8. Madness #4
Each specter peers out from behind a tree.
Their soft glows are visible deep into the forest. As far as I can see, there are no trees without a spirit.
If Hunt and Madness are looking for me, I’m screwed.
Nothing like an illuminated patch full of dead people to point them in the right direction.
The ghosts might as well be saying She’s over here. Come ravage her. We’re bored.
“Help,” she spirit girl pleads.
“I don’t understand anything that’s happening.”
“Gone.” The fear in her quiet voice breaks through the adrenaline of the chase. “Far, far away from everyone.”
“Do you know the way out of this room?”
She nods, the motion so quick that her face is nothing but a soft white blur. “Follow.”
Her movements are like mist as her body floats through the woods. She picks up speed, breezing between trunks so quickly I have to break into a run to keep up.
The white trail she leaves behind her spreads, elongating along with the shapes of the trees. Everything in my line of sight stretches and blurs.
The forest gives way to a stone wall. Vast and piled high, the rocks are aged and crumbling. The simple wooden door carved into the bottom of the towering feature is something I never would have found on my own. The ghost stills, staring straight ahead.
Unexpected nerves jitter my veins as I take the handle.
Do I want to leave? I do. Of course I want to escape a world of monsters and terror.
Any sane person would. Seriously, Hunt turned into a freaking scary spider, snakey thing.
He’ll probably kill me by accident the next time he gets a hold of me. Sex with him would be fatal.
Thinking back on it, I didn’t see any equipment down there. Was it hidden beneath his scales? Does he have more of a spider peen or a snake peen?
Jesus, I don’t know what either of those peens look like.
It’s not like a spider has ever waved its wiener in my face when I plowed through its porch web on my way to get a three a.m. Slurpee.
Do they even have wieners? The visual of a spider with a boner has me questioning everything.
There’s something very wrong with you, Githany.
Snakes are just as mysterious. Maybe it pops out of a slit or something. Like that fish-man monster in that one movie. Hunt is not a fish, though. Who knows if that movie was even fish-anatomy accurate. Snakes lay eggs. Which means they don’t have wieners. Probably.
Wait. Do spiders actually do it? I’ve seen videos of snakes all tangled up during mating season, but I feel like the nature documentaries have been light on the birds and the bees in relation to arachnids.
What the fuck, why am I still thinking about this?
Why is it taking me so long to turn the handle?
The ghost doesn’t question my slow decision-making. She stares straight ahead, eyes glued to the door. My thoughts run on repeat through the faces of my masked men. Monsters, Githany. Those men turned into monsters.
Monsters who seemed willing to do anything and everything to have you. Monsters that made you feel special and wanted. Monsters who awoke a need inside you that is still unfulfilled.
The blue of my hand catches my attention. There’s no world where turning blue is normal and safe. I need to get to a hospital and find out what’s wrong with me.
A spike of panic bulldozes through the masked faces in my mind.
What if there are no monsters? Am I that sick?
Maybe I imagined this whole evening. Is this oxygen deprivation?
The blue of my skin indicates something is definitely wrong.
Could it be cyanide poisoning? Am I teetering on the brink of death?
The decision is finalized as the door wrenches open. Cool air rushes toward me. I stride through, coming face to face with a group of six very startled people all dressed as vampires. They scream, likely thinking I’m some sort of jump-scare. The decor signals I’ve reemerged into the graveyard room.
“I will eat your brains.” The animatronic zombie springs up. One of the girls in the group screams again.
Gazes flick to my body and back up again. Across the room, the actor in the werewolf suit breaks character. He slides his furry head off, brows furrowed as he takes in my naked and discolored state.
I’m aware of a pounding in my ears. As if music is playing, bass pulsing, thrum thrum thrum.
There might even be voices. The roaring of the ocean filters out all other sounds.
I think I might be floating. A sort of glow surrounds the people.
Like stars, shining. My temperature plummets.
It’s like I’ve plunged to the bottom of an icy river.
The strangers look so warm. Their bodies invite me forward.
Need. I need them. I need what’s inside them.
One step, then another. The concerned expressions morph.
Eyes widen. Mouths open and scream. The shrill sounds are distant despite how close we are now.
My jaw sticks when I try to explain. Instead of words, a new scream pierces the room. My scream. I’m left with a raw throat and aching lungs.
Help me, I want to say.
Blood rushes to my ears and back, dizzying me. A presence steps into the forefront of my thoughts.
Everything. Goes. Black.