The stench of sulfur fills my nostrils, overwhelming any other scents in the air. My last memory is of falling, and now I lay on the ground numb and disoriented. Slowly, sensation returns to my body as I feel puddles of moisture seep through my jeans and jacket.
I look down, half-expecting there to be blood, but no; it wasn't blood, it was just water. Plain old water, leaking near from a pipe sticking out of the wall. As I attempt to stand, a sharp pain shoots through my tailbone - the impact must have been right on my bottom. Struggling onto my stomach, I see the cause of my fall - a gaping hole about three meters above me in the side of the building.
"What a fall..." I mutter to myself, "Lucky I didn't hit my head."
I struggle to find my balance as I shift onto my knees, but my ears start to ring, and it feels like a rubber band is wrapped around my temples, squeezing my skull like a watermelon. My body trembles, and I collapse onto the ground once more. When I hit the ground, the fire starts up and begins to spread across the floor, even spreading across the water, evaporating it into wisps of smoke as it blazes through. The sound of the crackling flames grows louder and louder. Beyond the alleyway I can hear howling, though I can't tell whether it's coming from the wind or the stalkers. I reach out and attempt to stifle the flames with my hand but my hand reels back as it it hisses and burns me.
I yelp as a shadow creeps into the alleyway, visible through the shimmering moonlight casting cerulean rays onto the white chipped paint of the building outside. The shadow looms larger, its form vague and menacing. My heart races, each beat echoing in my ears, louder than the crackling flames.
I try to crawl away but each movement of my hands across the ground echoes like a hammer bouncing off of the floor. I hear a throaty growl, and a purple tongue-like appendage makes an entrance through the bottom of the hole, slithering around the embers like a slime mold navigating a maze. It moves with an eerie intelligence, avoiding the fire with ease, almost as if it has eyes of it's own.
As I drag my body across the rough ground, my hands and feet scraping against debris and broken glass, the appendage retracts suddenly, disappearing back into the alley. I don't pause to wonder why, I just keep moving. The flames have spread and continue to rise, creating a barrier between me and the stalker. Now I'm safe from it, but not from the consuming fire. As I reach out, I hear a hissing noise again, though it's not from the fire searing my skin, but the stalker. I hear the flapping of wings, and a cawing, and suddenly, an explosion of feathers rains into the room, drifting slowly towards the floor before burning up. And then, I see them- a murder of crows swoops down from above and attacks the stalker with razor-sharp talons. Feathers explode in every direction as the birds tear into its flesh, ripping out intestines and causing it to thrash in pain.
Using this distraction to my advantage, I scramble towards a small window on the opposite side of the room. The glass is already shattered, offering a narrow escape route. I ignore the sharp pain as I squeeze through, cutting my hands on the shards jutting out from the edge. Once outside, I find myself in a narrow, dark corridor. The corridor is eerily silent, and dimly lit, with only a few flickering lights across the cracked walls. The air is damp and heavy, carrying a mix of odors – mold, decay, and something metallic that I can't quite place. I feel a shiver run down my spine, but I push on, knowing that staying put isn't an option.
As I walk, the sound of my footsteps echoes off the walls, sounding louder than they should in the quiet corridor. Every creak and drip makes me tense, half-expecting a monster to emerge from the shadows. But the only thing that greets me is the oppressive silence.
When I turn around, I see a faint light at the end of the corridor. As I approach, the light grows brighter, revealing a door slightly ajar. As I cautiously push the door open, a wave of hot air hits me. The room is walled with crude bricks, dominated by a large, ominous furnace. The walls are lined with metal shelves, and various tools hang from hooks, giving the room a sinister, industrial feel. The door slams shut behind me with a resounding thud that causes me to jump. I scan the room as the furnace hums steadily, its presence unsettling. I notice a small table beside it, cluttered with papers and what looks like blueprints. My curiosity piqued, I move closer to examine them.
As I sift through the papers, trying to make sense of the technical diagrams and notes, I hear a creak from above. Startled, I look up to see a crow perched on the windowsill, its eyes fixed on me. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the crow's gaze unnervingly intelligent.
"Who are you?" I ask, but the crow does not respond.
Then, suddenly, the crow's gaze wavers wildly, and it's feet begin to stumble, as though drunk, across the window sill. As quickly as the crow had arrived, it plops down onto the floor, exploding in a parade of feathers. There's a gash spanning the length of it's chest, secreting a viscous fluid, with only flecks of blood, the rest seemingly drained from it's body. I turn away instinctively, but when I peek back, I notice that the crows eyes are still moving. Without thinking, I take the crow into my hands and press it against my chest and allow the creature to die in my arms, not knowing why.
As I hold the dying crow, the silence in the room intensifies, only punctuated by the steady hum of the furnace and the occasional drip of water from a leaky pipe. Suddenly, the furnace flares to life, its roar drowning out my thoughts. Startled, I glance over, half-expecting to see a figure looming near the controls, but there is no one. With the crow now motionless in my arms, I gently place it on the table beside the scattered papers and blueprints, when I hear a pained gasp from somewhere outside the room.
"Someone.....help me!" says the stranger in a raspy voice.
I shudder to move a single inch from where I stand, but all I can hear are the pained groans from somewhere beyond the corridor. Compelled by the cries for help, I take a deep breath and steady myself. Clutching the wrench tightly, I approach the door towards the hallway once more.
"Jinji... you left me here to die...all alone." the voice mutters, "There's...blood...in my mouth."
Suddenly, I hear the breathing stop, and the ominous drone that filled the void is replaced by a darkly silence. Shortly after this, the sound of the doors bursting open fills the corridor with a sharp, resounding echo. The silence shatters like glass, replaced with the sounds of rapid, heavy footsteps and the clanking of metal. My heart races as the source of the disturbance approaches. I grip the wrench tighter, preparing for whatever might come through that door.
"Don't come any closer!" I shout, raising the wrench to throw it at my attacker but when I open my eyes, there's nobody there. Quickly, I burst through the door into the lobby, but the scene is a massacre; bodies strewn everywhere, blood and flayed organs sprayed across the walls and floor. I check the corpses, and many of them appear to be wielding knives and other weapons, though none of them are human, and as I attempt to check them for signs of life, they lie as limp as ragdolls, heavy and lifeless. The sight of it all makes me sick, but I hasten my step, when I notice a black figure lying up against the wall beside the reception desk. It looks like a young guy, no older than nineteen or twenty, and he's got four large puncture wounds in the shape of a square on his chest that almost appear to go straight through his body, though he's not bleeding profusely.
"Are you okay?" I say, rushing towards him, lifting up his face and parting his hair to ascertain his features; he appears to be breathing, though I'm certain he won't be if he stays here for much longer. I look around frantically for bandages, or something to put on the guy, but there's nothing around me. I hear a strange noise, like that of slime smearing against a surface, and when I turn around, there's a message on the wall, boldly written in blood. It says:
"LET HIM DIE, IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU..."
"I need to get out of here..." I mutter to myself; as a last resort, I attempt to pick him up and carry him. To my surprise, he feels much lighter than he looks, light enough to throw him over my shoulder.
As I carry him through the shattered entrance of the crematorium, a gust of wind sweeps through the vacant street, whipping dust and dirt up into the air. As I tread cautiously, the boy's weight on my shoulder grows more familiar, his shallow breathing a constant reminder of the urgency of our situation. My eyes scan the environment, looking out for signs of danger or a place to seek refuge and tend to his wounds. Up ahead, the faint outline of an old ambulance parked beside a collapsed building comes into view. It's a long shot, but if there's any medical supplies left, it could be his only chance. I quicken my pace towards the vehicle, every step punctuated by the boy's labored breathing. Reaching the ambulance, I gently set him down against the side, wincing at the low groans that escape from his mouth. The vehicle is dusty and looks like it hasn't been touched in years, but the doors are unlocked. Inside, I find a goldmine: bandages, antiseptics, and even a sealed bottle of painkillers. I quickly gather what I need and return to his side.
With swift, albeit shaky hands, I clean his wounds as best I can and wrap the bandages tightly around his torso. "Who did this to you?" I ask softly, not sure if he's coherent enough to answer. But he remains silent, in some kind of a daze, perhaps even in shock. He does not appear to be getting worse, but his skin is assuming a faint pallor, and there are deep dark circles around his eyes that weren't there before. I hear a noise in the distance, and when I turn my head, I can see faint, almost invisible figures, hopping from parked car to parked car, crushing them with ease.
"Stalkers!"
I scoop him back up, his body light in my arms, and look around for a potential escape route. Spotting an alleyway nearby, obscured by the shadows of the surrounding buildings, I decide it might offer us a temporary refuge. I move quickly, keeping low to avoid attracting their attention. As we reach the alley, I glance back; they seem preoccupied with something else, giving us a precious moment to hide.
I set the boy down behind a corner, providing a barrier between us and the street. Pulling out the antiseptics and bandages from the ambulance, I continue to treat his wounds, applying antibiotic cream with careful touches. Despite the urgency, I try to be gentle, knowing he's endured enough trauma for one day.
Once he's bandaged securely, I drop the wrench and scan the alley for a longer weapon. My hand finds a broken pipe with a jagged edge—it's not much, but it's better than nothing. As I clutch the makeshift weapon, I hear the boy murmur something in his sleep, his voice cracked and weak.
"He's here..." he whispers, barely audible.
The warning sends another wave of adrenaline through me. I need to be ready. I position myself so I can see the entrance of the alley, holding the pipe ready to strike at anything—or anyone—that might enter. My heart pounds as I listen to the occasional crush and thud from the street, each sound a potential signal of approaching danger.
Time seems to slow as I wait, every second stretching out interminably. Then, I hear it: a faint scraping sound, like metal on concrete, growing steadily louder. It's coming from the main street. I tighten my grip on the pipe, preparing for what might come next.
The sound stops abruptly, replaced by a tense silence. I strain my ears, trying to pick up any hint of movement. Then, out of the shadows steps a figure, not one of the stalkers, but a man in a white robe.
Comments (0)
See all