Speaker 1: Whoever had carved the door relished in the Anatomy of Suffering.
It was a two story tall slab of copper set
directly next to a cavern wall. Its surface carved with
a vast and complex bas relief that worried the eye.
A cloying, confusing mix of human bodies sprawling upwards in
a mound of flesh, many glancing horrified over their shoulders
or fleeing something out of frame and out of sight.
Thousands of them, starved and wretched, with gaunt faces and
sunken eyes, jutting ribs and distended bellies. There were rumors
that they moved, but only when you weren't looking. Less
than a week after its discovery, they brought it down
with explosives. We didn't really know what we'd found at
that point, although I'm sure a few of us, particularly
the religious, their suspicions the door was wrong, all wrong.
It just shouldn't have been there. Natural caverns don't go
that deep in Britain, not a thousand meters. As scientists,
we should have been excited, but we all agreed the
door was repulsive. Staring at it too long induced a
powerful urge to flee. An ancestral memory, maybe the same
way our bodies know to avoid things that crawl and slither,
things that rot and buzz and stink of death and decay.
They never told us how or why they found it,
nor why the project was classified, only that we had
to figure out what was on the other side. When
the charges finally blew, they went off like giant firecrackers,
a string of them that ran down the gateway one
by one, deafening booms that shock the entire cavern. I
was left blinking dust out of my eyes as great
machines lowered the door, now free of its couplings, to
the ground. Looking back, some details come easier than others.
The air that wafted out was hot and dry, and
I was not surprised. That seemed intuitively correct, whether I'd
admitted to myself or not. The fact was, I'd been
thinking of the door as a gateway to Hell pretty
much since I'd first laid eyes on it, and my
mental image of hell was oddly medieval. I expected some great,
big stones, something reminiscent of an ancient castle, rattling chains,
the wailing of the damned, the stench of sulfur god,
even little red devils with horns and pointy tails. But
I hadn't expected shelves and books. That was the first
real thing we saw. Shelves lining the walls that had
been dug directly into the same rock as the cavern,
Shelves that rose far above our lights, so that when
we looked up there was only darkness and dust, but
no limits to the endless row and row of shelving,
every last inch covered in books. There were no gaps,
just dust and tattered spines of random sizes, leather fabric, paperback,
faded pastels, and gold leaf letters in alphabets both familiar
and strange. And it wasn't just the walls. The floor
was littered with random, head high piles of books, all
stacked like some tired librarian had gotten fed up of
finding room for them. They made a labyrinth of the place,
obscuring corners and doors, and the forward team, myself included,
progressed carefully among the stone passageway, listening and looking carefully
for some signs that would make sense of the place.
There must have been thousands of books, and that was
just in the first hallway we explored. Whenever we took
one out, we found paper so thin it was nearly translucent,
and often inked with strange shapes and letters I couldn't
recognize otherwise it was gibberish. Not that we studied them
too longer that first day. Whenever I took one, I
returned it quickly, lifting them up. I always had the
strangest sensation that I was doing something wrong, something inappropriate.
And I didn't like the space they left behind on
the shelves, a gap like a missing tooth, the darkness
within swirling like deep waters. Safety in that place felt
like an illusion, and touching the books was at risk
of shattering it. I don't know how else to put it,
except I didn't want to do anything that might draw
attention to me. It was as if we were extremely conspicuous.
There were no sounds but those we made, our own breath,
our own footfalls, the shuffle and scuffle of out every movement.
We could even hear each other's heart beats, the discordant
but bump of several people's chests being beaten like a
broken drum set, and every now and again a racing,
a steady increase in the beat's cadence as we turned
a blind corner or lifted a book just to see
what it contained, or looked up at the shadows above us.
Each of us kept having false starts, because there was
always this expectation that you were going to see something
soon any second. Now. Squeezed between two books or dangling overhead.
It took more than six hours before that corridor opened up,
and when it did, we were dumbfounded. We emerged into
a vast and terrifying mezzanine made of ancient rock, overlooking
a chasm with no visible bottom, just floor after floor
filled with shelves filled with books, millions billions, and all
along those distant walls and stories were little openings that
led to more corridors like the one we'd just emerged from,
so many that it was staring at a rough shod beehive.
To look up, or down or anywhere was to be
faced with more books than anyone could read in their
entire lifetime. We took our first break on that mezzanine.
While radios didn't go very far in that place, we'd
had the sense to carry enough wire to allow for
a hard connection, and while using that we contacted the
main research site and updated them on the situation we
were to keep going for another six hours and turn
around a day. No more was the plan. Even that
felt like too long. I wanted to leave. I wanted
to confirm that somewhere was a doorway that would lead
back to reality, because ever since I'd entered that place
it felt like I'd entered a nightmare, a place where
reality was plastic. I told myself it was simply the
scale of it, all the weirdness, But it was more
than that. The very air down there felt thin. There
were six of us, three scientists and three soldiers. The
soldiers responded to the situation with silence and an alertness
that bordered on paranoia, constantly scanning the dark with their
rifle mounted lights, flicking the beam from one high up
shelf to another, fidgeting, exchanging dark looks. In a way,
I was thankful, but it put me on edge two
and I couldn't relax at all for the first half
of our little break. I guess it was natural that
the scientists got talking. This was partly to fill the quiet,
but also partly to try and convince ourselves. We were
excited about the implications of this fine and whatever those
may be. Rewriting history archaeology on a new level, that
kind of thing. It didn't take long before we convinced
ourselves to take a closer look at those books. I'll
admit it didn't come easy, but we did a pretty
good job of convincing ourselves that we weren't really afraid.
We started slowly taking one book down, opening and then
quickly replacing it, but then with false bravery, we took
more and more came down, until each of us were
sat cross legged with several books stacked up on either side,
waiting to be read. I remember at some point I
must have grown tired and looked up from my own pile,
because I noticed Doctor Ashley muttering quietly as she traced
some words with her fingers. What if you found it's
Latin alphabet, she said, first one, I actually recognized the
letters for German. Maybe none of us were linguists, so
we were simply doing our best. But upon hearing Bay
mentioned German, one of the soldiers came over and looked
at the open page. Germanic but not German. He said,
you speak it? He nodded. My father is German, and
I don't know what that is, but it isn't German.
Is any of it familiar, Beer asked, while handing the
book to him. After a brief nod from his CEO,
Lieutenant Michael, he took it and began flicking through the pages.
I think this is the word for death, a sort
of rough misspelling. Maybe this one is. I guess it's
a bit like wanting desire. I don't know. Not all
the words seem like they're in the right context either.
So there are a variety of languages in alphabets, but
as of yet, nothing we can make sense of. What
about you any luck? Beyer asked me, and I looked
down at the book currently open in my hands. Some
kind of sybelic maybe, I shrugged. I'm no linguist. We
definitely need doctor Sellers on the next expedition. I'm sure
he could offers some insight. What about you, doctor Rosenstein?
The third doctor and our group, A little bald man
had been sitting quietly the entire time we spoke. The
third scientist in our group, A little bald man had
been sitting quietly the entire time we spoke, frowning and
one of several books that lay open before him. I
assume he was just curious, like bear and I Grant,
I said, trying to get his attention. Hey, Grant, have
you found anything? His silence unnerved me. He wasn't just captivated.
Sweat was prickling his forehead, and veins bulged the longest temple.
He had gone pale, and his eyes were wide, and
his lips cracked and dry. The soldiers picking up on
the same strange signals I had stood a little more upright,
Dr Rosenstein, one of them asked, nervously, doctor, can you
hear us? The nearest soldier reached out and placed a
hand on Grant's shoulder, and the little man looked up
at us like he hadn't even realized we existed until
that moment. At first I thought he was relieved, the
way he was staring at each of us with a
dumb grin on his f but I soon realized something
wasn't quite right. Oh, he said, with an anxious laugh.
Oh right, of course, his eyes darted between us. Of course, Sorry,
I didn't mean to alarm you, right, I said, Well,
we were just talking about the books Bathing's hers might
be in a kind of German or Germanic language. He
nodded like this made perfect sense. Yes, you imagine, so,
he replied, while looking around the shelves that towered over us.
Lots of languages, I'd say, And then, without really missing
a beat, he added, they are sins. The group fell
into silence as each of us tried to make sense
of what he just said. In the meantime, he stood
up and stretched like it was the most natural thing
in the world. What are you on about, I said,
once it became clear he wasn't going to elaborate. It's
fairly obvious where we are, he said, while leaning forward
and eyeing us darkly. And these books are a list
of all our sins, one for each of us. So
there will be books in German, both contemporary and historic German,
like the one you found, doctor Ashling. But there will
also be books in Russian and French, and Arabic and Chinese,
not just contemporary tongues, either ancient Egyptian, Venician, Babylonian, Aramaic, Latin,
and of course lost languages, ones that we never found
but existed anyway, All of them, all the transgressions of
the world, are right here, recorded in the sinner's original tongue.
By now, the soldiers had stepped a little closer, and
Bierre and I were sharing deeply worried looks. Grant seemed
to be in the middle of breaking down, speaking frantically
and anxiously, convinced of his own meaning. We're not really
saying anything of sense. Grant, I think we need to
go back. The real fun thing is that I think
you'll find books in languages that don't exist yet, he blurted.
This isn't just a record of sins in the past,
but all of them, every last one, even the ones
we haven't committed yet. Grant, I'm going to have one
of the men go back with you. If that's okay,
I think you might not. These are mine, he said,
or gesturing to a book in his hand, All of them,
he laughed. Not just the things I did petty transgressions
or recorded with names and places and even little diagrams.
But there are even sins I only ever thought, things
I wanted to do, and he added, while giggling hysterically,
sins I've yet to commit. He flicked through the pages
at random and giggled moniacally at something only he could see,
Although there aren't many, he cackled as he turned to
the final page, Tears welling in his eyes. Just one, actually,
the last one, the last sin I'll ever commit, Grant,
I said, I think you. Before any of us could react,
he dropped the book and took a running leap over
the nearest edge. This is the way we came, right,
Beer stood at the threshold of a corridor, a light
tracking wire that snaked into the darkness. That's the cable
we carried in here with us, one of the soldiers said.
But the young man looked over to his CEO, Lieutenant Michael,
who had a compass in hand and didn't look happy.
It's not the direction we came, the older man said.
We came south, so we need to head north. That
would be this doorway. He nodded at a second corridor
embedded in the rock wall. This has to be the way,
Bier said. I trust this cable a hell of a
lot more than I do a compass. Anything could be
interfering with that thing. Besides, we know the cable leads
the HQ because it's working. We spoke to them only
a few minutes ago. By this wire, it has to
lead out of here, and that makes sense, I added,
But I marked the way we left with a piece
of chalk, and that mark is over here. I pointed
to a third doorway. Damn, Michael muttered, regardless, I vote wire,
Bear said, I trust it the most. It's a physical connection.
I guess I vote wire too. Mike glided me too.
But what do we do if we're wrong? I asked?
What does that even mean? Did something move the wire
or the door? We all went silent for a few
moments as we contemplated this. When nobody offered up an answer,
I eventually grabbed my backpack and hauled it up. I
guess we don't have much of a choice either way,
I said, Do you really think there's a book in
here for everyone? He asked, and it was the first
any of us had spoken in a few hours. So far.
We had all been walking, fixated on the gloom ahead
and behind us, watching carefully for some sign that our
fevered imaginations were right to suspect something lurking in the dark.
Grant seemed to think so, I said, then, what are
the odds he picked out his own book? I mean,
if he's right that there are what a hundred billion
bucks or so more? I replied, if he's right about
the library containing future sins as well as past pretty
slim ards. Then she added, what are you thinking if
he did find it here? I don't think it was
a coincidence, she said. Up ahead, one of the soldiers
came to a sudden stop, fist raised as he muttered
something to the others, who knelt and lifted their rifles
aiming at the dark What is it, I asked, You
don't hear it, Michael called back. All of us stopped
and listened, carefully, straining to pick out some meaningful sound
from the white noise of blood rushing through our ears
and the thumping of our own hearts. Sure enough, it
was there, a gentle rustling. Without speaking. All of us
moved as quietly as we could along the corridor until
we came to the source of the strange noise. A door,
one that hadn't been there on our way in left
ever so slightly, ajar rifle raised, one of the soldiers
used the barrel to nudge it open a little further.
Oh damn, he said, his voice loud enough to send
echoes down the hall. The sound came as a shock,
and Michael pulled him back, ready to admonish. When we
all saw what had been waiting on the other side
another corridor, only this one had shelves lined not with bugs,
but severed heads, desiccated, pale and gaunt, row after row,
all sitting neatly next to one another, evenly spaced, their
skin paper white in the harsh glare of our lights,
and all of them with cloudy eyes. And they were
speaking soto voce, little whispers. They muttered in a discord
of wet lips, no breath, no lungs, only the action
of robbery jaws to sound out syllables and consonance. They
were lost in the rustling cacophony. The sound was horrific,
wet and dry and deeply unsettling as it worked its
way under my skin until I felt the strangest urge
to lash out at the heads. But curiosity overroded disgust,
and I approached one, wincing briefly when it fixed me
with its cloudy eyes, but I didn't stop. I got
close enough to see every detail of its flaking skin,
its roomy eyes, glaring at me with such strange emotion
from my own sanity, I reached out and picked it up,
noting with disgust how the stump of his neck left
mottle brow fluid on the shelf behind. I guess I
just wanted to know if it was fake. But its
skin was cold and its brow furrowed with anger at
my touch, And as soon as it was in the air,
every other head stopped their muttering and fixed me with
such foul expressions. I quickly put it back down again,
relieved when the murmuring resumed. Still, its eyes did not
leave me. What the hell? Bee whispered, What is this?
Michael asked, as he scanned the upper shelves with his
torch on and on they went as far as we
could see. What the actual hell is this? Slowly, a
strange thought began to form in my head. Blink if
you can understand me, I said, were kneeling down to
look at the head I'd picked up. Everyone else in
the group suddenly stopped what they were doing and turned
to see the result of my little experiment. Blink Okay, okay, okay,
I repeated, while trying to calm myself down. Right once
for no, twice for yes, do you understand? Blink? Blink
right okay ah. I looked to the others for suggestions.
When Bee piped up in Stea said are these books
a list of all our sins? Blink blink, one book
for one person? Blink blink. So what are you? She asked,
and this elicited a scathing look from the severed head.
He as or no questions, I told her. One of
the soldiers, the youngest one, the one who helped translate
the German, stepped up and spoke, Is this hell? He asked?
Blink blink? Is this your punishment? He added, blink. If
this isn't the punishment, he said, what is? All their
heads stopped them muttering and began to emit the strangest noise,
their faces twisting upwards and warping in and grotesque parodies
of joy, while their mouths moved up and down in
a particular sort of rhythm. When I realized what they
were doing, I felt a terrible sensation of cold dread
creeping down my entire body. They were laughing at us.
There was no door. The wire slipped through a tiny
hole at the base of a wall that blocked off
the corridor. All of us were stunned into silence for minutes,
until at last Lieutenant Michael shoot himself free from the
shock and issued an order. Davis get HQ on the line.
One of the soldiers knelt down and began to remove
the communication set from his backpack. Within a few seconds,
it was set up and he was speaking into the headset. HQ.
Can you read me over? Ah? I can read you well.
I guess the wire still leads to HQ, I said.
Try checking the wall for seams. Michael told me see
if it moves, hidden hinges us something I don't know. Then,
turning back to the soldier with a headset, tell them
we've encountered an obstacle and we want them to send
another team in to get us. Oh, and tell them
to bring explosives if this thing opens, I said, while
running my hand along the edges, I can't see how.
It's pretty solid. Unlike every other wall we'd seen so far,
this one was made of red bricks. But that didn't
mean it was somehow mobile either. It seemed as sturdy
as any brick wall i'd come across. Well, it came
from somewhere, B cried, while trying to peer through the
hole the wire disappeared through. Damn it, I can't see
anything HQ. The soldier said, we're going to need some assistance.
There's an obstacle over, Roger that what's the obstacle? A wall?
He replied, Tell the next team to bring explosives over
a wall. Just send the team asap. The soldier cried,
our way out is blocked over. Well, I can confirm
we are unroute to your position. Just one question, HG replied,
what's that over? The young man replied, why do you
keep saying over? Suddenly the voice changed and began to
titter and giggle, at first quietly, then louder and louder,
like a mean kid laughing at a prank. The cruelty
and his high pitched voice made my skin crawl, and
I was about to snatch the handset myself and begin
demanding answers when there was a stranger sound, heavy grinding,
like stone turning against stone. Before I could even ask
what it was, Bee fell backwards from where she crouched
and quickly leaped up into a standing position and ran
off into the dark like a maniac. The effect on
the group was chilling, and I stared back at the wall,
desperately trying to understand what I'd seen. Williams go get her,
he barked at one of the soldiers before turning at
me and crying, what the hell is her problem? I A,
I don't know, I stammered. Christ Michael hissed, before snatching
the handset of the confused young soldier. Listen, he crowled
into it. I don't know who you really are, but
you need to get someone in charge. Right and sound again,
loud and heavy, the grinding of heavy rocks being moved,
and tiny stones came raining down in a cloud of dust.
Something up there had disturbed them, and we all stood
in silence as they plinked off our helmets. Is it
just me, Michael said, while looking towards the wall, or
is it somehow closer? Hard to say, I replied, I don't.
The wall moved a sudden and terrifying lurch forwards, one
that startled us all and made me trip over my
own feet. Terrified, I scrambled backwards from it as fast
as I could, while the handset continued to radiate that
malicious laughter. I think we need to go, I said,
in as calm a voice as I could manage. The
wall moved again, and this time it did not stop.
The young soldier with a hand set did not react
fast enough. It came forward so quickly that it had
him within seconds and knocked him to the floor with
a heavy thumb, and then it rolled over him as
it was Well, if you're anything like me as a child,
you might have wondered what happened to someone who got
caught in an escalator at the very top. I'm sure
you know what I mean. Light was so poor, so
I still don't really understand what happened, only that there
was a lot of blood, and while it was quick,
it was not quick enough, because when the wall was
about half way up his spine, I could still see
the pain registering in his eyes. And that was the
last impression I had before Michael grabbed me by the
collar and practically threw me back the way we came,
and we ran running, plodding, one foot after another. I
don't know how long it went on for, but it
was as if time seemed to stretch on in the
way that only pain and tedium could induce. There were
moments where as I struggled to force one foot in
front of the other, I wondered if I'd actually been
running for days, not hours. There was no real way
to mark the passage of time. Only monotony. Books went
by in a blur. The floor was featureless stone, The
rhythmic sound of my feet lost all meaning, and behind
me the wall ever advancing with a horrible sound of
grinding rocks, promising pain and nothing else. The only thing
I could actually focus on was the exhaustion, and that
was self defeating. More than a few times I wondered
if I should just give up, and to this day
I still have nightmares where I am being chased down
that corridor. It wasn't a quick pace, but he was
quick enough, and there were no other roots except forward,
and therein lay the torture of it. Behind me was
death moving at a brisk job, and ahead of me
was nothing, just darkness broken by erratic motion of a torch.
And the entire time, which I would later realize was
a good two hours, the only thing I could think
was when am I going to lose this fight? When
am I going to collapse or give up? Imagine my
relief when up ahead I heard a familiar voice cry out,
what is your problem? Lady? And when I saw them,
the young man held Bee by a shoulders while she
tried to drag him through an open door. That was
when I remembered the little corridor with the severed heads.
Not exactly the kind of salvation I was hoping for,
but it'd have to do together. Michael and I grabbed
both of them and threw us all through the opening.
Seconds later, far too close for comfort, the entire corridor
we'd been running through went pitch black. The wall overtook
our positions, and we were left panting and exhausted on
the floor, where thousands of severed heads looked at us
in annoyance. When we looked back the way we came,
we saw that nothing but pulsating flesh, a wall of it,
hot and sticky and threaded with sickly blue veins. I
don't know what the wall was, but something about the
meat behind the stone made me think of hungry coral.
It was, Michael hissed as he inspected the horrible mass.
I don't know how, but we were led down the
wrong path. It's what the cables or something, I don't know,
but we were lowered down there like rats. Where's Davis,
the other soldier asked, he's gone? Michael said what. The
older man gestured to the wall of meat behind us.
Whatever the hell that thing is it got him. It
looked like a wall, but it could move, and it
just steamrolled him. Thanks for the warning, by the way.
He growled at Bee, but she showed no sign of
understanding him. Instead, she was sat on the floor and shaking,
clearly in a state of shock. Where now, sir, The
remaining soldier asked, and Michael grimaced. Where do you think
he spat? Before gesturing at the root Forward, the only
direction that's available. The heads made for strange companions. They
followed us with their eyes but did not stop them muttering.
It was grating to say the least, a noise you
could ignore for maybe an hour or so. Were pretty
soon the papery rustle of their ancient lips was the
only thing you could focus on, no matter how hard
you tried to push it out of your head. At least,
navigation was simple. Forward, the only way to go. We
walked for about six hours before we took our first break.
The corridor was wide, but we stayed away from their
heads and slept in a row head to feet While
two of us stayed on watch six hours each. I
decided to stay up along with Michael and B and
the other soldier tried to rest. B had barely come
out of shock during the journey. Speaking a little towards
the very end, she told us in a broken way
what she'd seen while kneeling by the wall. Teeth she said,
and a face. Although she wouldn't or couldn't elaborate on
those two statements, I was left with the sense that
she had seen something that had come down close to
leaving her completely insane. Even as it was, I doubted
she had a full recovery in her. She almost looked
like a different woman, baggy eyed, thinning hair. Or maybe
he was just the conditions down here. Michael didn't look
too great either. I had to assume I looked pretty
rough too, especially after that run. It had exhausted me,
broken me, not just the physical exertion, but the nightmare
of it. The reason I'd elected to stay and watch
first was because I didn't want to sleep. A part
of me was worried. I just dream about being back
in that hallway, running from the moving wall, and I
didn't want to revisit that place ever again, not even
as a dream. There were moments where I came so
close to just giving up. I don't think i'd ever
really experienced despair like that before, not the kind where
you feel your knees buckling and your neck turned a
rubber as your head bows. It must be what people
stranded at Seafiel when they lose their strength to keep
treading water. So instead I stayed up and tried to
ignore the muttering of their heads, even tried talking to Michael,
but he didn't have much to say. I could tell
losing Davis back in the corridor had bothered him. Hell,
it bothered me, and I hadn't even known the guy.
But I swear to this day I can still see
the look on his face as rock met flesh and
his legs and hips just disappeared. In the end, I
had only these kinds of thoughts for company, and lots
and lots of time, so it probably shouldn't come as
too much of a surprise that I eventually fell asleep.
It wasn't for long, ten minutes at most, but it
was enough time for me to wake up and see
something dragged the sleeping soldier's body into the darkness of
the nearby shelf, his head lolling unnaturally to one side.
The movement was gentle, quiet, but clumsy too, like a
child pulling a rag doll stealthily out of a box.
I looked over to Michael and saw he'd fallen asleep
as well, so I nudged him with my foot and
he woke up with a sort of lazy start. Only
when he looked at me, confused for a few short
seconds before slowly registering the look of terror on my face,
that he seemed to realize what was happening. I'm not
sure what I expected him to do, really, but he
was the leader and well armed, and I didn't want
to be the one who had to figure out what
to do next, possibly because there was a part of
me tempted to just sneak off, to leave the young
man to his fate, maybe even be if it just
meant I could survive a little bit longer. In truth,
I was relieved when Michael leaped into action immediately. I
didn't want to be a coward. He jumped up and
grabbed the young man's foot, and I ran over and
grabbed the other leg, and together we tried to pull
him back. I didn't mention it to Michael, but the
way the soldier's body felt when I grabbed it, the
muscles were too relaxed, too heavy. I don't know how
to explain it, but if he ever end up in
the unfortunate situation of moving a corpse, you might know
what I mean. A living body supports itself a dead one.
It's just meat and water, and somehow feels so much
heavier for it. He was dead, still we fought on.
At some point Bee must have woken up, realizing what
was happening, and joined in. I remember her trying to
reach into the shelf to grab hold of the dead
man's arm, when she suddenly flew backwards, landing with a
hefty thud against the shelf behind her and knocking a
few of the severed heads on their little stumps. Whatever
was in the dark was clearly frustrated. It wanted its
next meal, and it wasn't going to let us stop it. Slowly,
a long inhuman arm reached out and took a hold
of the body's groin. Its strange hand had fingers that
split at the knuckle, one, two, three times, a terrifying effect,
especially given how much each one moved on its own.
A dinner, plaint monster of a hand attached to a
lithe and muscular forearm, devoid of hair. The second I
saw it, reach out in my general direction. I let
go of the leg and fell backwards. Michael continued struggling
for a while, even taking out his pistol and firing
a few shots into the dark, but in doing so
he left only a hand to cling onto his comrade's
corpse and lost his grip with almost no effort. The
body disappeared into the shadow, and we were suddenly down
to three. What the hell, What the hell? What the hell?
He screamed. I wanted to say something, maybe even something
to comfort him, or maybe an apology for falling asleep,
but then again, he'd fallen asleep too. I didn't know
what I was meant to do. I was in shock,
and it was settling deep into me when p said
something from where she remained on the floor, her voice
quiet but oddly insistent. It isn't over. That hand re
emerged carefully, deliberately. It placed itself on the floor, revealing
more of the pale flesh that powered it. And then
came another, and another, and then its head emerged slowly
from the dark and fixed me with eyes both black, bulbous,
and far too numerous for anything that can be called human,
and its mouth a beard made of dirty fingers, gray
and bluish, long, rantid nails, hundreds of them, squirming like
mandibles of a hungry spider. Michael open fire, but he
might as well have been shooting hay for all the
effect it had. The bullet struck of a wet wap,
but no actual damage. The creature knocked him aside with
pure contempt and pulled the rest of itself out into
the corridor, where he saw it had no legs, but
instead relied on several long arms that suspend itself between
the walls of the corridor, like a kind of spider.
One of these arms reached out and grabbed a bee,
and by the time she started screaming, it was already
too late. Blood trickled from her ears, and there was
a sound like a branch snapping her entire. Her body
went limp, and the monster dropped her where she fell
to the ground, her grotesque, misshapen face glaring at me
with accusatory eyes. The lieutenant screamed as he fired yet again,
but then that thing seized him like it was nothing
but a doll and lifted him, squeezing so tightly he
dropped everything he held, his gun and torch, hitting the
ground with a loud rattle. Help me, he screamed, while
reaching out for me to grab him. Jeez, shoot the thing.
I ran forward, crouching down in the hope of avoiding
its many arms. Already Michael was being squeezed so tight
that blood splurted from his mouth, and I could tell
that the monster was having fun reveling in his torment.
I reached out and picked the gun up from the
floor as Michael let her another desperate, wet cry for help,
but for some reason, my hand stopped mere inches away.
I hesitated. Michael's blood was dripping down I could hear
the crunching of his ribs. In my most shameful moment,
I grabbed the torch and ran, and Michael's cries followed me, screaming, screeching, whimpering,
sounds of breaking bones and tearing paper, sounds of torture
and torment that somehow seemed to last forever. I emerged
from the corridor alone. It took me a few seconds
of stumbling and my failing legs to realize that the
monster had given up in the pursuit, and then a
few seconds more for me to recognize I was back
on the mezzanine, terrified and exhausted and contemplating if it
was worth trying to esc if he meant having to
spend another second alive in that place. I fell to
the floor and began to sob. Maybe I thought it
was time to take a dive off that ledge, just
like Grantad. What on earth are you doing here? I
whipped around to see an old man in robes staring
at me like an impolite intruder. Without meaning to, I
began to laugh. My sanity, it was fair to say,
was on its final legs. Hmm, he said, while leaning
aside to get a look down the long corridor behind. Now,
why did you go down there? I wanted to answer,
but couldn't quite bring myself to do anything except a
laugh and gasp for air. I think you really ought
to go home, he said, like a teacher admonishing a child.
This place is Hell, I cried more, rocking back and
forth my knees. Yes, he nodded, yes, good for you.
This is a small part to Hell, one that has
a slight overlap with Earth. If I remember, I'm assuming
that's how you got down here the door. What happens
to your friends? Anyway, he added, I looked back the
way I came and pointed. Oh, he sighed. You know
I left your books out specifically so you'd find them
and figure it out. And I know that bold fellow
worked it out. So once you knew this place was hell,
why did you waste another second sticking around? I shrugged.
I'm not quite sure what I was meant to say
to that kind of thing. We got waylaid, I gasped.
Misled fair enough, he replied, probably should have done more
to make sure you got home safely. That's partly my fault,
although I won't apologize. You went to this place, didn't
you see the door? What part of that was inviting?
You have to take some of the blame. I wanted
to mount a defense, but I didn't really have one
when it became clear, the only thing I could do
was sob and mutter. The old man's body language softened
and he reached the hand out. Come on, I'll take
you back. What about the demons, I asked. The old
man frowned. Those weren't demons, he snapped. This place is defunct.
Mortal souls are meant to demonstrate repentance by wondering the
near eternal halls in search of their book. Only when
they found it were they were allowed to move on.
The whole thing didn't quite work out. Eighty six squadrillion
books takes a tad too long for the average person
to find theirs. So this entire wing was abandoned, and
now there are only sinners left behind. That thing was
never human, I cried, while pointing at the corridor I'd
emerged from. Nobody's soul looks human, he said, like it
was the most obvious thing in the world, least of
all the sort of person who gets sent to hell.
This isn't the place for people who eat meat on
Friday or cover their neighbour's ox. It's for the cruel
and the malicious, cowards and opportunists. A lot of people
in this place have souls that have more in common
with anglerfish and tracked door spiders than their fellow men.
And it's not a condition that gets better after several
thousand years either. The soul changes twists, and so do
their physical forms. And what about you, I said, as
I reached up and took his hand. Why do you
look so normal? Oh, he said, as he helped me up.
That's because I built this place. And the last thing
I can remember as he gripped me by the shoulder
was the sudden and painful sensation of heat. We woke
up in our respective quarters, we all six of us.
I still don't fully understand the mechanics. I tried asking
the others how they made it back, but they weren't
in a state to answer questions. B was catatonic, screaming
and clutching her head in the hospital like she still
remembered the way that thing crushed a skull like a grapefruit.
The soldier who fell to the wall was left paraplegic,
even though medical tests couldn't identify a single reason why. Psychological,
I said. The other soldier, the one who had been
dragged into the shelves, was comatose. I don't know if
he recovered, but he was alive. And Grant was left
in a permanent psychotic state, compelled to write on any
surface he could, over and over again, sin after sin,
desperately trying to rewrite the very book that had driven
him to madness in the first place. Michael tried very
hard to kill me. He had clear memories of being
left to die in the dark, I'm glad they caught
him before he managed to wring the life out of
me with his bare hands. I never found out what
happened to him after several men managed to pry his
hands from around my throat. Despite everything, I hope he
managed some kind of recovery. The door disappeared, thankfully, with
no one on the other side. I know they were
planning future expeditions. It is for the best that kind
of thing can't happen again. They've no idea what's waiting
for them. In a way I probably could have convinced
myself the expedition never happened. Some days even now, that's
what I sincerely hope can happen. There was no physical
evidence nothing. We appeared in our beds, completely nude, save
for a note stuck to my chest. And it is
this final little touch that stood out to me a
stern confirmation of everything I'd experienced. Returned to Sender six mortals.
Five were damaged in transit. Bodies were repaired to the
best of my ability, but I was never good at
that kind of thing. Minds are another matter. Entirely could
not help myself in one case, left fellow mortal to
die in the dark, didn't seem very sporting. Don't let
anyone say I lack a sense of humor. Otherwise, no harm,
no foul, best wishes me. My heart sank when I
heard them read it to me. It confirmed my deepest worries.
No one had been very honest with me since I'd
arrived at the hospital. They'd kept me bandaged up, so
it wasn't easy to tell. But after I heard that note,
I finally found the courage to reach up and remove
the thick wads of fabric. Then, with shaking fingers, I
finally touched my eyes, or rather the empty sockets where
they used to be.