbled in, staring into the darkness. “Can yo-ou remember. Wa-what I s-ay?”

The teenager doesn’t say anything, but clothing rustles and something heavy rolls across the concrete. For a few seconds, I just stood there, waiting for an answer he obliges to answer. “Sure, whatever fucking psycho.”

“G-goooood.” I hope he can’t see the smile on my face. “There is threeeeeeeee peo-ple. Theeey came to,” a pause to spit out a chunk of clotted blood. “To eeeeend thiiiis.” I pause to let him speak; he doesn’t and I continue. “One giiiirl, two booooys. They aaaaave my gun, and camerah. I will leeead them here – answer them. And ask… ask them about K.”

“K? You fucking want to know about K. He fucking wussed out at the start of the month! Are you the fucker that pulled a gun on him – that’s why he left, and Chip vanished.”

“He killed me…” I force air into my chest and out the original bullet wound. “And Chiiiip, is in the basement-“

“What? Oh you sonuva-!”

“He’s d-dead, cooompletly.”

Silence now, except for the weak whines of the guy in the center of the room.

“They’ll be here… sooon. Show…it to theeem.” I limp my way out of the room, out into the still mall, and start searching for them. The first one, and the second, there is nothing, but in the third I hear mumbling, and it cuts off as glass crackles beneath my feet. Here, they hid in here. I walk out, pushing the knife back into my head, and wait in-between that shop and where the teenager waited. A while passed where nothing happened – I thought they’d forgotten it as an animal, but someone walks out with a dusty gun drawn; it’s mine.

“Victor?” It was the driver of the dark car. She was padded in a thick dark jacket with a fluffed hood, scarf hung around her dark face, the gun was raised well enough with the fluffy gloves.

One hand rose to where the teenager laid in wait. “G…” So close to ending all of this, I wish I could say more with this fucking gash in my throat. “Go…there.” Walk away, give them more space – I need to say sorry to everyone, and let them get ready for whatever will happen now.

I hope none of them die.



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