the future you’ll be much more cooperative, but rest assured that we can do this every time if we have to.” He smiles again, and they begin to file out. “The sedative will likely kick in very quickly—sleep well, and I’ll see you again in the morning.”
They turn out the lights, but I can see dim shapes and outlines from the faint illumination down the hall. I sit in bed, panting, trying to decide what to do, but there’s nothing—I’m trapped, physically and mentally. I can already feel my head grow heavier as the sedative goes to work. I scream. The world dims.
There’s a shuffling sound from the hall; a thick, wet slapping, like a mop. A snuffling, slurping sound. I fight the sedation and lift my head, forcing my eyes to focus on the door, and a low shadow coalesces into a solid form—slick white skin reflecting the distant lights from the end of the hall. It turns at the door, a translucent membrane stretched tight over grotesque muscles—a giant white worm, like a maggot or a grub, almost two feet thick and stretching far back into the hall. Its head is a horrid ring of teeth and slime, more of a hole than a mouth; it raises up, as if tasting the air; I hold my breath, still as stone, helpless in my restraints. Will it come in or move on? My eyes are dimming. The thing crawls into the room, wriggling horridly, and I fight to stay awake. Do I scream? I don’t think I can; my throat feels thick and heavy.
The thing gets closer. My head buzzes and deforms; my eyes tear and burn and blacken. I can hear it inching closer, slick skin slapping the floor.
Then I hear nothing.
TEN
DARKNESS. SILENCE. ALL SENSE IS GONE , replaced with something else—some kind of deeper feeling, a knowing. The Earth shifts and groans; currents of energy ripple and flow. I am free and trapped at once. I am ancient and powerful, a thing beyond time. But I have nowhere to go, and nowhere left to hide.
Sound is the first to return, a deep, distant reverberation. I plunge into it like an ocean, hearing for the very first time, exploring each new sound, but too quickly the sounds grow harsh and violent—high shrieks, piercing cracks, unintelligible howls of mindless, braying beasts. Physical sensations come next, heat and cold and pressure, pokes and jabs and scrapes and scratches that threaten to tear me apart. What are they doing to me? Before the question has time to form I’m assaulted by sight—burning lights and waves of devastating color. I receive sight merely to be blinded. I blink at the pain and realize I have something to blink. Where am I? What am I doing?
I am being squeezed into a ball. The world bites me with jagged teeth. I have become …
I’m in a cave—a deep, dark pit. I will rise up and come into a world of … of empty houses. Long streets of nothing, of hollow homes where no one lives. I struggle to open my eyes, bracing myself for the shock of light, and through my tears a wall swims into view—gray and bare. That’s not right. It should be wood. I’m in a room, tied to a bed. I’m in a … What’s the word? Hospital. I’m in a hospital.
My name is Michael Shipman. I’m in Powell Psychiatric. I am hurt and tired and cold.
Dr. Little—I remember the name now—gave me some kind of drug. Sero … something. Serotonin? Somebody said that word. My own thoughts assault me, pushing through my brain like blood through swollen muscle. I try to grab my head, but my arms are tied. There was something in here, something I was afraid of—
I jerk back in a spasm of fear, remembering the giant maggot. I look desperately at my body, patting my legs and stomach where I can reach, searching for some sign of its passage; bite marks or slime trails or anything else. I look wildly around the room, but there’s nothing there. Is it behind me? Under the bed? I strain at the straps on my arms, craning my neck to see around the edges of the bed, but there’s nothing to see. It’s gone. I have no idea
They turn out the lights, but I can see dim shapes and outlines from the faint illumination down the hall. I sit in bed, panting, trying to decide what to do, but there’s nothing—I’m trapped, physically and mentally. I can already feel my head grow heavier as the sedative goes to work. I scream. The world dims.
There’s a shuffling sound from the hall; a thick, wet slapping, like a mop. A snuffling, slurping sound. I fight the sedation and lift my head, forcing my eyes to focus on the door, and a low shadow coalesces into a solid form—slick white skin reflecting the distant lights from the end of the hall. It turns at the door, a translucent membrane stretched tight over grotesque muscles—a giant white worm, like a maggot or a grub, almost two feet thick and stretching far back into the hall. Its head is a horrid ring of teeth and slime, more of a hole than a mouth; it raises up, as if tasting the air; I hold my breath, still as stone, helpless in my restraints. Will it come in or move on? My eyes are dimming. The thing crawls into the room, wriggling horridly, and I fight to stay awake. Do I scream? I don’t think I can; my throat feels thick and heavy.
The thing gets closer. My head buzzes and deforms; my eyes tear and burn and blacken. I can hear it inching closer, slick skin slapping the floor.
Then I hear nothing.
TEN
DARKNESS. SILENCE. ALL SENSE IS GONE , replaced with something else—some kind of deeper feeling, a knowing. The Earth shifts and groans; currents of energy ripple and flow. I am free and trapped at once. I am ancient and powerful, a thing beyond time. But I have nowhere to go, and nowhere left to hide.
Sound is the first to return, a deep, distant reverberation. I plunge into it like an ocean, hearing for the very first time, exploring each new sound, but too quickly the sounds grow harsh and violent—high shrieks, piercing cracks, unintelligible howls of mindless, braying beasts. Physical sensations come next, heat and cold and pressure, pokes and jabs and scrapes and scratches that threaten to tear me apart. What are they doing to me? Before the question has time to form I’m assaulted by sight—burning lights and waves of devastating color. I receive sight merely to be blinded. I blink at the pain and realize I have something to blink. Where am I? What am I doing?
I am being squeezed into a ball. The world bites me with jagged teeth. I have become …
I’m in a cave—a deep, dark pit. I will rise up and come into a world of … of empty houses. Long streets of nothing, of hollow homes where no one lives. I struggle to open my eyes, bracing myself for the shock of light, and through my tears a wall swims into view—gray and bare. That’s not right. It should be wood. I’m in a room, tied to a bed. I’m in a … What’s the word? Hospital. I’m in a hospital.
My name is Michael Shipman. I’m in Powell Psychiatric. I am hurt and tired and cold.
Dr. Little—I remember the name now—gave me some kind of drug. Sero … something. Serotonin? Somebody said that word. My own thoughts assault me, pushing through my brain like blood through swollen muscle. I try to grab my head, but my arms are tied. There was something in here, something I was afraid of—
I jerk back in a spasm of fear, remembering the giant maggot. I look desperately at my body, patting my legs and stomach where I can reach, searching for some sign of its passage; bite marks or slime trails or anything else. I look wildly around the room, but there’s nothing there. Is it behind me? Under the bed? I strain at the straps on my arms, craning my neck to see around the edges of the bed, but there’s nothing to see. It’s gone. I have no idea
Similar Books
