Amaranthine

Chapter 6

The candle's feeble light shone into the room to reveal a single occupant chained to the wall with shackles on its wrists and ankles. Pictures of concentration camp victims or the starving in Ethiopia didn't compare to the twisted, skin and bones figure. Discolored flesh cleaved tightly to its frame and left it a living skeleton; a monster who snarled and pulled the heavy chains taut with his struggles.

Despite his appearance, there were vestiges of a human being. The thing's eyes were wide and blue - blue like Patrick's. Its hair was also a lot like Patrick's: thick and blonde. It hung in snarled tendrils nearly to his shoulders.

Jorick leaned against the doorjamb and stared critically at the monster. Katelina stayed in the corridor, unwilling to cross the threshold, the bitter taste of disbelief and fear in her mouth.

"Let me go," the thing bellowed, his hollow face contorted in rage. "Claudius - " He stopped as his eyes, so like Patrick's, landed on Katelina. He hissed and bared his teeth, long inhuman fangs that shone in the candlelight.

A strangled cry escaped her lips and she hid behind Jorick. This could not be real!

Jorick seemed oblivious to the horror of the ghoul - unaware of the monstrosity of it all as he introduced them like dinner guests. "Katelina, this is Michael, and Michael, I assume you know who Katelina is?"

Michael. How could it be Michael? Patrick's brother had been missing for months, not years, and it would have taken years for a person to turn into the walking skeleton before her. No, this had to be someone else.

Michael snarled a reply, his voice dry and raspy, "What are you up to now, Jorick? Damn Patrick for saying we could trust you!"

"I'm not up to anything, Michael," Jorick said. "She's come to see her lover's killer."

"Then tell her to take a good look. I'll kill her next! If it weren't for her and for you-"

Jorick cut him off. "I'll never free you, Michael, and you know it."

The thing's words left her uncertain. If he wasn't Michael then why did he mention Patrick? Why did he as much as admit to killing him? In the shape he was in, how could he even still talk, let alone pull on the chains with such inhuman strength?

"I didn't say his brother was human, did I?"

But if not human then what?

Jorick went on, "Even if I did release you, what would Claudius do with you?"

"He'll come for me," the demon hissed, a malevolent smile on his face, his thin lips pulled back from fangs.

"We shall see." Jorick looked over his shoulder at her. "Have you seen enough?"

She nodded, unable to speak. The thought of a brightly lit gas station full of reality seemed very far away.

They stepped out into the hallway and Jorick pulled the door after them. "I apologize for the shocking introduction, but it seemed the best way to make you believe me." He stopped suddenly, his body rigid, as if he was listening.

Katelina strained, but she couldn't hear anything except Michael's sudden coarse laughter.

"I told you they'd come for me!"

"God damn it," Jorick cursed. "Shut up, you foul creature!" He pulled Katelina close enough to hiss into her ear, "There is someone here. It may be nothing, but it could be Claudius come to find his servant. You must stay here, do you understand?"

"No!" she cried helplessly. The insane scenario had descended into the depths of madness. If a coven of witches was really attacking the house, how did Jorick and Michael know? She hadn't heard anything. Maybe Jorick was a lunatic, but, she'd rather be with him than alone in the damp corridor with that thing on the other side of the door.

She tried to explain that as Jorick shoved what was left of the candle into her hand and pulled away from her to hurry towards the main room of the basement. She tried to follow, but as she reached the door he slammed it in her face and locked it loudly.

The hallway seemed to shrink in on her. The darkness became a tangible object that might reach out and strangle her at any moment. Fear choked her and sweat ran down her spine in a thin, chilling trickle. She backed against the stone wall and stared into the blackness, trying to ignore Michael's muffled cries.

She shuddered. If that thing had once been Patrick's brother, then something had happened to him; something to make him not human, because he wasn't human anymore. She could feel that in the very depths of her soul with a sickening certainty. Her skin crawled at the thought of his nearness and her whole being cried out that he was something no one was ever meant to see, something never meant to walk the earth at all.

"Not real, not real, not real," she whispered to herself, screwing her eyes shut. She was an assistant to a newspaper editor in the world of paper and glass and plastic; a glorified gopher that made coffee and fetched things and talked on the phone! She was not the heroine in some horror movie! The newspaper, that was real. Her boss, Mr. Fordrent, he was real. Her apartment with the pink flowered curtains, that was also real. Jorick and this tunnel, that thing in the room and the smell of damp and earth and fear- none of those things were real.

She opened her eyes, but the darkness was still there, held back by the trembling rays of light from her nub of a candle. She looked desperately for some crack in the fa?ade of dream she was trapped in. She thought of Sarah and her warning. Yes, this was how people died.

Suddenly she remembered her phone. Sure, she shouldn't mention to the operator that there was a monster locked up not ten feet away from her, but that was okay. It really didn't matter what she said. She'd heard enough 9-1-1 tapes on the news to know that she just needed to gurgle something that sounded like, "help."

She dug the phone from her pocket and mashed the button. She waited for the ringing to start, but nothing happened; there was only silence. Panic filled her and she hung up and redialed. Nothing. And then she saw the symbol on the screen. She had no signal.

"You have to joking," she nearly cried. "This cannot be happening. Oh my God. This cannot be - "

A scraping sound interrupted the flow of her terrified words. She snapped her phone shut and bit her lip until she tasted blood. Some instinct told her that she must remain quiet. Even though it seemed impossible, this was real. The hallway, the creature, the sound; it was all terribly, incredibly real.

The scraping noise grew louder, and was soon followed by a crash as something heavy struck the floor. She slid down the corridor, her back pressed against the wall to keep as much distance between her and Michael's door as possible. She stopped, raised the candle, and peered down the tunnel. A section of the ceiling had fallen in and, as she watched, a figure dropped down from the newly formed hole. She caught her breath and dashed the candle against the damp stone.