The Vanishing Eight, page 14
In the suffocating grip of terror, we climbed to our feet as one, seeking solace amidst our shared fear. A soft sigh escaped, and a fleeting smile graced my face, a momentary respite in a world teetering on the edge of calamity. I pulled her into me, our lips meeting in a tender reassuring embrace.
"As you wish," I chuckled, a defiant laugh born of both rebelliousness and despair. Her smile mirrored mine, a fragile mask unable to conceal the fear lurking behind her captivating hazel eyes. I drank in her expression, savoring every nuance as if it were the last time.
"So, you want to go first?" I quipped, a thin veil of humor hardly hiding my trepidation. In response, her eyes rolled heavenward, a gesture laden with exasperation and a flicker of defiance, before her middle finger rose in a vulgar salute, telling me all I needed to know.
With Carolyn's delicate fingers intertwined with mine, we delved deeper into the decrepit edifice, a labyrinth of shadowy corridors and rooms filled with the echoes of a bygone era. Squinting fiercely, I strained to discern the faint footprints on the murky floor, all the while mindful to suppress any noise. I clung to the memory of creeping home past midnight; the stakes were now far greater than angering my parents. I’d stay close to the walls, sidestepping every creaking floorboard and navigating corners, all to avoid waking Judy. The image of her lying in bed tonight, with my parents probably tending to her due to yet another nightmare, weighed heavily on me. I wondered if I would ever lay eyes on her again. Or, should I vanish, if she would even remember who I was…
Leaving the narrow confines of the living quarters behind, we followed the tracks cutting a clear path through the dust and debris to the heart of the building—a cavernous, once-grand kitchen in the style reminiscent of those that were manned by servants. At its center, a towering wooden door loomed, a bronzed knob glinting ominously in the weak light filtering through the cracked windows. The room's walls, cloaked in peeling paint, bore remnants scattered across the worn floor.
I let go of Carolyn's hand, pressing a finger to my lips in a silent plea. With utmost caution, I approached the countertops, cloaked in a layer of dust, and began prying open one cupboard after another, only to unveil empty spaces.
Shifting my gaze downwards, my fingertips trailed along the counter's edge, seeking solace in the unexpected. And there it was—a handle patiently awaiting my touch. I steeled myself, tugging at the drawer. An ear-piercing metallic wail ripped through the silence as its internal mechanism jolted into action before ultimately sticking in position. Slowly, I turned my head, meeting Carolyn's gaze, my expression conveying the disheartening truth. We have nothing.
Rejoining her side, I stood in front of the towering, foreboding door. "So much for stealth," she whispered. Ignoring her remark, I brushed my fingers against the cold metal doorknob, bracing myself against the sturdy doorframe. Drawing deep breaths, I steeled my nerves and prepared to wrench the door open, expecting resistance. To my astonishment, the door yielded effortlessly, swinging open soundlessly, revealing nothing but an abyss of descending stairs veiled in darkness. I glanced at Carolyn, exchanging a nod of reassurance, and together, we embarked on our descent.
Without any light source, the suffocating darkness enveloped us, leaving us with almost no visibility. With trepidation, I moved forward, cautiously placing one foot before the other, feeling the ground beneath me. My arms extended ahead, my left hand tracing the cool, rough surface of what seemed to be a stone wall. Carolyn's hand found its way to my shoulder, her fingers pressing into the coarse fabric of my jacket. Despite the shakiness in her grip, I could feel the firm pressure of her determination. As we pressed on, the faint sound of liquid dripping reached our ears, quickening the pace of my heart. Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Do you hear that?" Carolyn's hushed whisper barely escaped her lips. I continued forward, searching the darkness, until abruptly, a wall halted our progress. Swiveling my head and body, I desperately tried to find any clue, any sensation to guide us.
"Carolyn," I whispered suddenly, hardly audible. "Do you see it too?"
"Jonny, something feels wrong," she responded, her grip on my shoulder tightening. Cautiously, we continued our descent toward the enigmatic object, hastening our pace. The steady drip echoed, blending with a distant rustling sound, like a creature moving in the shadows—each new noise intensifying the pounding in my chest.
"Jon, slow down!" Carolyn commanded as we reached level ground. But I couldn't stop myself. Propelled by a sense of urgency, I navigated through the darkness, each step bringing me closer to the faint flicker punctuating the darkness ahead. Carolyn's grip tightened; the scent of decay and mildew filled the air and I choked, my lungs straining. Carolyn's hold slackened.
Covering my mouth with my sweater, I stumbled onward, determined to reach the dim orange glow on the ground. The relentless drip-drip-drip echoed off unseen walls, a disorienting, omnipresent metronome. What are you? The question echoed in my mind, unanswered, as we ventured deeper into the unknown.
Summoning the last reserves of my strength, I mustered one final surge, one last stride. Holding my breath, I launched my body with sheer force. But fate had other intentions. My foot plunged into a cold, viscous liquid and I lost my footing, sliding across the slim y floor. With a crash, I found myself sprawling onto the ground, the shock of the fall absorbed by my chest and outstretched palms.
"JONATHAN!" Carolyn's anguished cry pierced the darkness, tearing us apart in the murky abyss. I lifted my head, the dwindling orange glow barely inches away. Pain shot through me as I forced my sodden torso upright, propping myself onto my forearms. Drops of moisture trickled down the back of my skull. The pain in my lower ribs throbbed relentlessly, my fall broken by two pipe-shaped objects.
"Jonathan! Jonny, my God, are you alright? I'm reaching out—where are you? Jonny, please, please, tell me you're okay!" Carolyn's voice trembled with frantic desperation.
Leaning against the pipes, each breath I drew intensified the pain coursing through my body. The liquid trickled down my cheek, tracing a path along my face before settling on my chapped lips.
"I'm fine," I rasped, attempting to rise once more. My lips pressed tightly together, the taste of tainted, sour water lingering in my mouth. "Don't worry about the dripping– it's just water."
"Oh, thank fucking Christ!" Carolyn whispered from the shadows.
At that moment, the memory of Andy's mischievous laughter echoed in my mind, bringing with it a pang of loneliness. You can outrun all those linebackers, but a puddle brings you down? You’re quite the catch, Jon! I envisioned him standing over me, that shit-eating grin I love stretched across his face. He would extend his hand, jerking me back to my senses. But he wasn’t here.
I winced as I drew my knees up under me, the chill from the damp, hard floor seeping through the fabric of my pants. Using what little strength remained, I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, my movements slow and shaky.
Reaching out toward the feeble orange glow, my fingertips sparked an electric tingle throughout the cellar. Glass, you idiot. Once more, I reached out, clasping the cylindrical vessel in my palm. Dragging it towards me, I rested my chest back onto the pipes as I clung to what was revealed to a burner.
"Here, Jonny, I think I've got you–" Carolyn declared beside me as I twisted the knob on the green lantern, the elongated wick casting its radiance upon the room. Turning my head to meet her gaze, it was someone else’s shoulder she found in the dark.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RIBS
As the lantern flickered to life, the confined space revealed itself. The room was cramped like a coffin. Water fell from a decaying wooden beam stretching across the ceiling, its faint, mournful rhythm echoing off cobblestone walls. Cold seeped up from the cement floor beneath me, the chill creeping up my legs and gripping my body with an icy dread.
My fatigued mind played host to optical illusions as I fixated on what initially appeared to be a near-frozen puddle I slipped on. In that nightmarish realm, I longed for it to be a mere pool of water. But as the feeble glow flickered, casting its weak light upon the scene, the mirage shattered. Instead, it was crimson blood—stagnant and repulsive, coating the floor.
Then, I felt it. The icy realization I was not alone. Under me, braced near one of the walls, were jean-clad legs that broke my fall.
Fear surged through me, and a sharp intake of breath caught in my throat as my lantern's feeble light exposed Roy's lifeless body.
“Aagghh!” I gasped, suddenly scrambling from his lap. Carolyn shrieked, withdrawing her trembling hand with such force that Roy’s corpse buckled atop me. My stomach twisted into painful knots as I slithered out from under him, pushing his torso back against the wall. For a heart-stopping moment, disbelief clouded my thoughts—this couldn't be Roy, not the Roy we knew.
Time seemed to stretch and constrict all at once. Practical thoughts momentarily broke the mental fog. Should I check for a pulse? Perform CPR? But those thoughts were swallowed the moment I elongated the wick.
Carolyn spared herself from seeing his face, but I wasn't so lucky. Roy’s once dark and vibrant eyes now held an otherworldly, milky sheen. His skin was gray, with his weathered flesh already cracking and peeling like the paint in the upstairs kitchen. The scars on his knuckles had withered into bony remnants, and his once formidable frame seemed hollow, skeletal.
Carolyn and I exchanged a fleeting glance, each searching the other's eyes for some glimmer of an explanation, a shared understanding this horror couldn't possibly be real. But the grim reality was there, lying in front of us. It was there. He— was there.
Unable to look at Roy any longer, Carolyn stumbled back, almost tripping over her own feet, as she beelined for the staircase, her body convulsing.
Her face twisting in revulsion and disbelief, she cried out. "No, this can't—it can't be!" she stuttered, on the verge of hysteria.
But I remained, a horrific tableau imprinted on my mind—Roy, lifeless and decaying. I found myself frozen, inches from someone I once called a friend. Silence settled, stifling and thick, broken only by the muted droplets falling upon Roy's shoulder, hidden beneath his worn leather jacket.
We lost you, Roy. Just when you were so close to escaping it all. You were finally going to make it out of Piedmont. As I rose to my feet, nausea threatened to boil over, and an involuntary gesture of pain caused me to clutch my ribcage. And even in the end, Roy… you still found a way to break someone’s ribs.
With effort, I began to survey the room, searching for any supplies that might offer warmth or protection. The cellar was a tight square space barely large enough for the three of us, as if it had been a storeroom or root cellar. A lingering scent of mildew hung in the stale air, a testament to the room's neglect. Two dusty, empty shelves clung to the wall opposite the creaky wooden stairs.
When I finally reached the opposite side of the room, I found Carolyn crouched low near the steps, her back leaning against the cold stone wall. Her face hung in her hands, her dirty blonde hair falling like a disheveled curtain. As I drew closer, she turned her head away, hiding her face. "I don't want you seeing me like this," her voice quivered. Grasping my aching ribs, I extended a trembling hand.
"I don't know what you're getting at." I replied. My voice was flat, almost mechanical.
"I'm not okay, Jon. This is all too much for me," she persisted, dropping her hands but still refusing to meet my eyes. "I genuinely think we're going to die out here. Jonathan, we're going to die! ” She repeated it firmly, her voice cracking under the weight of her words. She took a deep breath. "I hate when you see me like this because… because I can't hide how I'm feeling. And I don't want you– or need you to take care of me. But, fuck, Jonathan… I'm scared!"
"Carolyn," I interjected, my voice somber, "I need to talk to you right now. I understand you're not okay. And I want you to know even when we're both falling apart, you can still count on me," I pledged, my voice taut but resolute. "I'm going to lay out everything I know for certain, and I need you to be here with me mentally, okay? Just listen. Can you do that for me?"
Carolyn attempted to speak, but her words became entangled in her throat. Stumbling to the wall next to her, I slid down the cold stone until I was sitting, my back resting against the hard surface. Despite the chill seeping through my clothes, I pressed my shoulder against hers, finding solace in the touch of her trembling knees.
"First and foremost, Carolyn, no middle name Brooker," I paused, my voice trembling as I forced the next words out. "I'm in love with you. I'll explain more when we're out of this godforsaken basement. But right now, I need you to understand: I can't imagine my life without you. Shit. It's a struggle just to breathe, but I'd carry you home even if it meant crawling on my hands and knees.”
Carolyn remained silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the wall. Then, very slowly, she turned to me, her eyes wide with hysteria, but also filled with something deeper, something making my heart pound even harder.
"Second, we need a plan. This cellar—no, this whole cabin—it's a deathtrap. We need to get outside. Can you walk?" I asked, my gaze flicking to the narrow, creaking stairs leading out of the cellar.
"Y-yeah, I can walk, Jon," she replied, determination slowly returning to her voice.
"Alright, perfect. Now listen closely," I said, gripping my aching ribs, struggling to maintain my composure. Tears threatened to spill, but I fought them back, my eyes locked on Carolyn, with Roy's lifeless form sitting beyond us. I took a few steadying breaths, attempting to push through the pain and continue my train of thought, but the words resisted.
"Carolyn, I need you–" I managed to choke out.
“Jon, are you okay?” Carolyn suddenly asked, concern blossoming over her face.
“Me? Yeah, don’t worry. Roy just knocked the wind out of me.” I fibbed through hastened breaths. “Look… I have some bad news.”
“Bad news? Worse than what’s already happening?” Carolyn responded, her disbelief palpable. “What, is it supposed to snow? Next, you’re gonna tell me there’s a killer after us!”
Gently, I placed a reassuring hand atop her knee and flashed a regretful smirk. Carolyn chuckled nervously. “Well shit, lay it on me! What else is there?” Her tone shifted abruptly as she leaped to her feet.
"I don’t know how you’re going to take this but… Carolyn, this is Charles' lantern from earlier. He was here, which explains why he had blood already drying on him when you…"
Carolyn’s eyes narrowed. “When I what, killed him?” Suddenly, realization washed over her face. Carolyn’s eyes grew wide as she covered her mouth. “Wait, no. No, no, no! He– he was trying to warn us?” Carolyn’s lower lip began to quiver.
Nodding softly, I rose to my feet and met her. “That’s… not all though.” I paused. Turning back to my old friend, I took in Roy’s presence as if he were still there with us. "Roy has been missing for weeks, and his body’s practically frozen solid. So…” I hesitated for a moment before continuing, my voice a low rumble. “The blood on the floor can’t be his."
"What? Why not?!"
“Well… bodies don't bleed for long after they die,” I responded, my gaze falling to the blood-soaked floor. “Especially not when they're frozen stiff like him.”
"How do you know that?"
"Roy's mom... she started working the night shift at the hospital," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. The image of Roy and me, young and reckless, sneaking into the morgue flashed in my memory, his eyes wide with morbid fascination. “He said the bodies down there were preserved like mummies in Egypt, but with the cold instead of the heat. I guess that's the same thing that happened here. Some twisted type of irony, huh, Roy?" I tried to smile, looking back at him. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. As I struggled to catch my breath, the pain from my cracked ribs intensified. Slowly, I turned to Carolyn and wiped the corner of my eyes with my sleeve. "Roy taught me how bodies don't bleed much after death. So, if we're seeing fresh blood..."
Carolyn froze, the color draining from her face. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She staggered forward, then took another shaky step before collapsing into my arms. She seemed smaller somehow, diminished under the weight of the revelation. She quivered against my chest, and I held her tight before finally breaking the silence.
"I hate to say it, Carol… but we have to find out who else we have to mourn tonight," I declared, my voice taut. “We can’t stay here.”
Nodding, Carolyn broke away from me. I picked up the lantern and began to ascend the wooden stairs. Each step groaned under my weight, and the meager light of the lantern flickered against the aged, cracked walls.
"Jonathan, wait," Carolyn's voice broke through the silence, small and hesitant. I halted, my heart heavy with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. I turned to face her, the flames from the lantern reflecting in my watery eyes.
"What do you think happened to him?" she asked, her voice trembling.
I paused, my gaze sweeping over the cellar before meeting hers again.
"Looks like there's only one door and no windows," I replied, my voice tinged with sadness. "Roy was the best fighter I knew and… seeing him like this? It just doesn't add up. All I know is, whoever did this... it wasn't a fair fight."
Back on the main level of the old house, a chill settled upon my shoulders. As we left the winding cellar stairwell, I instinctively dimmed the lantern. Behind me, Carolyn clung close, her footsteps near-silent, her eyes wide with trepidation as the gravity of our situation bore down on us.
As we crossed the threshold into the kitchen, a tangible sense of foreboding hung heavy in the musty air. The sparse moonlight barely pierced the room's grimy windows, illuminating a scene of neglected domesticity. Empty of life, the kitchen held an eerie stillness; the old jammed drawer sat closed, its secrets undisturbed, and a barren counter echoed the absence of recent meals. The urgency of our search quickened my heartbeat, and I hastened my steps.
