Urban Gothic

Before Javier could register that the intruder knew Heather’s name, he lunged forward, slamming the door into his opponent. He pushed with all his weight, knocking the figure to the floor. The intruder grunted. Kerri charged out of the shadows, the club held over her head.

Before she could swing it, Heather shouted, “No!”

“Jesus Christ, you guys,” the figure on the floor moaned. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Gaping, Javier and Kerri stared down at Brett.

“Holy shit,” Javier said. “You okay?” Heather crawled out of the shadows, and Kerri lowered her weapon while Javier stuck out his hand and helped Brett to his feet.

“You okay?” he asked again.

Brett nodded. “I will be. Knocked the wind out of me.”

“Sorry about that. We thought you were one of them.”

Brett’s eyes widened in surprise. “You guys have seen them, too? The guy wearing a woman’s skin?

“We killed one.” Javier pointed. “Some kind of deformed dwarf.”

Brett walked over to the corpse, stared down at it, and shivered.

“No,” he said. “This isn’t one of the ones I saw.”

While he told them about Noigel and the other killer who’d been wearing a suit made out of a dead woman’s skin, Kerri shut the door again. They huddled closer together in the darkness, whispering to one another.

“So you heard him say they’re hunting us?” Javier asked.

Nodding, Brett removed his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt. Then he put them back on and pushed them up with his index finger.

“How many?”

“I don’t know,” Brett said. “He mentioned something about more of them being down below, too.”

“A basement?”

Brett shrugged. “I guess. He mentioned that it was the only way out. We were in such a hurry when we broke in here, and it was dark out there. I didn’t notice if this place had any basement windows or not. Did any of you guys?”

Kerri and Heather shook their heads. Javier cleared his throat and then checked his cell phone again, hoping for a signal. There was still nothing. He cursed softly in Spanish.

“Do you still have your phone?” he asked Brett.

“Yeah, but there’s no service in this place. It’s like they’re blocking it or something.”

“So what do we do now?” Kerri asked.

Javier realized that they were all staring at him. Somehow he’d become the leader. He reached out, pulled Heather toward him, and held her close. He kissed her forehead.

“How’s your foot? Can you walk?”

“Yeah, it’s better.”

“Hang on a second,” he told the group, and then walked over to the corner. Shivering, Javier pulled down his zipper, freed his penis, and aimed for the wall. The others couldn’t see him in the darkness, but he knew they could hear him, because he heard Kerri make a disgusted sound a second later. Javier shook himself, zipped up, and returned to the group.

“Did you really have to do that here?” Brett asked.

“Yeah, I did. And while I did, I was thinking. We can’t go out the way we came in. Obviously, we need to find another way out of here. I don’t know about heading down into the basement, though. They get us down there and we might be cornered. Maybe we should look for a back door or an upstairs window.”

“The upstairs windows are probably blocked off, too,” Brett said.

“Maybe,” Javier agreed. “But we don’t know for sure. Fact is, we don’t know shit, and we’re gonna continue to not know shit until we leave this room and find out for ourselves.”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“Yeah, Brett, actually, I do. Because it’s your fucking fault we’re in here in the first place.”

“Dude, maybe it hasn’t occurred to you, but I just saw my girlfriend’s brains get bashed out all over the fucking place!”

Javier edged closer to him. “Which wouldn’t have happened if—”

Heather patted Javier’s shoulder. “That’s not helping.”

“We could just stay in here,” Kerri suggested. “Hide. It’s dark in here. Those lights out in the hall don’t penetrate that far into the room. We could stay against the back wall and hide until someone rescues us.”

Javier paused before replying, choosing his words carefully. “Listen. We’re on our own here. Nobody knows where we are. Our folks are all sleeping. Chances are they won’t even notice that we’re missing until tomorrow morning. We might not have that long. We can’t rely on anyone else. We have to rely on ourselves.”

“But the gangbangers,” Kerri protested. “Somebody must have called the cops when they chased us. Somebody will notice Tyler’s car.”

“I doubt it. The car is probably stripped by now. And I don’t think this is the sort of neighborhood where people call the cops right away. We’ve wasted enough time. While we stand here arguing, they could be coming down the hall. Everybody find a weapon—anything at all—and then let’s get the hell out of here.”

They quickly searched the room. In addition to Javier’s knife and Kerri’s makeshift club, Brett found a long, jagged shard of broken glass. He tore off a small strip of his shirt and wrapped it around the shard to avoid cutting his fingers. Then he clutched it like a dagger. Heather found a brick. She carried it daintily, as if unsure what to do with it.

“If they attack us,” Javier told her, smiling, “sneak up behind the motherfuckers and bash them on the head.”

Nodding, she returned his smile. Her expression quickly faltered.

“Come here.” He pulled her close again and kissed her forehead. “Listen. It’s gonna be okay. I’ll get us out of here.”

“I know. I believe you.”

“Your foot gonna be okay to walk?”

“I think so.”

“Then let’s go.”

He listened at the door. Determining that the hallway was deserted, Javier opened the door and, after one glance back at the dead midget, he led them out into the light.

Heather squeezed her boyfriend’s hand as they crept down the hall, deeper into the house. Despite everything that had happened, she felt amazingly calm now. Having Javier beside her was the reason. His presence was soothing. In truth, she’d been surprised at the change that had seemed to overcome him in the last hour. Although decisive, Javier was usually the quietest member of their group and rarely made the decisions. He’d always just gone along with whatever everyone else decided—usually Tyler. He’d been the same way in his relationship with her. He usually deferred to whatever she wanted.

But now . . . Heather wondered if she was finally seeing the real Javier. Confident. In control.

She thought about the way he’d killed the dwarf. He’d seemed emotionless, like a man taking out the trash or performing some other menial, everyday task. Some of that could probably be chalked up to shock, but still—it was a little disconcerting. While it was true that the little man would have probably killed them, Javier’s actions had seemed so sudden. Perfunctory. It was a little scary. And yet his presence here was soothing at the same time. She knew that the conflicting emotions made no sense, but she couldn’t help it.

What was even scarier was that it had turned her on.

Not that she’d ever admit it to her friends. Not even to Javier. What would they think of her? Heather wasn’t even sure what to think of herself. Steph and Tyler had been dead less than an hour, and here she was, on the run from the killers inside an abandoned house—and horny.

Javier released Heather’s hand and slipped away, tiptoeing down the hall and motioning at the three of them to stay where they were. Heather chewed her bottom lip and watched him go. She felt bad. While not fighting (it was impossible to really fight with Javier because he always let her have her way), she’d been giving him the silent treatment off and on for the last few days, even when they were hanging together and with the gang. Recently, he’d been bringing up the future, asking her what it held for them—indeed, wondering if there would even be a “them.” She wanted different things than he did, and no matter how many times she told him that, Javier didn’t seem to understand. Was it right? No. Was she probably being a bitch? Yes. Did it matter? No. What was the point if she couldn’t be with a person who wanted the same things?

None of which meant a damned thing now. Not in this place.

Jesus, Heather thought. I’m a fucking mess. I’m scared. I’m soothed. I’m horny. I don’t know what the hell I am.

Heather heard Kerri sniffle. She turned and saw her friend wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Brett stared down the hallway in the direction they’d come from—keeping watch or trying to give Kerri her privacy. Or maybe both. Heather wasn’t sure. She put her arms around the other girl. It was all that she could think of to do. Kerri let out a snuffling, stifled moan and hugged her tightly. Kerri’s hot breaths blew against Heather’s neck.

“Shhhh. It’ll be okay. Javier will get us out of here. We just have to be brave, alright?”

Nodding, Kerri sniff ed again. Heather rocked back and forth slowly, and made placating noises until Kerri pulled away from her and straightened up again.

“Sorry,” Kerri said, wiping her nose. “Just . . . seeing you and Javier together . . . it made me think about Tyler . . .”

Heather wasn’t sure what to say, so she didn’t respond.

Javier motioned at them to come ahead. They crept through an open door and into another hallway. This one ran in the opposite direction of the previous passageway. Like the other, it was illuminated with a string of bare lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling.

Heather glanced in each direction and whispered, “Which way?”

Shrugging, Javier pointed with the knife to the right. They started in that direction. Javier went first, followed by Heather, then Kerri. Brett brought up the rear. Javier held the knife out in front of him. The lights glinted off the blade. Heather shifted the brick from one hand to the other. It was heavy, and her arms were beginning to ache. Plus, the hard, rough surface was giving her blisters. Heather noticed that Kerri allowed the club to dangle at her side, as if she’d forgotten she was carrying it.

“Um, guys?”

Brett’s voice trembled. They turned and noticed that he’d stopped a few feet behind them.

“Where did we come in?”

“Out front?” Kerri sounded confused.

“No,” Brett said. “I mean this hallway. Where’s the door we just came through?”

“Right behind you . . .” Javier’s voice trailed off as he gaped. Heather was about to tell him that he needed to quit blaming Brett for their predicament and quit being so short with him—but instead, her attention was drawn to the spot where they’d come in.

“See?” Brett pointed. Instead of an open doorway leading out into the previous corridor, there was now a wall. “The door’s gone.”

“What the fuck?” Javier whispered.

Heather heard real fear in his voice this time, and for a second, she thought it might be Javier’s turn to start crying. Instead, he strode toward the new wall.

“Doors don’t just get up and walk away.” Javier knocked the wall with the hilt of his knife. He grunted. The others gathered around him in confusion.

“Watch our backs,” Javier told Kerri. Then he turned his attention back to the wall. He handed Heather his knife and placed both hands on the paneling. He shoved and pushed in different directions, but the slab didn’t move. Brett moved to help him, but Javier waved him away.

“It ain’t budging,” he whispered. “It’s a trapdoor of some kind.”

“But why would they only seal off this end?” Brett asked.

“To keep us heading forward, maybe? An ambush?”

Heather pushed past both of them and ran her hand over the wall. It wasn’t plaster or paint or even wallpaper. It was solid wood—smooth, like a tabletop.

Or a coffin lid, she thought.

Heather squatted and let her hands run along the surface until she found the floor. She felt the edge of the wooden surface there. The wall had slid in front of the door—quietly enough that none of them had heard it.

She stood back up again. Brett and Javier were still discussing the blockade. Heather was about to suggest that instead of standing around talking about it, maybe it would be more prudent for them to hide again, but she never got the chance. As if in response to Javier’s words, the lights blinked out. Darkness engulfed them once more.

Strange, cruel laughter boomed down the hall.

Heather, Javier, Kerri and Brett screamed in unison.

The laughter grew louder, almost drowning out their cries.

NINE

As their screams echoed off the walls, the sinister laughter brayed out a third time. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the noise ceased. The sudden darkness seemed to amplify the stillness. The silence terrified Kerri even more than the laughter had.

She scuttled back down the hall, groping with one outstretched hand, and nearly tripped over Heather. Both girls squealed in fright.

“Quiet,” Javier whispered. “Listen.”

Kerri had to hand it to him. Just moments ago, when the door had disappeared, Javier had sounded as scared as the rest of them. But now, with danger once more imminent, his cool, no-nonsense demeanor had returned. He kept his voice calm. Almost detached.

“Where are they?” Brett moaned. “I don’t—”

“Everybody hold hands,” Javier interrupted. “Heather, give me the knife back, but be careful not to stick me with it.”

They fumbled around in the darkness, seeking one another. Someone’s hand encircled Kerri’s. The palm was sweaty, and thick calluses rubbed against her skin. She squeezed tightly, seeking comfort, and the hand squeezed back. Long, pointed nails grazed her wrist. Kerri froze. Her stomach lurched and her muscles tensed. Brett and Javier had short fingernails. So did Heather. She complained about it anytime that she, Kerri, and Steph got together for a day trip to the spa. Every time she tried to grow them out, they got brittle.

The hand squeezed harder. Kerri shrieked. She tried to pull her hand away, but the stranger’s grip tightened. The nails dug into her skin. In the darkness, she heard Javier, Brett, and Heather crying out in confusion, but she was too panicked to warn them. The club slipped from her other hand and clattered onto the floor. The attacker jerked her forward, and Kerri nearly fell. She felt hot, rancid breath on her face, as something warm and wet slithered across her cheek. She realized it was a tongue. Shuddering in revulsion, Kerri opened her mouth to scream again. The slick appendage slipped between her lips. Half in shock, Kerri chomped down.

Now it was her attacker’s turn to scream. It did so in short, muffled bursts because its tongue was firmly clenched between Kerri’s teeth. Blood filled her mouth. Nauseated, Kerri released the tongue and stumbled backward. Something groaned in pain. Seconds later, footsteps pounded down the hallway as the wounded attacker fled.

“Kerri?” It was Javier. “What’s wrong?”

She tried to answer, but all she could do was wail. She fumbled in her pocket with one trembling hand, pulled out the cigarette lighter, and flicked it on. The flame jittered. Brett, Heather, and Javier stared at her in concern.

“What’s wrong?” Javier repeated. “What the hell happened?”

“There . . . there was something in here . . . with us. It grabbed me. At first I thought it was one of you, but . . .”

She couldn’t finish. Stomach roiling, Kerri sank to her knees, released the lighter wheel, leaned forward, and vomited. She heard small sounds of shock and dismay from her friends, but when she tried to answer them, her stomach heaved again. The stench rising from her own puke made her throw up a third time. Javier, Brett, and Heather pulled out their cell phones and used the display screens to give her light. Heather stood over her, holding Kerri’s hair back. She rubbed her friend’s back and whispered soothing words. Kerri stayed there for a few moments more, retching. Finally she tottered to her feet and wiped her mouth.

“Are you hurt?” Brett asked.

“No, I—” She turned away and vomited again.

“Sorry,” she said when she was finished. “I’m not hurt, but I definitely hurt it—whatever it was. I think I might have bitten its tongue off.”

They shined their lights toward the floor and found dime-size splotches of blood.

“I’ll say you did,” Heather agreed.

Kerri spat, trying to rid her mouth of the horrible taste. Her teeth, tongue, and the insides of her cheeks felt like they were covered with slime.

“Can you bleed to death from your tongue?” Brett asked, eyeing the scarlet droplets. “I wonder how badly it’s injured.”

“Let’s not stick around to find out,” Javier said. “Come on.”

Using his cell phone, he snapped a quick picture of the hallway. Then he crept down the passage. Kerri picked up her club, and she and Heather followed. Brett balked.

“Hold up.”

“What now?” Javier asked, annoyance creeping into his voice.

Brett pushed his glasses back up onto his nose. “We’re not going that way?”

“There’s no other way to go.”

“Yeah, but whatever it was that attacked Kerri—it went that way, too.”

“Good,” Javier replied. “If it ain’t dead yet, then we’ll finish the job if we run across it.”

He started forward. The girls followed. Sighing, Brett trailed along behind them.

When the lighter grew hot again, Kerri put it back in her pocket. With the flame gone, the darkness seemed denser. The cell phones did little to lessen the gloom. As far as she could tell, there were no rooms along this corridor. The walls were featureless.

Javier halted, staring ahead into the darkness. The others followed his lead.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he muttered. “There’s no doors leading off. No rooms. It just keeps going. If Kerri’s attacker came this way, I don’t know where he went.”

“I told you,” Brett said. “We ought to go back.”

“We can’t go back,” Kerri reminded him. “Remember? The hall is blocked.”

Brett didn’t respond. Heather rolled her eyes.

Javier cursed in Spanish again. “I don’t know what to do, guys. I guess we just keep moving forward. See where it goes.”

Without another word, he started down the hall again. After a moment, the others followed. Kerri slid her hand into her pocket, but her lighter was still too hot to flick. The floor changed under their feet, becoming uneven. The floorboards began to squeak and groan with each footstep. They slowed their pace, almost tiptoeing.

The dark hallway ended in three doorways—one directly ahead of them, and one on each side. All three doors were wide open. Each doorway opened into more windowless rooms full of junk and debris. Kerri moved up to the front of the group and stood alongside Javier. Their arms touched, and she felt a momentary flush of warmth. The sensation comforted her. She glanced at him, but Javier seemed oblivious. He stared at all three exits, his eyes flicking from one to the next as if waiting for something to jump out at him. When nothing happened, he held his cell phone aloft like a torch and stepped into the room directly ahead of them. Then he stopped and turned.

“Let me see your lighter?”

Nodding, Kerri handed it to him. Javier winced as his fingers came in contact with the hot metal.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “It hasn’t cooled down yet.”

Javier pocketed his cell phone and held the lighter high over his head. Then he checked the room thoroughly. He stepped around a rusted bunk-bed frame and thrust the flame into the corners. Then he returned to the hall.

“It’s empty,” he whispered, “but it’s a dead end. No way out.”

His voice sounded resigned, as if he hadn’t expected anything less.

“What about the other two?” Brett asked.

Scowling, Javier entered the room on the right. A few moments later, he emerged from the room and reported the same. He handed Kerri her lighter and then sucked his thumb and index finger.

“Burned the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” she said again, and returned the lighter to her pocket.

Kerri watched as Javier stepped into the third room. He pulled out his cell phone and fumbled with it as he walked. He’d only gone a few feet into the darkness when the floor disappeared beneath his feet. One moment he was there, glancing around the room and opening the cell phone. The next instant, he plummeted from sight, as if the house had opened up and swallowed him. He didn’t even have time to scream. The only sound was a crash. To Kerri, it sounded like a million glass windows breaking.

One heartbeat. Two.

And then Javier began shrieking.

Gasping, Heather pushed past Kerri and dashed through the door. At the same time, Brett made a noise behind them, and there was a loud thud. Kerri leaped forward, grabbed Heather, and looped an arm around her waist, pulling her back. Heather struggled, shouting for Javier.

“Stop it,” Kerri warned. “Don’t run in there.”

“Get off me,” Heather yelled. “Let me go! He’s hurt.”

Kerri tightened her grip. “It’s a trap! I think there’s something wrong with the floor. We have to go slow.”

As suddenly as they’d begun, Javier’s screams stopped. He didn’t cry out. Didn’t plead for help.

Kerri thought that the abrupt silence was even more terrifying.

Heather pushed away from her, but Kerri grabbed her shirttail and tugged.

“Listen to me,” she urged. “Watch your step.”

And then Brett began shouting, his voice rising in pitch.

“Get it off me . . . Oh Jesus, get it the fuck off me!”

Kerri whirled around, distracted by his frantic cries. Heather broke loose from her grip and ran to help Javier. Kerri barely noticed. Javier and Heather were no longer her primary focus. She gaped, horribly transfixed by what she was seeing, needing time for her brain to process it. She almost wished that her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, that instead, she was groping blindly, because then she wouldn’t have to watch. Brett was on all fours in the middle of the hall. His lips peeled back in a sneer of pain. A shape clung to his back, trying to crush him to the floor. Kerri squinted, trying to see whatever was behind him more clearly. The figure’s arms and legs looked out of proportion to its body. Brett slapped at it repeatedly, but each time he did, the figure smashed him to the floor again. His glasses, cell phone, and the shard of glass he’d been carrying all lay nearby, but out of reach. Blood streamed from his nose. His eyes locked with hers.

“Kerri . . .”

Before he could finish, the figure clutched a fistful of Brett’s hair and rammed his face down. Brett’s cries became muffled. The thing on his back chattered insanely, babbling nonsense words and noises.

Kerri raised the club and tried to appear menacing.

“Hey,” she shouted.

The thing still clung to Brett’s back, but it ceased pummeling Brett and glanced up at her. White teeth flashed in the darkness.

“Let him go,” Kerri warned, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

The attacker spat at her. Something warm and wet and sticky splattered against her cheek and clung there. It slowly rolled down the side of her face, leaving a slug-like trail. Disgusted, Kerri wiped at it with her fingertips. The stench was revolting.

Brett took advantage of his attacker’s momentary distraction and pushed himself upright. Still kneeling, he reached behind him and punched the thing in the head. It must have hurt, because then Brett jerked his hand away and shook his fingers as if they’d gone numb. The thing tumbled off his back and staggered. Then, squealing in what sounded like frustration, it waddled forward again. Its movements were jittery. Spasmodic. But it was incredibly fast. Shouting, Kerri dashed toward Brett, as well, praying that she reached him first.

Brett screamed.

As she closed the distance, Kerri finally got a good look at their foe in the light of Brett’s cell phone. Like the previous attacker, this one was a dwarf, but it was even more repulsive than the last one had been. It was naked, except for a swath of dirty cloth sticking out of its vagina.

The cloth was soaked with fresh blood. Kerri realized with horror that the cloth served as some type of tampon. The woman’s body was lean but heavily muscled, and her face, even obscured by the darkness, was clearly malformed. Her forehead bulged, and her mouth seemed to curve around her face. What hair she had was long and stringy and matted with filth. Her eyes were too large for her face, and the pupils seemed to almost completely fill in the irises. The thing’s arms were longer than its body and rippled with bulging muscles. By contrast, her legs were mere nubs—withered and useless. Despite this, the freak moved quickly. It waddled toward Brett, running on its arms, and reached him before Kerri. Brett tried to roll out of the way, but the female dwarf stood on one hand and slapped him in the head with the other. Brett collapsed to the floor, stunned.

“Get away from him, bitch.”

The female laughed at Kerri—a high-pitched keening that drowned out Heather’s shouts from the dark room.

Kerri felt a sudden but slight draft of air on her face. She glanced upward. Directly above Brett, there was a hole in the ceiling—a dark spot, blacker than the rest of the hallway. An open trapdoor dangled there. Kerri grunted in fearful awe as it dawned on her what had happened. Their captors had sealed off the hallway, turned off the lights, and then waited for them to pass beneath the trapdoor. The dwarf had dropped out of the ceiling, directly onto Brett.

The dwarf growled, eyeing Kerri’s weapon.

“Get away from him,” she repeated.

Before Kerri could strike, Brett regained his senses and lashed out at his attacker with his right hand. His movements were sluggish. He cried out, and Kerri noticed that his voice was slurred. His fingers scraped across the dwarf’s shoulder. The woman lunged forward. Her wide open mouth clamped down on Brett’s fingers.

Brett tried to pull his fingers back and moaned in disgust. Kerri gasped. She knew what was about to happen as surely as if she were watching footage that had already been filmed—and even as she raised the club, she knew she’d never be able to stop it in time.

The woman bit down. Blood flowed from around her lips and streaked down Brett’s forearm. Brett shrieked. His eyes opened wide. The thick lips on the dwarf’s face quivered. Then the woman reared back, shaking her head savagely. Kerri heard the crunch of Brett’s fingers breaking, even over her own screams.

Brett wailed. His voice rose in octaves and echoed off the empty walls and ceiling as the dwarf wrenched her head back and forth, ripping at the prizes caught in her jaws until they finally peeled away from Brett’s hand.

The dwarf growled again. Kerri edged closer and caught a good look at the shadowed, malformed face. It seemed garish in the cell phone’s light. The creature glared at her as it chewed. It sighed, clearly relishing the meal. A black froth of spittle dripped from the open maw.

The woman’s teeth ground meat and gristle and bone into paste. Her throat bulged as she swallowed.

Brett thrashed on the floor, eyes rolling and teeth clenched. His remaining fingers clawed at the wood. Blood jetted from his stumps, running down his hand and forearm as he kicked and jittered. He wasn’t screaming, but Kerri could tell he was trying to. His neck muscles were corded, and his mouth hung open, but the only sound he made was a low, pitiful whine.

The dwarf hunkered down and grunted, almost barking as it charged toward Brett again, propelling itself forward on its elongated arms. Brett tried to defend himself with his good hand, but he wasn’t fast enough. The creature rushed to his side. Her head darted forward, slavering mouth open wide, aiming for his nose.

And then Kerri swung the club in a wide arc and buried the nail in the dwarf’s eye.

It shrieked, a rough, gurgling noise, and spun around so quickly that the weapon was wrenched from Kerri’s hands. The dwarf scuttled backward. The length of wood dangled from its face; the tip dragged across the floor. The thing tottered back and forth, swaying, then lurched forward, glaring at Kerri with its remaining eye. It tripped over Brett’s outstretched feet and fell face-first onto the floor. It lay there, jerking spasmodically. Its bowels and bladder erupted, spraying the floor and Brett with foul, yellow feces the consistency of vegetable soup.

Kerri reached down, grabbed a fistful of the dwarf’s greasy hair, and jerked its head up. Then she wrenched the club free. The pulped eyeball came with it, dangling on the edge of the nail like a squashed, oversized grape. A strand of tissue stretched like taffy from the empty eye socket. Kerri twisted the weapon in her hands and the ropy gristle snapped. Cringing, Kerri shook the club until the eyeball fell off. It landed in a puddle of feces and blood.

Kerri watched, forgetting about Javier or Heather or even Brett. She stood there trembling, absolutely transfixed as the dwarf’s motions slowed. Amazingly, it was still alive, despite the massive amount of damage it had endured. The thing rolled over and tried to crawl, failing miserably in all efforts to rise even to its knees. Kerri stared, horrified. It looked toward her, one eye rolling wildly while dark fluid gushed from the red, raw, empty socket. Then it breathed out one long, shuddering sigh and lay still. A strange expression of calm seemed to come over its misshapen face.

Despite everything the freak had done, Kerri felt a sickened sense of pity for it.

She moved past the corpse and crouched next to Brett. Without a word, she pulled at his belt until it came loose from his jeans and slipped it over his wrist. Two hard yanks and the leather strap was tight, pinching the flesh until the skin beneath was bone white. Brett let out a yelp but didn’t struggle.

“Lie still,” Kerri soothed. “I’ve got to stop the bleeding. And then I’ve got to help Javier and Heather.”

“W-wh-where . . .”

“Don’t talk. Just lie still.”

Kerri retrieved Brett’s cell phone and eyeglasses. She glanced around for his makeshift glass knife, but it had shattered at some point during the struggle. All that was left were tiny slivers. She put the glasses on his face. The frames had been bent during the attack, and they hung crooked—one side higher than the other. Using the sharp, white light from the phone, she examined Brett’s injuries. The three center fingers of his right hand were gone. Raw meat and jagged bone showed clearly past the remaining shreds of flesh. The remaining digits were already bruised and swollen. His nose had stopped bleeding and didn’t appear broken. Kerri doubted that would comfort him, though.

Brett coughed and then moaned. Frothy spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth. He tried to speak again, but she put a finger to his lips. Then she handed him his cell phone, hoping that the light might give him some comfort.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back. You need to stay awake, okay? Can you do that? You need to holler if you hear any more of them coming.”

Brett whimpered, but nodded in understanding. He clutched the open cell phone to his chest with his good hand. Kerri felt like crying as she left him lying there.

She made her way to the end of the hall and peered into the darkened room. Heather was kneeling on the floor, sobbing. Dark streaks of mascara ran down her cheeks. Kerri moved up beside her, and Heather jerked in surprise.

“It’s okay,” Kerri said. “It’s just me.”

They were at the edge of a deep pit. From somewhere far below, they heard Javier groan. He sounded weak and afraid.

Kerri leaned forward and examined the floorboards. They’d been sawed off about five feet into the room. The trap ran the entire length, from wall to wall. Heather held her cell phone over the pit, and Kerri peered down into the hole, but all she could see was more darkness.

“Is he alright?” Kerri asked. “Has he said anything?”

Heather shook her head. “Not yet. I think he might have passed out or something. All he does is groan.”

Kerri leaned farther over the pit and called out for Javier. She kept her voice low—if there were any more creatures in here with them, she didn’t want to give their location away. When Javier didn’t answer, she glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if it concealed a trapdoor as well, like the one in the hallway. If so, she didn’t see it. The plaster was water stained and cracked, but there were no seams indicating a hidden door or compartment.

“Javier,” she tried again, “are you okay?”

He groaned louder, and then coughed. He stirred in the darkness, and once again, Kerri heard the distinct sound of clinking glass.

“If you can’t talk, just cough again. Okay? Let us know you can hear us, at least. Can you do that?”

“I can hear you.” His voice was stronger now, but tinged with pain. “Shit . . .”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yeah.” He paused. More glass tinkled. “But I’ll live. I think. Nothing’s broken, at least.”

“How far down are you?”

“I don’t know. It all happened so fast. Fuck me running. I can just barely see you guys. I dropped your lighter and my cell phone. Lost my knife, too. They’re down here somewhere, but I can’t find them.”

“Can’t you feel around?” Heather asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There’s broken glass all over the floor. I’m sitting in it right now. The less I move around, the better.”

“Jesus . . .” Heather gasped.

Kerri frowned, trying to figure out how to free him.

“Everyone else okay?” Javier asked.

“Brett’s hurt really bad,” Kerri said.

“What happened?” Heather glanced over her shoulder and out into the hallway.

“Another of those dwarf things popped out of the ceiling and attacked him. He’s been bit. He lost three fingers.”

“Oh shit!”

“Yeah. I stopped the bleeding, temporarily at least, but it doesn’t look good.”

Javier let out a choked, muffled yell.

“Babe?” Heather leaned out over the edge of the hole.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think a fucking rat just crawled over my leg. Get me the hell out of here, okay?”

“Okay,” Kerri promised. “Just hang on.”

“We don’t have any rope,” Heather said. “What are we going to do?”

Kerri stood up. “Take your clothes off.”

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me. Take your clothes off. You said it yourself, Heather. We don’t have any rope. We need to get him out of there before more of these . . . whatever they are, come for us. And Brett needs a hospital.”

Without another word, Kerri began peeling off her dirty, sweaty, blood-soaked clothes. They were stiff and sticky, and in a way, it felt good to be free of them. Heather watched her for a moment, and then emptied her pockets and did the same. They piled their keys and other belongings on the floor. Both girls shivered, and goose pimples prickled across their flesh. Despite the stifling lack of airflow in the barricaded house, it was chilly. When they were down to their bras and underwear, Kerri gathered the discarded clothes and began tying them together.

“You guys still there?” Javier sounded worried.

“Yeah,” Heather told him. “We’re here. Kerri’s making a rope. We’ll have you out of there soon. Just hang on.”

Kerri tugged on the makeshift rope. Satisfied that the knots were tight, she lay down on the filthy floor and inched herself out over the pit. Then she lowered the rope into the hole.

“Grab my legs,” she told Heather. “Don’t let me fall, okay?”

“I won’t. Just hurry.”

Out in the hallway, Brett moaned.

“Javier,” Kerri called. “I’m sending a rope down. Can you see it?”

“No . . . wait! Yeah, I see it. Just barely.”

“Can you reach it?”

“Hang on.” He grunted. Then there was the sound of glass crunching again. Javier cursed loudly. “I can’t do it. Too much glass on the floor. I can’t see shit.”

Kerri glanced back over her shoulder. “Heather, give me your cell phone.”

Heather fished it out of the pile of belongings on the floor and handed it to Kerri. She flipped it open and held the open display screen out over the pit. Her other hand gripped the rope. At first, she couldn’t see anything. She lowered the phone farther, and waited for her eyes to adjust. Kerri gasped. The cell phone’s light glittered off the bottom of the hole. The pit was covered with broken glass—bottles, lightbulbs, windowpanes—sharp, glittering shards at least a foot deep. The glass around Javier was bloody. She saw cuts shining on his forearms and face.

“Holy shit . . .”

“What is it?” Heather asked, edging closer.

“He wasn’t kidding about the broken glass.”

“Yeah,” Javier said, glancing around his prison. “Gotta admit, it’s even worse than I thought it was.”

“How badly are you cut?” Kerri asked.

“I’m okay,” he insisted. “None of it pierced my shoes or anything. If you keep the light there, I think I can make it over to the rope.”

Brett’s moans drifted to them.

“Okay,” Kerri said. “But please, try to hurry. Brett’s in pretty bad shape.”

Groaning, Javier stood slowly. Shards of broken glass fell from his body. Kerri noticed a few small fragments jutting from his arms, and winced as Javier plucked them out and cast them aside. He carefully plodded forward and grabbed the line. Kerri sat Heather’s cell phone aside and braced herself, gripping the rope with both hands while Heather grabbed on to her legs again.

“Okay,” Kerri grunted. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t let him fall,” Heather pleaded.

Kerri locked her arms and clenched her jaw. Javier’s weight nearly pulled her down into the pit with him, but she managed to hold on until he’d reached the top. He clambered out of the hole and collapsed next to them, breathing hard. While he examined his cuts, the girls untied the rope and got dressed again. Kerri noticed that even under duress, Javier copped a glance at both her and Heather in the nude.

“Thanks,” Javier said when he’d recovered.

“How bad is it?” Heather asked, brushing tiny pieces of glass from his hair.

“Nothing too deep. Just scratches mostly. Could have been a lot worse.”

“Let’s see to Brett,” Kerri said.

They hurried out into the hallway and knelt next to their friend. Brett was conscious, but obviously in pain and going into shock. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, and his face was pale. Despite this, he smiled when he saw them.

“You look like shit,” Brett told Javier.

“So do you. I hope you got the number of the truck that hit you.”

Kerri heard the tension in Javier’s voice, even though he tried to joke with Brett. His eyes were focused at the three bloody stumps on Brett’s hand.

Brett nodded toward the mutant’s corpse. “See for yourself. Kerri fucked it up good.”

Javier stood and stared at the dead thing. He prodded it with his toe.

“Heather, get a picture of this. My cell is down there in the pit.”

Without a word, Heather touched a button on her phone and aimed the screen toward the dwarf. Kerri held Brett’s good hand and watched. Up close and illuminated, the thing looked worse than it had in the darkness. The skin was pasty and pale, blotched with red areas that appeared to be advanced patches of eczema. The remaining eye was not merely large, it was malformed, with an oblong, hazel iris and uneven pupil. In the stark light, the whites of its eye appeared slightly yellowed. The nose on the woman was wide and flat, the skin on each side pulled back to accommodate a wide slash of a mouth and the thick teeth inside. The jaw was broad and angular. Kerri understood now how it had chewed through Brett’s finger bones so easily. Kerri’s attack had ruined any possible symmetry in the thing’s face, but staring at it now, she was sure that no part of it had ever truly been balanced. The thin hair running along the dead woman’s scalp sporadically painted the jaw line. It was hard to judge how old the mutant might have been.

Then Kerri noticed something else. Earlier, when she’d been attacked in the dark, she’d bitten down on what could have only been her attacker’s tongue. The tongue of the woman on the floor was uninjured, and while the hand that had clutched Kerri’s hand was equipped with long, talon-like fingernails, the corpse’s nails were blunt and cracked.

Javier shook his head. “Midgets. Giants. What’s next?”

“Let’s not stick around to find out,” Kerri said. “This isn’t the one that attacked me earlier. That makes at least five of them, counting the two we’ve killed, and the two Brett saw earlier.”

“Brett,” Javier whispered, “can you walk?”

Licking his lips, he nodded.

“Where’s your cell phone?” Kerri asked him.

“I put it in my pocket,” Brett explained. “I didn’t want the battery to get low. We might need it later.”

“So you sat here in the dark?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You dork.” She patted his hand.

“We can’t go back the way we came,” Javier said, his Spanish accent growing more noticeable for a moment. “And we can’t go forward any farther, unless we want to swim in broken glass.”

“And all the other doors and windows are bricked up,” Heather said. “So how do we get out of this shithole?”

Kerri cringed. Heather’s voice was shrill and stressed.

Brett moaned again. “Seriously. I need bandages, or a real tourniquet.”

“I’m going to need your belt, anyway,” Javier told him.

“What? Why?” Kerri frowned.

“Because I lost my knife, and I need a weapon, and you’re in no shape to fight if we get attacked again.”

Brett chuckled and winced. “Yeah, well, I think I need it more than you right now, dude.”

“You can use my club,” Kerri said.

Javier smiled. “No, you’re keeping that. By the looks of this thing, you’re pretty good with it.”

Heather sighed impatiently. “Well, if the doors and windows are all blocked, why don’t we try hammering our way out? I’ve still got my brick.”

Brett answered before anyone else could. “There’s no way we’re getting past that barricade. Not without a sledgehammer or something.”

Javier looked down at his hands for a moment and then back at each of his friends. “So we find a different way out of here. And I know how.”

“What do you have in mind?” Kerri’s voice was low and soft, but every word was clipped. She’d noticed that Brett’s breathing was growing erratic.

Javier looked up at the trapdoor in the ceiling. “We have one doorway that isn’t blocked.”

Heather shook her head. “No fucking way.”

“How are we going to get Brett up there?” Kerri asked. “Look at his hand. He can’t go crawling around on it.”

“He has to. Either that, or we hide him here and go for help.”

“I’ll go along,” Brett whispered. “I can do it.”

“We follow it to wherever it lets out,” Javier said. “Then we look for this basement that Brett told us about. It’s the only choice we have left. Either we find a way out, or we find something to help us get past the barricades.”

“Maybe if we all tried to move them together?” Kerri suggested.

“No,” Javier’s voice was low and firm. “I tried moving the barrier, too. I think something is locking it in place.”

Coughing, Brett sat up and started taking off his bloody T-shirt. “Somebody want to help me here?”

“What are you doing?” Kerri tried forcing him to sit back against the wall.

“I need to use my shirt as a tourniquet. Javier needs my belt.”

Kerri slipped her hands under her shirt, and unhooked her bra. Then she slipped it out of her sleeve.

“Try this. It should do the job a little better.”

Brett grinned. “Impressive.”

“Yeah. Tyler used to . . .”

She trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. Kerri was surprised. With everything that had happened, she’d forgotten about Tyler while they were trapped in this hallway. She guessed that she’d pretty much gone insane after Tyler died—freaking out and everything. But here in the corridor, she’d pushed past all that. She’d killed the mutant, made a tourniquet and a rope, rescued Javier, and then made another tourniquet with her bra like she was MacGyver with breasts. Now her take-charge attitude evaporated as it all came rushing back to her.

“That’s perfect.” Javier took the bra from her and knelt next to Brett. His hands moved quickly and deftly, wrapping the still warm undergarment around Brett’s wrist and pulling it tight. A moment later he pulled the belt away and examined Brett’s fingers.

“Heather, can you light his hand?”

Heather shined the screen over Brett’s hand, and they all leaned closer. His remaining fingers were swelling. Kerri winced as she looked at the damage. She didn’t know how Javier could study the wounds with such clinical detachment.

“Good,” Javier said. “The blood flow has stopped. Cutting off the circulation was a quick fix, but if we don’t get you to a doctor soon, you’ll have bigger worries than a few fingers. You need blood in your hand or you’ll wind up losing it. So it’s good that the flow has ceased.”

Brett cleared his throat and moved his hand out of the light. “So, let’s get going. Fuck this sitting around shit.”

His tone was lighthearted, but Kerri could hear the fear in his voice. She knew how he felt. Brett had always been one to make jokes or talk tough when he was nervous or insecure or scared. This time was no exception, but he couldn’t mask the terror. It was there in his voice, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

It mirrored her own.

TEN

“Still no po-po,” Leo sighed. “This shit is fucked up.”

Their other friends had wandered off down the street, bored with waiting around and looking for some other form of entertainment. He, Markus, Jamal, Chris, and Dookie were still standing on the corner, watching the house at the end of the block. The derelict building seemed to loom larger as the night grew darker. Mr. Watkins stayed outside with them as well, not saying much. Just listening. Privately, Leo wondered if Mr. Watkins suspected they were going to fuck with the white kids’ car and was hanging around to make sure they didn’t.

“Yo,” Chris said. “Y’all remember when them NSB boys were outrunning the cops, and they holed up inside the Mütter Museum and took hostages and shit?”

The others nodded.

“Yeah,” Leo replied. “So what?”

“I watched that shit on television. This shorty I knew from back in the day was banging a dude from NSB’s crew.”

“Only shorty you know,” Markus teased, “is the one that gave you the drips.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Chris frowned. “Anyway, there were cops all deep around that museum, in like, five minutes and shit. Now why do they show up for that, but not for this?”

“Because,” Leo told him, “there ain’t no tourists flocking to see our neighborhood like they do for the Mütter Museum.”

The boys chuckled. Leo glanced at Mr. Watkins. The older man’s eyes seemed to sparkle, and there was a slight grin on his face.

“Mr. Watkins,” Leo said, “you know you don’t have to hang out here with us, right? I mean, if you gotta go to work tomorrow, then you probably want to go to bed. It doesn’t look like the police are gonna show, anyway.”

Shrugging, Perry took a drag off his cigarette and exhaled smoke into the night air. “That’s okay. Lawanda don’t like me smoking in the house, so you boys are doing me a favor. The longer you hang out, the more nicotine I get in my system.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward conspiratorially. “And believe me, living with her, I need all the nicotine I can get.”

Their chuckles turned to laughter, and Perry’s grin transformed into a broad, beaming smile.

“And I’ll tell you boys why the police haven’t shown up yet.” He sat down on the top step of his porch. Leo and the others took seats around him or leaned against the railing. Leo thought that Mr. Watkins seemed surprised—and maybe a little pleased—by their undivided attention.

“Now, it’s true,” he continued, “that the cops are slow to respond down here. Sometimes it takes hours. About ten years ago, I saw a young man get gunned down right over there.” He pointed. “Took the police three hours to respond, while he lay there and bled to death. It ain’t no thing for them to be late. Most nights, it pisses me off, but sometimes I can’t really say that I blame them. With the economy the way it is, they’re even worse about showing up. Ain’t just the big corporations going broke. It’s the governments, too. All levels. Municipal, city, state—even the Feds. It doesn’t matter who’s in charge. Hell, California almost filed for bankruptcy last year. California—an entire goddamned state!”

“What’s that got to do with us?” Jamal asked.

Perry took another drag off his cigarette. “I’ll tell you what it’s got to do with you. People ain’t got no money, so they don’t pay their taxes or other bills. Then the city goes broke. Starts looking for ways to cope with the budget crisis. Ways to save money. First they go after all the programs they don’t think are necessary—the programs that a lot of folks down here count on to survive. But then they’re still coming up short of cash at the end of the month, so they start laying people off. Parking meter attendants, garbage men, maintenance workers—and cops. Always the cops. In the end, the city ends up with fewer cops, but just as much crime. Hell, more crime even. The worse the economy gets, the higher crime rises. But now there aren’t as many cops to deal with it, and the ones who are left—they’ve got priorities. And our neighborhood ain’t very high on that list.”

The boys were silent, pondering his words, weighing them. Finally, Leo spoke up. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

“No,” Perry agreed. “It shouldn’t. It definitely shouldn’t. But it is. Been that way long as I can remember, and I’ve lived here a long time. On television, the president talks about change, and I’d like to believe that he means it, but down here, ain’t a damn thing changed.”

One by one, their gazes were drawn back to the house at the end of the street. Perry’s cigarette tip glowed orange in the darkness.

Leo frowned. “What is it with that place, Mr. Watkins? I mean, I know not to go in there. Ever since we were little, we’ve been told it was haunted. Hell, it looks haunted. Nobody goes inside. Everybody knows that the people who go inside don’t come out again.”

“True that,” Jamal said. “Not even the crackheads or meth skanks go near there anymore.”

“But why?” Leo insisted. “What’s it all about? What happens to the folks who vanish? There’s got to be a story behind it all.”

“You asking me for the history of that place?” Perry watched them nod, then sighed. “No one knows, boys. No one knows. At least, not anymore. Maybe folks did at one time, but if so, then those folks are dead by now, or old and senile. This neighborhood ain’t got no sense of history. Not like the rest of the city. You think about that for a moment. There’s over a million people living in Philly proper—almost six-million if we count the whole metropolitan area. We’re the fourth largest city in the country. With that many people, you’d think somebody would know the story behind that house over there, but they don’t. They can tell you all about the Liberty Bell and Ben Franklin and the Underground Railroad and the influenza outbreak. They can even tell you about when the police declared war on MOVE and firebombed their house back in the eighties. But none of that happened on our street or on our block, so we don’t matter. We don’t even rate a footnote. Only thing that happens here is black folks killing other black folks, and that don’t make the news unless it’s a bumper between sports and weather.”

He made a broad, sweeping gesture with his hand and continued. “Look around you. You kids see anything to be proud of? You see anything here worth noting or remembering? Of course you don’t. We’ve got no pride because there’s nothing here to be proud of. There’s nothing here that we want to remember. And when that happens—when the folks in a neighborhood lose their pride in where they live, then their history—and the history of that neighborhood—gets lost, too. If you took a drive out there to the suburbs, you know what you’d find?”

The boys shrugged and shook their heads. Dookie admitted that he’d never been outside of their neighborhood.

“Well, if you boys took a drive out there, you’d learn that folks in the suburbs don’t know each other. They go to work. They come home. They go inside with their families. Maybe they know their next-door neighbor, enough to nod at him and shit, maybe exchange some pleasantries—but for the most part, they can’t tell you who lives down the street, or the name of the family three houses down from them. All they know about each other is what their neighbors are driving and which political sign they had in their yard during the election. That’s all. Down here, we know each other. Hell, most of the block is all up in each other’s business. We know when somebody is sick, when they’ve been fighting, when they’ve broken up, when they get arrested, or when they lose their job. We can’t help knowing our neighbors because they’re stuck here with us. But they don’t know each other out there in the ’burbs, and I’ll tell you something else they don’t know—their history.”

“So they’re just like us,” Chris murmured. “That’s what you’re saying?”

“No,” Perry said. “They ain’t just like us. People around here don’t know our neighborhood’s history because they don’t give a fuck about it. Out in the suburbs, they don’t know their neighborhood’s history because in most cases, there’s no history there to know. Most of those suburban neighborhoods didn’t exist until twenty years ago. It’s all new housing and new developments, and all that was there before were cornfields and forests. If there was history there, they’d be all over it—erecting commemorative signs and shit. But they can’t because there’s nothing there to remember. That’s an advantage we have here. Our neighborhood is old. We have history. All we have to do is embrace it. Learn it. But we don’t. And in the end, we’re no better than them. So, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re right, Chris. Now that I’m sitting here thinking about it.”

“What do you mean?” Markus asked.

“The fact is, boys, people don’t give a shit, no matter where they live. They’ve got too many other things to worry about. Down here, we worry about drugs, paying the rent, keeping our children out of jail, all these crazy sons of bitches shooting up street corners and playgrounds. The boogeyman living in the haunted house at the end of the block just doesn’t rate when compared to all of those other things. Especially when the only time something happens is when somebody is stupid enough to go inside. It ain’t like most of us can afford to move away from it. So you learn to live with it. Ignore it. Maybe even accept it. As long as it ain’t them or their loved ones going inside that house, people could care less. And if the people down here could care less, then why should the cops and the politicians give a fuck?”

He paused, flicked his cigarette butt out into the street, and then continued. “Shit. This used to be a nice neighborhood. Folks used to hang around together outside, like we’re doing now. Used to have big block parties and work on people’s cars and carry groceries for one another. Now it’s just dark, all the time, even in the daylight—just like that place down there. But you know what? Even when this block was a nice place to live, we still had that fucking house looming over us. We didn’t talk about it, but we knew it was there, just the same. It’s kind of hard to miss. We used to whisper about it then, the way people do now. But that was all we did—whisper. Who knows what goes on in there? Your guess is as good as mine. Some folks figure it’s drug dealers. Personally, I call bullshit on that. Can’t be drug dealers, because this shit’s been happening long before drugs were ever a problem here.”

“Then what do you think it is?” Leo asked. “What’s happened to all them people over the years?”

Perry shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I mind my own business. I expect the house to do the same. Maybe someday the authorities will take an interest or people will give a shit again. I keep hearing about all sorts of people wanting to buy up all the subprime real estate in Philly so they can get into their urban renewal programs, but so far no one has come knocking at my door or offered me a shitload of money. Maybe they will one of these days. Maybe they’ll buy us all out. Relocate us somewhere nice. The idiots in New Jersey are already fixing up Camden—which is like trying to beautify a two-dollar whore—but sooner or later those same idiots will want to do the same here. Then they can deal with that house. Let them.”

Frowning, Leo grew quiet. His expression was one of deep thought. Perry was about to ask him what was the matter, when Jamal interrupted. “Damn, Mr. Watkins.”

“What?”

“I ain’t never heard you talk so much,” Jamal said. “I thought you were always grumpy and shit.”

Smiling, Perry lowered his voice. “I don’t talk much because Mrs. Watkins doesn’t give me a chance to. Every time I open my mouth to speak, she interrupts me.”

They all laughed, but the sound seemed strange to Perry, as if the concrete and darkness were unused to it. Soon enough, the laughter died. They fell silent after that. Perry lit another cigarette. The wind was picking up, and he had to cup his hand over the flame to light it. The brown leaves of a stunted, dead tree jutting up from the split concrete sidewalk rustled in the breeze. It sounded like a death rattle.

They watched the house and waited.

Perry was no longer sure what they were waiting for.

***

Paul’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he reached the bottom of the shaft. The air smelled like rotten eggs. A thin stream of foul water trickled along the tunnel floor, disappearing into the darkness. The tunnel itself was actually a large sewer pipe, big enough to allow for the flow of residential and industrial waste water and sewage, as well as runoff from the city’s storm drains. He was actually surprised that there was so little water flowing through the pipe. Given the number of houses in this part of the city, there should have been more.

He shined the flashlight around, surveying his surroundings. The tunnel was big enough for him to stand upright. The top of his head brushed against the ceiling, and flecks of rust and sticky strands of spiderwebs fell into his hair. He wondered idly if there was a way to rip these sewer pipes up from under the pavement. They’d be worth a gold mine in scrap metal.

Once he got his bearings and his vision had adjusted, Paul slogged off in the direction of the house. He walked bowlegged, his feet planted on the sides of the pipe rather than the floor, so that he wouldn’t have to wade through the water. The flashlight beam showed old high-water marks on the walls. Apparently the stream had been much higher and more forceful at some point. Now the sides of the pipe were covered with garbage. His feet shuffled through leaves, wrinkled condoms, cigarette butts, plastic bags, crumpled food wrappers, empty bottles, clumps of toilet paper, tampons, crushed beer cans, and other trash that had been washed down from the streets or flushed from one of the dwellings above. He considered fishing the aluminum cans out of the debris, but then decided they wouldn’t be worth the effort. Chances were good that he’d find much more valuable scrap inside the abandoned house.

The stench grew thicker as he proceeded down the tunnel, and Paul concentrated on breathing through his mouth. The air was humid but cold. Occasionally a fresh breeze caressed his face. Paul wondered where it was coming from. He wondered, too, about the potential for disease. Although he’d salvaged scrap from a variety of locations, this was his first time wading through a sewer. He hadn’t seen any turds floating by yet, and the water wasn’t yellow, but that didn’t mean the place was sanitary. What if there were bacteria on the walls or floating in the air? Were bacteria airborne? He didn’t know and found himself wishing that he did. There was no telling what kind of infections he could pick up down here. But he plodded dutifully on, determined to gain access to the house now that he’d come this far. Cockroaches skittered around him, running up the curved walls. The sewer was quiet, and the darkness seemed oppressive. Paul clutched his flashlight tightly, thankful that he’d brought it along. He couldn’t imagine being stuck down here without some sort of light.

Paul estimated that he’d gone about twenty yards in a straight, horizontal line, when he suddenly emerged into a crossroads of sorts. Ahead of him, the tunnel split into three pipes, each one of equal size. He shined the flashlight around, weighing his options. One pipe veered sharply to the right. Another curved slightly to the left. The one in the middle continued on straight ahead. The left and right pipes had water trickling out of them, but the middle pipe was bone-dry, save for a tiny pool of stagnant, scummy water at its opening. Tiny insects squirmed in the pool. He assumed the middle pipe was his best chance of getting under the house. The lack of water flowing from it suggested that the pipe was unused. If it was connected to the abandoned home, then that made sense. He decided to try it and forged ahead.

Immediately the air grew fouler. There was the ammoniacal tang of urine and the sharper reek of feces, but there was something else, as well. Something he couldn’t identify. It reminded him of the meat department at the grocery store, but he wasn’t sure why. Paul cringed at the stench. His eyes watered. Instead of watching his step, he shined the light ahead, trying to find the stench’s source. His attention remained focused on the walls. He’d only gone a few more feet when the floor suddenly disappeared beneath him.

With a startled cry, Paul plummeted downward. He managed to hang on to his flashlight, even as he splashed into a pool of cold, greasy liquid. The stench grew overwhelming. Sputtering, Paul kicked his feet, trying desperately to find a bottom. Instead, his feet found empty space. He dog-paddled and glanced around, terrified. He realized that the revolting liquid—whatever it might be—was more like paste than water, as if it was semicongealed. There was solid matter floating in it, but he couldn’t tell what it was. The space was pitch-black, save for his flashlight beam, which was pointed above. He readjusted it and shined the light around.

Paul shrieked.

He was swimming in a toxic, brown and gray and black stew of human waste and toilet paper and . . . something else. It stunned him when he realized what the other matter was. Human bones—skulls, femurs, mandibles with teeth still attached, clavicle, ribs, and shattered, unidentifiable fragments—all coated with the viscous, stinking liquid. A quick glance confirmed that there were enough human bones in the pool to assemble dozens, if not hundreds, of skeletons. There were animal bones, as well—rats, birds, and other city creatures; he even spotted a few dog and cat skulls. He recognized what they belonged to from several family trips to various natural history museums. The stench rising from the pool filled his nose, threatening to overwhelm him. He flailed, reaching up with his arms. Gray and brown sludge dripped down them, splattering his face. The foul liquid had the consistency of syrup.

Despite his terror and overwhelming disgust, Paul remembered a newspaper article he’d read several years ago, about a government agent—ATF or FBI, he couldn’t remember which. The man had been staking out a group of domestic terrorists in the backwoods of West Virginia.

His cover got blown. When they caught him, the group killed the agent by drowning him in an outhouse. Paul couldn’t think of a worse way to die than drowning in shit.

“Help,” he screamed. “Somebody help me!”

His voice echoed back to him from somewhere to his left. Paul shined the light in that direction and gasped. There was a stone ledge rising several feet above the pool. Beyond it was a vast chamber that seemed to be a natural cavern. Limestone glinted in the flashlight beam.

Gagging, Paul swam for the ledge. His fingers slipped on the stone as he tried to pull himself up. Inch by inch, he worked his way free, making squelching noises as the slime sucked at his shoulders, waist, and legs. When he’d finally freed himself, Paul collapsed on the ledge, sobbing.

The stone felt cool against his face. He squeezed his eyes shut. Filth bubbled out of his nose and ran out of the corners of his mouth. He retched, but was unable to vomit. He desperately wanted to, if only to clear his system of the foulness he’d ingested. Paul opened his eyes again and groaned. The cave seemed to be spinning. Paul thought that he might pass out.

Then something grabbed him, and he did pass out, but not before he got a glimpse of it.

He was still screaming when his consciousness faded.

ELEVEN

Kerri, Heather, Javier, and Brett crawled through the stifling horizontal shaft. Javier was in the lead. He had Brett’s belt coiled around his clenched fist and kept the buckle beneath his fingers so it wouldn’t jingle. Javier was followed closely by Heather. Kerri squirmed along behind her. Brett brought up the rear, struggling to keep up with them. They kept stopping so he could catch up, but then he’d quietly urge them to keep going. Kerri supposed that Brett knew just how serious his situation was. He was trying to sound brave, but the fear in his voice was still there. He left a bloody trail in his wake.

The crawlspace tunnel was snug, and the walls brushed against their shoulders and hips as they crawled forward. The air smelled stale and was thick with the smell of feces. Not the nasty odor of rat droppings—that was bad enough, but this was far worse. It was a cloying, nauseating stench. Kerri tried to figure out what the crawlspace had been used for, but she couldn’t come up with any rational explanation. It was made of wood rather than metal, so it couldn’t be ductwork for heating or air-conditioning. The shaft appeared newer than the surrounding building materials. She wondered if it had been constructed more recently than the house, and if so, by whom. And again, for what? Had the midgets built it, just to drop down on unsuspecting victims after they’d trapped them in the hallway below? Kerri shivered. If so, how many other people had been in this situation? How many people had died in this place?

She lost track of how far they crawled. At one point, she caught a faint hint of vomit in the air and assumed they must be over the spot where she’d thrown up. They moved slowly and in silence, speaking only when they stopped for Brett, and then, communicating in hushed, short whispers and frantic hand signals.

When a door slammed below them, Kerri nearly shrieked. All four of them froze. They kept their cell phones open, so that they could see and had adjusted the backlight options so that they wouldn’t turn off suddenly. Without that meager illumination, the tunnel would have been completely dark. Kerri wondered, however, if they should close the phones. What if the light shined down through the ceiling, or what if one of them suddenly got a signal and it rang while they were hiding? Then those thoughts vanished, replaced with more immediate fears. She heard the sounds of heavy, thudding footsteps coming from below. Kerri held her breath, afraid that if she didn’t, she’d cry out. The fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rose up as she contemplated what might be making the noises. She had a pretty good idea. The footsteps sounded just like those of the man—thing—who had killed Tyler and Stephanie. Brett had told them its name was Noigel. She didn’t know what kind of a name that was, but she was certain it was him down there. And when Heather turned around and glanced at her, wide-eyed and trembling in the cell phone’s garish glow, Kerri knew that her friend suspected it, as well. Kerri shuddered, remembering his garbage-bag clothing and that swollen, infected penis that had dripped pus all over the place.

The footsteps stopped almost directly beneath them. Then Noigel, if indeed it was him, moaned, deep and mournful. He sounded sad. The moan rose in pitch and volume, turning into an anguished cry. The crawlspace thrummed as Noigel voiced his rage. Brett reached out and squeezed Kerri’s ankle with his good hand. Heather squeezed her eyes shut and chewed on her hair. Javier remained motionless. Kerri caught a whiff of something—that same sour milk mixed with feces and sweat stench that she’d smelled when Noigel attacked them in the foyer. That left no doubt in her mind that Tyler’s killer was directly beneath them, pissed off and intent upon finishing the job. That meant they hadn’t gone very far at all.

Time seemed to halt. The sorrowful, enraged cries continued. Something slammed into the wall, hard. Then it struck the wall again. Kerri realized that Noigel was lashing out. By the sound, he was punching holes through the walls. She heard crumbling plaster and falling dirt and debris. Then the thing below them paused and fell silent. Kerri crossed her fingers, willing him to go away. Instead, Noigel sneezed three times—great, wet explosions that sounded like rifle shots. It followed this with a series of guttural snorts. Then the footsteps began to plod away, while the creature softly cooed to itself. The revolting stench dissipated.

It found the corpse, Kerri thought. Noigel found the midget’s corpse and he’s upset. Not that he wasn’t unreasonable to begin with, but now we’re doubly fucked. I killed his friend.

Brett slowly let go of Kerri’s ankles as the thunderous footsteps faded. She turned around and gave him a reassuring smile. He returned the gesture, but his expression was weak and his face had grown paler. Kerri turned back to the others in time to see Heather tap Javier on the foot. He held up his hand, palm outward, indicating for them to stay still and silent.

The waiting was worse than Kerri would have thought possible. Even with Heather, Brett, and Javier right there with her for moral support, all she could do while they crouched in the darkness and waited, was listen to the sounds of the house settling around them. She jumped at every creak and groan, no matter how slight, convinced that each sound was a sign of the killer returning. She knew it hadn’t been long, but it seemed like hours. Her mind swam, overwhelmed with disjointed thoughts and conflicting emotions. She was scared. Angry. Worried about Brett. Distraught over Tyler and Steph. She wanted to scream aloud until the killer found them, if only so he would put her out of her misery. She wanted to run, pushing past her friends, abandoning them if she had to, all in a desperate ploy to live. She wanted to hide—to find a dark nook somewhere in this house of horrors and just stay there until help arrived. Most of all, Kerri wanted to cry.

So she did.

Hot tears rolled down her face and dripped from her chin onto the crawlspace floor. Her shoulders and head shook, but she made no noise, weeping in terrified silence. Brett squeezed her ankle again. Eventually, the tears ceased. Kerri took a deep breath and let her body sag. Her eyes burned from the crying jag, and her face felt hot and tight. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the sight of Tyler dying reared up again. She pushed it away once more, afraid that if she began weeping again, she’d be unable to keep silent. But the image was still there, like an endless echo of things best forgotten.

They waited a few minutes longer. Finally, Brett spoke.

“What now?” he whispered.

Without a word, Javier motioned them forward. They crawled even slower than before, moving cautiously, afraid to make even the slightest sound. The area below them remained quiet. No footsteps or garbled cries or slamming doors. Rats scratched and scampered deep inside the walls, and at one point, Kerri’s palm came down in a pile of tiny, hard mouse droppings. She warned Brett so that he wouldn’t get them in his wounds. There was no telling how many diseases the feces was crawling with.

Eventually, Javier stopped and the others halted behind him. They listened, but the house remained still.

“Dead end ahead,” Javier whispered. “There’s another trapdoor here. I’m gonna open it.”

Kerri heard the creaking of hinges. Then, the shaft was suddenly filled with light. She flinched, shielding her eyes with one hand. Spots danced in her vision.

“We’re on the other side of the barrier,” Javier reported.

“They’ve got the hallway lights turned back on. You guys stay here. I’m going to check it out.”

Squinting against the light, Heather grabbed his ankle. “Don’t.”

“I have to, Heather. If there’s anyone down there, maybe I can get them before they know we made it out of the trap. Or maybe I can lead them away from the rest of you.”

“That’s crazy.”

“No, crazy is a rundown Victorian-style home in the middle of the hood with a bunch of sick fucks inside trapping and killing innocent people. Now stay here and be quiet.”

The light in the crawlspace dimmed again as Javier squeezed through the trapdoor. After he’d dropped down to the floor, it got even brighter in the cramped space. The dazzling brilliance gave Kerri a headache.

“Javier,” Heather whispered. “Do you see anything?”

His response was an angry hiss. Heather fell silent. Kerri listened to Javier creep down the hall. She could tell by his tread that he was trying to be stealthy, but she could still hear him. She wondered if anything else could, as well. Eventually, they heard his footsteps returning.

“I think the coast is clear,” he called in hushed tones. “No sign of Noigel or anyone else. We’re in a different part of the house, but near where we went into the last hallway. Come on down, but keep quiet.”

Heather went first, followed by Kerri. Javier helped both of them out of the crawlspace. Then the three of them aided Brett’s descent. Kerri was taken aback by his appearance. Under the fluorescent lights, he seemed more dead than alive. He swayed on his feet, smiling slightly.

Then Kerri realized that it wasn’t a smile, but a grimace. His complexion was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His ruined hand was swollen and bruised, and his entire arm was soaked with blood, except where the sweat had washed it away. Despite their crawl through the shaft overhead, he was the only one sweating. Kerri wondered if that was a symptom of shock, and if so, what they could do about it, other than getting him some medical attention soon. She had applied the tourniquet competently enough, especially under pressure, but most of her medical knowledge came from watching House.

She realized that she wasn’t the only one staring at Brett with concern. They all were. Brett must have noticed, too, because he shook his head ruefully.

“Jesus, guys,” he murmured. “I’m not dead yet. Don’t look at me like that.”

Javier placed a hand on Brett’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Don’t worry, dude. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

“I know you will.”

“Listen,” Javier continued, “what I said earlier about this being your fault and everything—I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean it. You’re smart. Always looking at things logically. I’m glad you’re with us right now, because we might need that brain of yours to get out of this place. So again, I’m sorry.”

Brett winced in pain. “It’s okay, man. Seriously. You were scared and upset. We all are. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“So we’re all right?”

“Everything is copacetic.”

Nodding, Javier turned to the girls. “Let’s go, before Noigel or his friends come back. Kerri, you bring up the rear. Watch behind us. Keep an ear out in case they try to sneak up behind us. Brett, you stay between us, okay?”

Kerri took a deep breath and gripped her club tighter. The dwarf’s congealing blood glinted on the nail sticking out of the wood. She glanced around the room. Like the others, it was devoid of furnishings. There was a single door, splattered with what looked like old blood and rat holes in the walls and baseboards. Black mold climbed the corners, spreading from the floor to the ceiling in grotesque spiral patterns. Dead flies and rat feces carpeted the bare floor. She’d had hopes that there might be a chair or even a table lying around, something they could have used for another weapon, something better than the belt, but there was nothing. She supposed that it was possible they could peel some wainscoting from the gouged, water-stained walls, but even that wouldn’t make much of a weapon.

Javier opened a door with his left hand. The hinges squealed in protest, and he frowned at the noise. His right hand was drawn back, the belt wrapped into his fingers and the buckle dangling down like a short bullwhip. They hurried down the hallway, moving as quickly but quietly as possible, retracing their steps through the house. As they passed the room where Javier had killed the first midget, he ducked inside. When he emerged again, his expression was troubled.

“What’s wrong?” Heather asked.

“The body is missing.”

“What body?”

“The midget. The one we killed before Brett found us. I hid it in there, back in the shadows, and now it’s gone.”

“Maybe it was still alive,” Brett suggested.

Javier shook his head. “No. No way. I made sure it was dead. Noigel or one of the others must have found it.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Kerri said.

“How the hell can it be a good thing?”

Kerri’s voice grew excited. “Noigel knows we’ve killed at least two of his friends. Maybe he’ll decide that makes us even. Maybe he’ll decide we’re more dangerous than their average prey, and he’ll let us go.”

Javier stared at her, unblinking. “Do you really believe that, Kerri?”

Her expression crumpled. “No.”

“I don’t think Noigel is smart enough to think that way,” Brett said. “From what I saw, he might be mentally retarded.”

“You think so?” Heather’s tone was sarcastic. “I’d say he’s more than retarded. I’d say that he’s batshit fucking crazy. Retarded people don’t go around bashing people’s heads in.”

Kerri choked back a sob as images of Tyler’s death flashed through her mind again.

“Shut up, Heather,” Brett whispered. “That’s not helping.”

“I agree,” Javier said. “Now, come on.”

Without another word, he led them forward again. Heather reached for his hand, but he brushed her away. Pouting, she followed. Brett shuffled along behind them with his head drooping low. Occasionally, he veered off course and bumped into the walls. After a few times of this, Kerri walked beside him, and let Brett lean on her. They crept back through the maze of hallways and rooms, finally emerging into the foyer again. The space was now lit by a single dirty bulb hanging from the ceiling. Kerri tried to remember if the lightbulb had been there when they came in. She didn’t recall. Everything had happened so quickly.

She watched as Javier tried opening the front door, but it still refused to budge. Grunting, he tried harder, exerting himself hard enough that his muscles and sinew hardened like granite, and his veins stood out as if they were about to burst from his flesh. Kerri moved to help him, but before she could, Javier went slack again. Back to the door, he slid down into a crouch, panting for breath.

“It’s no use,” he mumbled. “I can’t get it open. I could kick the fucking thing down, maybe, but not without them hearing us.”

“Maybe there’s somebody on the other side,” Heather said. “Maybe somebody out there will hear us and go for help.”

“Who?” Javier lifted his shirttail and used it to wipe beads of sweat from his forehead. “The guys who chased us in here? A fat lot of good that will do us.”

“Better them than the freaks in here.” Heather’s voice got louder. “At least the guys outside weren’t killing us!”

Javier stood up suddenly and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Quiet,” he warned. “What the hell is wrong with you? Get your shit together, babe. Do you want them to find us?”

Heather’s eyes were wide. She blinked twice. Javier released her and removed his hand from her mouth. They all stood quietly for a moment, listening for sounds of pursuit or discovery, but the house was silent as a graveyard.

“I’m sorry,” Heather apologized.

“It’s okay,” Javier said. “We’re all on edge. But we need to focus. We need to stop wasting time.”

“Well,” Kerri said, “let’s go then.”

“Hang on,” Javier said. “First, I want everyone to check their phones. We’re closer to the outside now. I’m wondering if we might be able to get a signal.”

They checked their remaining cell phones, but none of them had service.

“Shit. I’d love to know how they’re blocking it.” Javier turned to Brett. “You think you remember how to get back to this kitchen you were in?”

Brett nodded, licking his lips. Kerri noticed that even his tongue had turned paler.

“I can find it,” he muttered. “Are we really going down into the basement, though?”

“Yeah,” Javier confirmed. “We are. I don’t like it any more than the rest of you. But unless we find another way out of here, I don’t see that we have much choice.”

Brett slumped his good arm over Javier’s shoulder and leaned on him for support. Then he took the lead, guiding them through an increasingly bewildering labyrinth of twisting passageways and doors. Kerri and Heather walked behind the boys. Kerri kept glancing over her shoulder, making sure that they weren’t being followed. She also tried to keep track of each turn they made, but the task was impossible. All of the rooms looked the same—empty and desolate. There were doors that led into other hallways, doors that led into more barren rooms, and doors that led into nothing but brick walls. She noticed that there wasn’t a single window anywhere in the building. The lights hummed overhead. The sound was simultaneously comforting and disturbing.

“You sure you know where you’re going?” Javier asked Brett.

Brett nodded, unable to speak. He appeared even more exhausted than before. He led them through a few more rooms and passages, and then through a door that opened into the kitchen. The makeshift lights glowed overhead. “I need to rest for a minute,” Brett said. “There’s no lock on the door, so one of us should stand guard.”

Javier leaned Brett against the wall and eased him down to the floor in a kneeling position. Then he began looking around. “Let’s find something to prop against the door. Slow them down if they try to get in.”

“Forget it,” Brett gasped, tottering back and forth on his knees. “I looked already, when I was here before. There’s nothing.”

Kerri glanced down at the floor and realized that she was standing in a large swath of fresh blood. The stains led to a closed door at the rear of the room. It looked like somebody had dipped a mop in a bucket of blood and dragged it across the floorboards. Alarmed, she choked in disgust and stepped aside. Her shoes left red footprints.

“That’s . . .” Brett’s throat worked soundlessly. “They brought Steph and Tyler through here. Noigel and the other one.”

Kerri’s hand fluttered to her mouth. She closed her eyes and tried to remain strong.

“The other one,” Javier said. “You said he was wearing a woman’s skin over his body?”

“Yeah. I get sick just thinking about it.”

“Did you get his name?”

“No. Although Batshit-Crazy Man would suit him well.”

Javier picked up a chunk of white plaster and drew a small line on his forearm. Then he drew another one beside it. He followed this with a shorter line.

Heather leaned closer to him. “What are you doing?”

“You never saw Die Hard?”

“No.”

“I’m keeping track of how many are left—that we know of. This mark is for Noigel. This mark is for his cross-dressing friend.”

“What’s the half mark for?”

“The one that got its tongue bitten by Kerri. We don’t know if it’s alive or dead.”

Brett sagged onto his rump and looked up at the lights. “I wish I knew how they were turning those on and off. I tried the light switches before, but none of them worked. They must be using a central breaker or something.”

Kerri spotted the refrigerator and walked toward it. She breathed through her mouth. The air reeked of mildew and filth. Dust floated in the beams of light, swirling like tiny snowflakes. More of the sickly black mold sprawled across the walls. There was a bloody handprint on the appliance’s door. It appeared old—the blood was more like dirt than liquid. She glanced behind the unit and saw that the electrical cord had been cut off at some point. The frayed wires dangled like veins from a severed human limb.

“Somebody help me out here,” she said. “We’ll slide this fridge in front of the door.”

“Forget it,” Brett replied. “I tried doing that before. It’s heavy as hell and it makes too much noise. And besides, you shouldn’t disturb a burial ground.”

“A what?”

“A burial ground,” he repeated. “The fridge is full of rat bones.”

Kerri scampered backwards, sputtering in disgust. “Jesus Christ . . .”

Brett, Heather, and Javier laughed softly. After a moment, she joined them. It felt like a release. All the negative emotions drained out of her.

“Come on,” Javier said, helping Brett to his feet again. “Let’s check out the basement and find the exit.”

Javier led them to the cellar door as if approaching a hornet’s nest. The floorboards creaked. When he opened the door, they all felt a faint breeze on their faces. The odor was terrible and indefinable, but the breeze felt luxurious. Kerri didn’t know if it was that or their earlier bout of laughter or just the new surge of adrenaline coursing through her body, but she suddenly felt more positive—upbeat. For the first time since they’d entered the home, she dared to hope. She held on to that emotion, drawing strength from it as they stood at the top of the basement stairs and prepared to descend.

***

Javier stared down into the darkness for a moment. With the kitchen lights behind him, his night vision was messed up. The basement wasn’t just dark, like the rest of the house. It was pitch-black. He doubted that even their cell phones would pierce the darkness. He sniffed the air, trying to identify the repulsive stench wafting up on the slight breeze. It wasn’t rot or putrefaction or sewage, but it was similar. Maybe a combination of all three? Finally, he gestured with his left hand and started down the stairs, urging silence with a backward glance.

As if in mockery of him, they heard distant, thudding footsteps—Noigel’s unmistakable tread. At first, Javier thought the giant must be below them, climbing up the stairs toward them, but then he realized that the footfalls were actually coming from the corridor on the other side of the kitchen door.

“Hurry,” he whispered, taking the stairs faster.

He heard Kerri shut the door behind them, and the stairwell turned even blacker. Brett or Heather—he couldn’t tell which—stumbled behind him. Javier listened, his head cocked slightly to the side. He didn’t hear the footsteps anymore, but wasn’t sure if that was because the door was shut or because Noigel had stopped. Gripping the belt with one hand and trailing his other hand along the wall, Javier continued down the darkened staircase, moving as carefully as possible without sacrificing his speed. The others stumbled along behind him. He held his breath, certain that Noigel would hear them and come charging along in pursuit. The stairs were old and narrow and half of them sagged under his footsteps as if they were ready to collapse. Still, he continued without hesitation. It was only when they’d finished their descent that Javier allowed himself to breathe.

“Everybody huddle together,” he whispered, so low that he was unsure whether they’d heard him until he felt their hands reaching out to brush against him.

“Are we all here?” Kerri asked.

“I am,” Heather said. “Brett?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Javier frowned. There was something in Brett’s voice—pain, certainly, but something else beneath it. “You holding up okay?”

“No,” Brett sighed. “My hand is starting to hurt like a bitch. I mean, worse than it was—and that’s a lot.”

“Just hang in there a little bit longer.”

“I don’t hear him up there,” Kerri said. “Do you guys think he stopped?”

“Maybe,” Javier admitted. “Who knows what the fuck the crazy bastard is doing? Maybe he’s searching somewhere other than the kitchen. Let’s put some distance between us and him, before he comes back.”

Javier reached into his pocket for his cell phone and then remembered that he’d lost it in the pit. He asked Brett for his instead. Brett passed it up the line, groping in the darkness. Javier flipped it open and used the weak light to look around. His spirits soared when he spotted a dusty, cobweb-covered, antique oil lamp hanging from a rusty nail in one of the cellar’s wooden support beams. His enthusiasm quickly dissipated when he realized there was neither a wick nor oil to be found anywhere in the basement. Indeed, the sublevel was as empty as the rooms above, save for a pile of rotting burlap sacks, a heap of broken masonry, a few glass bottles, and some moldering cardboard boxes. The cell phone’s light did little to penetrate the shadowed corners, but he was certain they’d be empty, as well. He wondered how the spiders and other insects lived in such a desolate place. It was just proof that life could exist anywhere, even in a location as dismal as this.

“How the hell are we supposed to find our way around down here?” Heather’s voice had an edge of despair. “I can’t see shit. It’s worse than upstairs.”

Javier shrugged, knowing full well that she couldn’t see the gesture. “Let’s just find a way out, okay? Before anything else can happen.”

Kerri made an agreeable grunt and Brett stayed quiet.

“I know it’s dark, but maybe we’d better use one phone. That way we can save the batteries in the others, just in case.”

They murmured their displeasure, but did as he said.

Javier took Heather’s hand and settled it on the back of his jeans. “Hold on to me. Don’t let go for any reason. We don’t want to get separated down here.”

She hooked one finger through a belt loop, and then, while Javier held up the light to guide them, Heather found Kerri’s hand and placed it on her pants. Then Kerri did the same with Brett. His wounded hand hung limp by his side. A moment later they were moving again. Javier led them through the darkness, taking small, measured steps with only the cell phone’s dim glow to guide him. Brett’s belt dangled from his hand, the buckle smacking silently against his leg with each step. He felt Heather tug at his pants as they walked slowly forward, and it brought to mind another time she’d done that. A year before, the six of them had driven out to York County for a night so that they could attend a Halloween haunted attraction in LeHorn’s Hollow. Everyone at school had been talking about it since the ghost walk had first been announced, and they’d arrived with eager anticipation. They’d been standing in line waiting to buy tickets and Heather had hooked her index finger through his belt loop and pulled him to her suddenly, kissing him deep and earnestly. The suddenness had surprised and excited him. Sadly, their evening had been cut short when some kind of riot ensued inside the ghost walk. A bunch of people died. The police and the firemen arrived, and it was shut down. They’d driven back to East Petersburg, frustrated and bored. But not Javier. On the way home, he’d sat in the backseat of Tyler’s brother’s car, smiling, one arm around Heather, pulling her close, the kiss still lingering like an echo in his mind. It was a memory that Javier returned to often—and fondly. He held on to it now, as well, and it was enough to keep him going. As they crept forward, she came close enough a few times that he felt her breath on the back of his neck. It was warm in contrast to the unseen breeze that blew through the dark space. Javier just wished he could find the source of that breeze, because he was willing to bet he’d also find their escape route.

Still listening intently for any indication that Noigel was on their trail, he held the phone higher, trying to see. The darkness wasn’t complete, but it was close enough. Javier kept his eyes wide and his attention focused ahead of him and used his right hand to feel along the cold, damp basement wall. His fingers trailed over cracks and crevices and tore through cobwebs. He ran into a corner and felt along it for a moment before deciding to go to the left. It made sense, as he was fairly certain the street was in that direction. Hopefully, so was the exterior wall of the house and maybe a set of storm doors or even a sewer entrance. It occurred to him that an old place like this might even have a coal bin or root cellar attached to the basement, points of access that had been necessary in the past. He just hoped that the freaks who lived here hadn’t blocked them up. There had to be another way out down here. Brett had overheard them say it, and it made sense. The things living here couldn’t very well stroll out the front door—not without everyone seeing them. There had to be a hidden exit.

But he wasn’t having much luck finding it.

“Shit happens,” he murmured, reciting his mantra but not thinking the others could hear him.

“Yes,” Kerri responded. “It does. And tonight, it’s happened to us.”

Javier was about to reply when the wall opened up unexpectedly. He stopped. The slight breeze grew stronger as it flowed from the opening. It held a musky scent, age and mildew and something else that he couldn’t easily identify. He felt along the edge of the opening and realized that he might have found exactly what he was looking for. Holding the cell phone high, Javier stepped forward and felt for the wall ahead of him. The wooden boards disappeared, replaced with a hard, packed clay surface.

“What the hell?” he spoke softly, but his voice carried more than he’d expected. Chastising himself for doing exactly what he’d gotten on Heather about, he reached out and touched the spot, seeking any indication that the change might indicate a broken section of wall or an exit. The breeze gusted against his face. Heather pushed closer to him. Her breasts slipped along his back and her hands moved up to touch his shoulders. Had he been facing her, they’d have been close enough to kiss.

“Sorry.” Heather’s voice was a sighed whisper. Her body turned sharply and her voice grew a note sharper.

“Watch it!”

Kerri’s voice was louder, even sharper. “I can’t. Brett’s wobbling back here. You okay?”

“Sorry,” Brett apologized. His voice was slurred. He sounded tired. “Lost my balance.”

Javier shook his head, pressing his lips together in irritation. He was about to remind them to whisper when a new noise came from somewhere far ahead of them, deep in the darkness—a long, warbling howl, a sound that made as much sense in the basement of a crumbling, inner-city Victorian home as cannon fire in a confessional. The howl didn’t sound like a wolf, but more like a human throat doing a poor imitation.

Javier froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt Heather jerk upright behind him, clinging tighter to his shoulders. Shrugging her off as gently but firmly as possible, he listened intently, trying to guess at the distance or even a general location of the cries. At a guess, the howls came from at least a hundred feet away and directly ahead of them.

“What the hell was that?” Brett’s slurred voice was terrified. The echoes rang through the basement.

Javier flinched again. “Everyone shut up.”

He listened to the still-reverberating echoes. They told him more than the howl had. There was some kind of tunnel directly ahead of them—a long tunnel, judging by the sound. Javier frowned, wondering why such a thing would be in a basement. Before he could tell the others his suspicion, another wail pierced the darkness, twice as loud as before.

And closer. Much closer.

It was followed by another cry. This one had a different pitch and inflection.

And then another sounded out.

And another.

There were at least five different voices in the darkness.

Javier closed his eyes. His skin prickled. The air blowing out of the wall turned foul.

Behind them, they heard the basement door open. The darkness lessened, cut into by the kitchen lights from above. Then the all-too-familiar heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs. Noigel voiced his garbled cry, joining the others.

“Oh shit,” Heather moaned. “We are so fucked.”

***

Brett had allowed himself to be distracted by the feel of Kerri in front of him. Yes, it was wrong. He knew that. Especially when his girlfriend and her boyfriend were dead, murdered, their corpses lost somewhere inside this hellhole. But thinking about her body, feeling the way her hips swayed against his hand with every step was taking his mind away from the throbbing pain shooting up his arm and throughout his body. He’d just bumped against her ass—and it had been an accident, but a nice one—and was apologizing when the first howl erupted from the darkness.

Suddenly he needed to pee very badly. The pressure in his bladder almost overrode the pain surging from the stumps of his severed fingers.

Although he hadn’t told the others, Brett was having trouble with his vision. He could see, but everything was a faded monochrome, a dusky black and white that leeched away all details and colors. Part of it was his injuries, he knew, as well as the deep sensation of lethargy and exhaustion that had overcome him since escaping the hallway. The almost complete darkness in the basement was another contributing factor. He didn’t like Javier’s idea about using only one cell phone, but he silently went along with it just like the girls, because Javier had obviously taken charge. Brett didn’t care. Let him. Logic was helpful on a chessboard, but in this house, it was a wasted effort. Nothing about this place was logical.

His eyes had finally adjusted as much as they were likely to, when the door crashed open behind them and the kitchen lights shined down the stairs. Standing at the rear of the group and closest to the stairs, Brett was momentarily blinded as his eyes struggled to cope with the sudden change. He listened to the footsteps and to the strange and terrible howls coming from both in front of and behind them, and did his best not to scream.

“What do we do?” Heather yelled, her voice frantic. “Javier?”

If he heard her, he gave no indication. Javier was silent, seemingly paralyzed by fear and indecision.

Our fearless leader is out to lunch, Brett thought. And Heather’s right. We are so fucked.

Logic dictated that they run, but where? Even as the howls drew closer, the footsteps behind them increased in speed. The staircase sounded like it was shaking. Kerri said something, but Brett couldn’t hear her over the intensifying cacophony. She turned around and faced him, her eyes nothing more than two wide smudges in her shadowy face. Her hand settled on his chest for a moment. She clutched a fistful of his shirt and sobbed. Brett nodded his head, realizing what had to be done. His fear evaporated as he embraced the inevitable. This was no more difficult than solving a trigonometry problem.

Kerri didn’t deserve to be here. She was already suffering enough. He could see it in her, how ruined she was by Tyler’s death and Stephanie’s, too. His face flushed red with anger. Kerri was a wonderful, sweet girl, and he didn’t want to see her hurt any more. She was a little bitty thing, and until today, he’d have thought her too small to defend herself. She’d proven that wrong, of course, going up against the thing that had bitten off his fingers. During that struggle, Brett had caught a glimpse of the strength inside Kerri, roiling beneath the surface. Such strength deserved to live on. She had too much yet to offer the world. She couldn’t die in this shit pile. Therefore, someone needed to give her—and the others—a chance to escape. That someone was him. It was logical, after all. He was severely wounded, in shock, and had lost a lot of blood. There was no telling how many different infections he’d picked up already, and the chances of reaching a hospital were getting slimmer with each passing second.

It had to be him.

Check and checkmate.

All of this went through his mind in seconds. Brett didn’t say it aloud, of course. Kerri, Javier, and Heather wouldn’t have been able to hear him even if he had told them. The strange sense of calm deepened as he prepared himself. The pain racking his body went away, turning into nothing more than a distant hum, like the drone of a gnat hovering around his face, too small to bother with, more of an annoyance than anything else.

Noigel’s footsteps plodded across the basement floor, each one reverberating like a shotgun blast. Brett turned to face him and immediately wished he hadn’t. For one split second, his resolve almost shattered. Noigel was a massive shadow amidst the darkness. He seemed to glide toward them. Brett could make out the huge hammer clutched in one hand. Other than his footsteps, the giant moved silently. He made no more cries or howls. Brett couldn’t even hear his breathing. Steeling himself, Brett stood his ground and risked a glance behind them. Several humanoid shapes emerged from the darkness. Unlike Noigel, they weren’t silent. If anything, their frenzied howls increased as they drew closer. In the dim light of Javier’s cell phone, Brett couldn’t make out much about them, except that they varied in size and shape. Some were of normal height and weight. Others were diminutive in stature, like the thing that had attacked him. A few were tall like Noigel, but thin and scraggly rather than possessing his girth. One seemed obscenely obese, lumbering forward in a see-saw–type motion. All of them shared one common characteristic—even in the darkness, they were brutal looking, predatory rejects that moved in slowly and carefully and with an almost palpable self-assuredness, taking their time and jockeying among one another for position.

Perhaps it was their appearance that snapped Javier out of his trance, or maybe it was Kerri and Heather’s frantic, pleading screams. Whatever the cause, Brett saw the steely determination return to his expression. Javier snapped the cell phone shut and stuffed it in his pocket. For a second, Brett didn’t understand why, but then Javier explained.

“We’re gonna run straight past them,” he said. “There’s a tunnel up ahead. That’s got to be the way out.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Heather shrieked.

“It’s the only way. We’ll run in the dark. They can’t see us if we don’t have a light.”

Brett shoved Kerri forward with his good hand. “Move! Get away! Get the fuck out of here. I’ll distract them. Run!”

Kerri jerked with each word as if he’d slapped her. She stared past him, watching Noigel’s approach in the glare from the kitchen lights, her eyes wild and terrified, her lips peeled back in a feral grimace that looked too much like the freaks menacing them.

Then Noigel laughed. The sound was deep and guttural, and boomed across the basement like artillery blasts.

Brett’s resolve shattered. Thoughts of logic and sacrifice and heroism fled as he shoved her forward again. He forgot all about Kerri’s hidden and remarkable reserves of bravery and strength. Forgot all about his sympathy for her. He was not a hero. He had never been the sort to consider others before himself. It wasn’t in his nature. He wasn’t truly thinking of Kerri or any of the others as he pushed her forward a third time. He was just trying to get them all moving, because instinct told him to flee, and there was no way he could get through them without falling on his ass. Unable to hold it anymore, his bladder let go, and the front of his pants grew warm and wet.

Brett was aware of Noigel as the hulk loomed behind him and came to a halt. The madman’s massive form blocked the remaining light. The loathsome stench roiling off him was overpowering, cloying around Brett like a smoke. Brett didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. His feet felt like they were stuck in concrete. He stared straight ahead, watching Kerri’s expression as she looked up and over his shoulder, her eyes impossibly wide, her mouth open to scream but no sound coming out. He watched as the rest of the freaks fell silent, then charged, moving low to the ground and loping toward them en masse. Brett blinked as one of the creatures did the impossible and leapfrogged over the others, diving through the air, narrowly missing the ceiling as it jumped. He sighed as Javier charged forward to meet the attacker, shouting challenges in Spanish. Brett smiled slightly as Heather and Kerri ran.

Then a massive hand grabbed his hair and jerked him backward, and all Brett saw was the ceiling. He tried to scream, but only managed a gobbling choke as Noigel jerked his head back even farther. Brett felt like he was being bent over backward. Then he got a good look at the giant’s face. The hulk’s mouth was open, smiling, and bloody saliva dripped onto Brett’s face and ran into his eyes. Noigel’s breath was like an open sewer. His bald, misshapen head seemed to be surrounded by a halo of kitchen light, and his round, black eyes glittered with malicious glee. It leaned closer, drooling more foul saliva into Brett’s gaping mouth. Instinct took over and Brett’s hand came up in a fast arc to block the flow. He realized as it rose just how foolish he had been, but it was too late to stop the reflective action. Brett’s wounded, bloodied hand slammed into Noigel’s face, leaving trails of crimson on the waxy, pocked flesh. He felt his stumps bend backward. Pain jolted through him, electrifying his raw nerve endings. Grunting, Noigel jerked him off his feet with one hand and swung him through the air by his hair, turning round and round like a top.

Then the creature let go, and Brett felt himself sailing through the darkness.

Mercifully, his vision—already weak from the surrounding darkness—completely failed before he slammed into the basement wall, and although he felt his bones snap and heard his skull crack apart, he did not see the red explosion his impact made or hear the wet sounds of his brains splattering across the stone blocks.

TWELVE

Leo stood suddenly, hitched up his sagging pants, and addressed the others.

“Fuck this shit. I’m tired of just waiting around for something to happen. I’m going in there.”

His friends gaped at him. Mr. Watkins seemed bemused. He exhaled smoke and stared at Leo, as if unconvinced of his sincerity and waiting to see what Leo would do next.

“For real,” Leo said. “I ain’t playing. This is bullshit. What Mr. Watkins was saying? That shit is true. People down here don’t give a fuck anymore, and that’s a big part of the problem. And the cops don’t give a shit either. It’s our neighborhood. We need to deal with it. If not us, then who?”

“Go ahead,” Markus said. “My ass is staying right here and waiting for five-oh.”

Leo shook his head, disgusted. “Let me ask you something. How would you feel if it was us in there? How about if we took a drive out to Amish Country or some shit, and our car broke down, and we were trapped inside some old barn? Wouldn’t you want someone to help us?”

“Yeah,” Jamal said, “but they called us niggers, yo. I say the hell with them. They can rot, for all I care. You know what I’m saying?”

“True that,” Chris agreed. “All we were trying to do was help them.”

Dookie and Markus nodded.

Leo impatiently waved them off. “Man, they were scared. And it was only the one guy who called us that—the Poindexter-looking motherfucker. The others just ran away. In hindsight, I can’t say as I blame them. We were pretty pissed off after he called us that.”

“So why you want to help them?” Dookie asked.

“Because it’s the right thing to do. Don’t you get tired of people assuming we must be drug dealers, just because of where we live or how we look or dress? Don’t you get tired of not doing anything to change our situation? This is a chance to make a change—real change, not that bullshit the politicians go on and on about.”

Dookie and the others seemed to mull over Leo’s sentiments, but Markus was adamant. “I ain’t going inside no haunted house,” he said. “No way. Fuck that noise.”

“How do you know it’s haunted?” Leo challenged him. “You ever see a ghost peeking out the window at you? Ever hear chains rattling around and shit? No? Neither have I. And neither has anyone else that we know of. It’s like Mr. Watkins said—nobody really knows what happens in there. All we know is that we’re told to stay away from it because people who go inside don’t come back out. And usually it’s the crackheads or dope slingers or homeless people, and who gives a fuck if they disappear, right? Except that this time, it ain’t them. It’s somebody who will be missed. At the very least, when word gets out that those white kids went missing and the last folks they encountered was us, what do you think is going to happen? We’re going to be the number-one suspects.”

Markus stared at the cracked pavement, frowning with concentration. Leo could tell that his friend was thinking it over.

“Maybe you’re right,” Chris admitted, “but that don’t change the fact that we still don’t know what’s in there. Sure, maybe it ain’t ghosts, but what if it’s some serial killer motherfucker, like that crazy dude killing people on Interstate 83? You see him on the news?”

“Can’t be him,” Jamal said. “Interstate 83 is a long way away. Down near Maryland and shit.”

Markus glanced up and appeared confused. “I thought 83 was the one that runs up through State College?”

“No,” Jamal corrected, “That’s 81. Interstate 83 runs from Baltimore up to Harrisburg.”

“Would y’all shut up?” Leo glared at them. “We’re getting sidetracked here. The point is, you’re right, Chris. We don’t know what’s in there. And we should. This is where we live. It’s our responsibility to find out. Who knows? Maybe it’s something as simple as a rotten floor, and folks have been falling through over the years. Or maybe it is a serial killer. Fact is, we won’t ever know unless we go look. But first we need guns.”

Mr. Watkins’s eyes grew wide. His mouth fell open and his cigarette tumbled to the ground.

“Guns,” he sputtered. “What the hell do you need guns for?”

“If I’m going in there,” Leo said, his tone the same as he used when talking to his little brother, “then I’m going in strapped. I’m not stupid. If the cops ever bother to show up, you think they’re going to walk inside that house without their guns?”

Sighing, Mr. Watkins pulled out his crumpled pack of cigarettes, shook another one out, stuck it in his mouth, and then flicked his lighter. A moment later, he spat it out.

“Goddamn it, I lit the filter. Look what you made me do, talking all this nonsense about guns.”

Leo and the others said nothing. They simply watched him, waiting.

Mr. Watkins shook his head. “Listen. Let me call 911 one more time first. This time, I’ll report it as a fire. That should get them down here quicker.”

Leo eyed him doubtfully. Now that he’d decided on a course of action, he was eager to proceed. “How long’s that gonna take?”

Before Mr. Watkins could answer, Dookie interrupted. “Yo, I got it! Check this shit out. I know how to get them down here. We set the fucking house on fire. They’ll come in a hurry if we do that.”

Leo, Chris, Jamal, and Mr. Watkins stared at him without speaking. Markus reached out and slapped him hard on the back of his head.

“Owwww . . .” Pouting, Dookie rubbed his head and glared at his friend. “What the hell did you do that for?”

Markus slapped him again, softer this time. “We can’t set the house on fire, you stupid motherfucker. There’s people trapped inside of it. How we supposed to save them if the fucking thing is burning down?”

“Oh, yeah. Guess I didn’t think of that.”

“No shit.”

“You boys just wait here a minute.” Groaning, Mr. Watkins stood up and brushed off his pants. He went inside his house, and they waited. Leo heard him talking with Mrs. Watkins, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Judging by their tones, they were arguing about something. Then it grew quiet. A black Nissan with tinted windows and purple running lights rolled slowly past. The subwoofer in the car’s trunk rattled the windows of the nearby homes. It made a slow turn at the corner. The boys watched it fade from sight.

“You know what?” Dookie’s voice was low and thoughtful, and he looked up at the sky as he spoke. “I don’t want to die here.”

“We ain’t gonna die in there,” Jamal said. “We’re just gonna look around. Help those white kids out.”

“No, I don’t mean in there. I mean here, on this block. I don’t want to get all old and shit and never have gone farther than North Philly. Mr. Watkins was talking about the suburbs and stuff. I want to see it. Maybe it ain’t no different than here, but I want to find out for myself.”

None of the boys responded. Secretly, Leo harbored the same desires. He was positive that the rest of his friends did, as well. The farthest from home he’d ever been was six years ago, when he was ten. His mother had signed him and his brother up for a summer program, where inner-city kids went to live with a family out in the country for two weeks. Their adopted family, the Gracos, had been all right. Mr. Graco wrote comic books for a living, and his wife, Mara, was an insurance agent. They had two kids—Dane, who was Leo’s age, and Doug, who was about the age of Leo’s little brother. The Gracos lived in a big farm house with an even bigger yard, and lots of woods and fields around. It had scared Leo at first. He’d felt uncomfortable there, and although he had a good time that summer, he’d been grateful to return home. But sometimes, late at night, Leo would lie in bed and listen to the sounds of the city and think about that place so far out in the country and how quiet it had been. He wondered what it would be like to live there all the time, to not go through life scared, to not have to be constantly aware of his surroundings or worried about his loved ones. Of course, even people like the Graco family probably had things they were scared of. There were monsters everywhere. All you had to do was turn over their rocks, and you’d find them, hiding in the dark.

A few minutes later, Mr. Watkins emerged from his house. He had a plastic bag in one hand.

“Well?” Leo asked. “Did you call them again?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I called them alright.”

“What did they say?”

“They didn’t say anything. I couldn’t get through. All I got was a goddamned message telling me that all circuits were busy and I should try my call again later.”

“That’s fucked up,” Jamal said.

“Yes,” Mr. Watkins agreed, “it is.”

Leo turned away from them and faced the house at the end of the block. “Well, you all can do whatever you want. I’m going in.”

“We got to get some guns first,” Chris reminded him.

“Want to try Cheeto or Tawan? They can probably hook us up. Or maybe Terrell?”

“We’ll go see Terrell,” Leo said.

“You boys ain’t doing any such thing,” Mr. Watkins stepped down onto the sidewalk. The plastic bag rustled as he reached inside of it. Grinning, he pulled out his pistol. Then he handed the bag to Leo, who glanced inside and saw several flashlights.

“I’m going in there with you,” Mr. Watkins said, “and I’ll go first, because I’ve got the gun. The rest of you can carry the flashlights.”

“Well, shit,” Leo said, grinning, “why didn’t you say so?”

THIRTEEN

“Go,” Javier shouted. “Fucking run!”

Heather’s breath caught in her throat as Javier punched the nearest attacker in the jaw. He shook his hand, wincing in pain, as the creature crumpled to the floor. Javier leaped over the writhing beast and yelled, urging the girls to follow him. He lashed at another creature with the belt, trying to clear a path, and then dashed into the darkness. Heather ran, desperate to keep up with him. Javier seemed to have snapped. That cool self-assuredness that he’d displayed so far was gone. His actions now were frantic. Manic. He shouted again, this time in Spanish.

He’s afraid, she thought. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to abandon us down here. He wouldn’t dare. He loves me. He wouldn’t leave me behind. He wouldn’t leave Kerri, either.

Heather bit her lip. Despite the immediate danger looming on all sides, she couldn’t help wondering whether Javier had feelings for Kerri. They’d spent time alone together in the aftermath of Tyler and Stephanie’s death, while Heather was hiding. And when they’d all found each other again, Kerri and Javier seemed closer somehow. Was it her imagination, or had something happened?

Javier shouted a third time, but Heather couldn’t understand what he said. She couldn’t even tell whether it was English or Spanish. She could barely hear him over the enraged and excited chatter of their foes. The bizarre howls had been replaced with guttural growls and grunts. Most surprisingly, a few of them spoke. The things they said were somehow more terrifying than their appearance. They promised the teens a multitude of mutilation and torture and deviancy once they’d caught them.

Heather had no intention of letting that happen. She ran, not glancing over her shoulder to see if Kerri and Brett were following. It sounded like there was a struggle taking place behind her. She heard Brett screaming. Then his cries turned to one long, extended wail that was suddenly cut short. Heather plunged ahead, narrowly avoiding the grasping hands of one of the freaks.

Long, ragged nails scratched at her skin, slicing into her shoulder. She shrugged them away and kept running.

“Get them,” one of the cellar’s inhabitants screeched.

“Don’t let them get away.”

“They’re fast,” another called. “My legs aren’t as long as theirs.”

“You won’t have any fucking legs if you let them get away, ’cause we’ll eat those instead.”

An impossibly obese hulk loomed over her, wheezing with exertion. Heather dodged it easily, but not before glimpsing two pale, ponderous breasts swaying amidst mounds of sweaty, jiggling flesh. It was female—and naked. The woman reached for her with cold, clammy hands. Her skin had the consistency of wax. Heather shuddered in revulsion.

“Javier? Where are you?”

In response, something tittered in the darkness.

“Here,” he called, his voice distant. “Heather?”

Another mutant lunged for her as she followed Javier’s voice, realizing too late that she was fleeing right into the midst of their attackers. Heather was out of range of the kitchen lights now, but the thing was close enough that she could make out some of its features, even in the darkness. It had a face and snout like a baboon, and its short, squat body was mostly hairless. Its eyes were definitely human, and they smoldered with rage. She darted to the left, out of reach of her pursuer, and then dodged to the right again. Her heart pounded in her chest. She breathed through her mouth to avoid the stench roiling off the creatures.

She thought she heard the belt crack up ahead, followed by a cry of pain. Heather ran in that direction, determined not to get separated from Javier. The ground was uneven and sloped downward. Even in the darkness, she could feel the descent increasing drastically. She winced as what felt like sharp, jagged stones poked her bare feet, but she shoved past the pain, not daring to slow down.

The sounds slowly dimmed, then ceased, but she kept running. She had no way of knowing whether she was still being chased. This part of the basement—if she was even still in the basement—was pitch-black, and she didn’t want to risk stopping to pull out her cell phone. She heard no footsteps behind her, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t still there, lurking, waiting to attack. Without stopping, Heather instinctively glanced over her shoulder, forgetting that she probably wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway. As she did, her foot came down in something wet, and she slipped, bouncing off a wall. Her hands shot out to break her fall, and sharp rocks sliced into her palms. Sitting up, Heather gasped, but managed not to scream.

She crouched there, cradling her hands in her lap. She could feel her blood trickling down her palms but couldn’t tell how bad the cuts were. She wondered if her feet were lacerated as well. They hurt, but she didn’t know whether that was from the earlier wounds or brand-new ones. She didn’t know how badly she was injured. She didn’t know where her boyfriend or her friends were. She didn’t know where her pursuers were. All Heather knew was that she was suddenly alone in the darkness.

“Javier?” she whispered, her voice quavering. “Kerri?”

There was no answer from either. Heather stood and listened, but the only sound she heard was her own harsh breathing. If Javier or Kerri were still nearby, then they were unwilling—or unable—to respond. She glanced around in the darkness, no longer sure of where she was or which direction she’d come from. She’d lost her bearings during her tumble. Far off in the distance, she spotted a tiny dot of illumination, and after a moment, she determined that it was the kitchen lights shining down into the basement. But it was so far away—as if the cellar were larger than the house above it. Maybe it was. Or maybe she’d run into a cave attached to the basement or something. She couldn’t tell. Her hands began to burn. Deciding to risk it, Heather fumbled for her cell phone, intent on at least examining her wounds. She patted her pockets, felt the reassuring bulge of the tiny cell phone, but then decided against using it, after all. What if one of the killers heard it or saw it? Darkness and silence were preferable to that.

“Kerri?”

Nothing.

Pouting, Heather tried to figure out what to do next. She couldn’t stay where she was, no matter how strong her urge was to curl up into a ball and just hide herself away. In the darkness, she had nothing but her hands and her sense of hearing to guide her. Both seemed useless right now. She couldn’t risk using the phone, so what did that leave her with? She patted the floor, wincing in pain as her cuts brushed against the rough surface. Eventually she located the wall and pressed herself against it. The cold, clammy surface felt good against her skin. She rested there, catching her breath and weighing her options again. Javier and Kerri had to be somewhere up ahead. They had to be, because the alternative was far too terrifying to consider. What if Javier had left her here? What if Kerri had wound up with Brett when whatever had happened to him back there in the darkness—something dreadful, by the sound of it—occurred?

What the hell would she do if everyone else was dead?

Somewhere off to her right, she heard a slight scuffling noise.

“Javier,” she tried again. “Is that you?”

This time she got a response.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty . . .”

The voice didn’t belong to Javier. Indeed, it barely sounded like it belonged to anything human. It was harsh and ragged, the words slurred, and there was an unmistakable hint of maniacal glee in the tones. Heather covered her mouth with her hands and tried not to make any noise. Despite her best efforts, a pitiful whine slipped past her lips and fingers.

“It’s okay, kitty,” the thing in the dark responded. “Come on, now. If you come out now, I’ll twist off your head and make it real quick, so you don’t feel it when we eat you.”

The voice sounded like it was all around her. Heather crouched low to the floor, ignoring the pain in her hands, and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths and remaining motionless. She inhaled, exhaled, and forced herself to calm down. A few more breaths and she was clearheaded again—still terrified, but not paralyzed by fear.

She heard shuffling footsteps, as if the hunter was dragging one foot. It was coming from her left. Then she heard the belt crack. It sounded very loud in the darkness. Her spirits soared. It was Javier. She knew he wouldn’t abandon her.