Chapter 19 #3
He wasn’t covered in blood or shrieking for help like the other victims of this thing that Lionel had seen.
He was standing in front of the giant creature that was somehow even bigger now as it loomed over him.
Mads always made everyone and everything around him look so small with how tall he was, but now, beside this, he looked tiny.
Lionel almost called out to him; almost screamed his name, ready to beg him to run, to get the hell away so Lionel could do something, anything, to save him. His lips parted, breath hitching in his throat. But before he could form the words, he froze.
Because Mads’ mouth was moving.
Not like someone screaming for help. Not like someone trapped or panicking. No, his lips were shaping slow and deliberate words. His face was calm, his posture eerily composed. Lionel finally started to hear the sounds for what they were.
Those awful, choked, clicking, and gurgling noises weren’t only coming from the creature. They were coming from Mads.
Lionel stared, wide-eyed, unable to breathe as he watched Mads pause every so often, listening as the creature chittered back at him in kind. Then Mads would open his mouth again, and that horrible, wet sound would come out of him like it belonged there.
They’re talking.
Lionel’s whole body shivered. He felt the chill of it all the way down to his bones. His hands, still clutching the gun, had gone numb.
And then Mads raised a hand. The creature shifted, emitting a low, clicking burst that echoed through the room. Lionel almost shouted out without thinking, convinced he was about to watch Mads get torn apart. The creature moved like it might pounce.
But it didn’t; instead, it flinched. It jerked back as if stung, recoiling from Mads like an abused dog.
Confused, Lionel leaned in slightly, straining to see.
He couldn’t make out a weapon. There was no gun or knife in Mads’ palm.
There was no sound, no burst of light, nothing that explained why the thing had suddenly shrieked and reared away like it had been hurt.
Mads’ hand curled slowly into a fist, and the creature wailed.
It was a ragged, gut-wrenching noise, like metal tearing against bone.
Its legs thrashed against the warped floor, its many limbs twitching and folding in ways that shouldn’t have been possible.
It threw itself backward, writhing in agony, but its size worked against it.
It could barely move more than a few feet at a time.
Mads followed step by step, calm as anything; his movements were slow, almost like he knew it couldn’t get away from him.
The creature collapsed further, twitching limbs folding inward as if trying to make itself small.
Its body hunched and contorted in impossible ways with bones and muscles sloshing beneath skin as it tried to escape into itself.
And Mads kept walking toward it. When he reached it, he stood still for a moment, observing. Then, with a curious tilt of his head, he raised his hand and placed it directly against the creature’s body.
The skin sizzled where his palm made contact. The thing’s entire frame trembled.
The room went deathly still. Lionel’s breath stuttered in his throat. The quiet was so absolute he became hyper-aware of every sound he was making: the faint rasp of his breath, the tiny creak of the floor beneath his toes, the frantic rhythm of his own pulse.
Then the creature screamed.
It wasn’t just loud, it was a sound made to hurt, a frantic, panicked, high-pitched keening that scraped across Lionel’s teeth and sank like hooks into his spine. His hands flew to his ears instinctively, heart lurching so hard he thought it might crack open.
And then it collapsed. It didn’t just fall; it folded like a dying star imploding in on itself.
Flesh, limbs, mouths, all of it bending and crumpling inward in jagged, uneven bursts.
One blink, two, and it was gone. Nothing left.
Not even blood. Just a dark stain on the warped floor where it had been.
Lionel stared at the spot that the creature had stood, completely empty now, and then his gaze flicked to Mads, who still stood there. Mads didn’t move for a long time, and Lionel wondered what expression was on his face.
He jolted in surprise when he heard Mads sigh loudly and then wipe his hand off on his sweatpants, ‘tsk’ing when the blood stained them.
Mads turned on his heel, and Lionel ducked back behind the wall.
When he realized Mads wasn’t coming his way, he peered out again and watched as Mads walked over to a door that Lionel hadn’t noticed before.
It was a standard door, looking like one that would open into any apartment or bathroom in the building, and it was tucked into the corner of the room.
Mads walked over to it casually as he rubbed a hand on his neck, turning his head every which way as though trying to work a knot out of his shoulders.
Lionel didn’t dare to breathe, crouching even more behind the wall as Mads opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind him.
Lionel blinked, watching the door for a long time to see if Mads would come back out again. Maybe it was another bathroom, maybe he was just cleaning up the blood that had gotten on him. But after what felt like an eternity, Lionel finally moved.
His limbs felt too long, too heavy. Every step was a conscious decision, as if he were dragging himself through wet cement. Still, he took one shaking foot and placed it in front of the other, crossing the threshold into the room.
The gun stayed raised, clutched in both hands so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. He swept it from left to right, eyes darting to every corner, waiting for something to lurch out from the walls, from under the furniture, from the air around him. But the room remained empty.
The air was thick and warm with the remnants of that inhuman shriek, as if the room itself was still ringing from the sound. The silence that followed felt unnatural.
Lionel took another step. His legs wobbled under him so badly he nearly stumbled into the side of the doorframe.
He had to plant one hand against the wall to keep himself upright.
Every inch of him was buzzing with leftover adrenaline, like static crawling just beneath his skin.
His lungs still hadn’t figured out a normal rhythm.
He breathed in quick, shallow pulls, as if more oxygen might make this all make sense.
Then he looked at the door, dread pooling low in his gut.
He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to know what was behind it. Maybe it would be worse not to look, or maybe it would be worse to look. He felt frozen at the edge of knowing, like opening it might be a point of no return.
But his hand moved anyway. He let out a long, trembling exhale, gritted his teeth, and wrapped his fingers around the cold metal knob.
Then he pulled it open, and the door swung wide with no resistance. Lionel blinked because behind the door wasn’t a room at all.
It was a wall. A solid brick wall, just a few inches from where the door had been. There was no gap or threshold, just gray-red stonework sealed tightly from top to bottom, like the door had been installed there for no reason at all.
Slowly, Lionel lifted a hand and reached forward. He pressed his fingertips to the bricks. They were cold, rough, and solid. There was no way through, just a doorframe leading into a dead end, like the rest of the apartment had been rearranged around it.
Lionel stepped back once, his chest tightening. He shivered as he felt soft, cold air on his skin, almost like the draft from an open window on a chilly night. All the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he took another step back from the door.
Lionel froze, all the blood draining from his face, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He felt a puff of breath on his ear before he heard the words.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Lionel,” Mads whispered.