Read Online Fires Rising by Michael Laimo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Laimo
Tags: Horror
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crash, closing out the weak splay of light seeping in from the hallway...and his ability to see the creature.
Timothy, having remained impossibly quiet to this moment, screamed bloody terror in the dark. He turned and began kicking and flailing against the wall. Jyro pointed the penlight at him, and the boy shrieked at him, "Get me out of here!"
"Over here!" Jyro pulled the beam away from Timothy and aimed it at the door. He managed to grab hold of the knob, but it wouldn't budge. He banged the door. Timothy stumbled over and did the same, their arms and fists colliding roughly. Jyro could hear the shouts of the others in the hallway. Someone outside was attempting the doorknob, but to no good use.
The thing behind them turned out a monstrous croak, startling immediate silence into them. They ceased pounding on the door and cowered against it, listening helplessly to the ensuing squelching noises the thing was making.
Jyro looked over his shoulder. He threw the penlight's beam at it. The shadows the thing made melted and moved behind it: an utter abomination, seven feet of writhing, sputtering feces anchored from floor to ceiling, its surface roiling and shifting as various shapes took hold of it, deformed human hands and animal legs and claws, bestial faces emerging to scream only to melt back into its dark, jagged bulk. It seemed not formed of anything wholly solid, but vacillated amoeba-like, spitting hunks of itself onto the walls and floor that swiftly surged back into its massive collective like water being propelled by air.
"What is it!" Timothy screamed, shoving back against the door, tears bursting from his eyes. Jyro felt the boy trembling alongside him, offering his own sheer terror no comfort at all.
As if responding to the boy's voice, the thing jerked toward him, its repositioning midsection bending sideways and showing signs of an apelike face within. Somewhere deep inside its churning mass, a series of bellowing snorts surfaced, like those of an angry bull.
Jyro and Timothy huddled against one another, wobbly with terror.
"You're not real!" Timothy shrieked, shoving back against the door. "You…can't…be!" The thing swayed back and forth like seaweed in the ocean and coughed a storm of foul matter across the small tiled room. The severed pieces throbbed like little hearts and rolled back into the bulk like drops of mercury returning to a silver pool.
Seeing no alternative but to seek out God for assistance, Jyro began to pray: "Be gone, foul creature, to hell from where you came!"
From above came a ghastly sucking sound. Jyro pointed the penlight overhead and saw root like tentacles of sludge writhing and twisting across the ceiling. They moved to a point just above their heads, then separated from the ceiling and wriggled down towards them. Jyro could see ridges on the pale underbelly of one, like those on a snake.
Jyro and Timothy screamed, "No! No!" They hunkered down, jerking their gazes about the dark room in an attempt to defy what they had already come to know: that unless they got the door open, there'd be no getting the hell out of there.
Again they slammed the door with their fists, screaming in desperation, " Help us please! Help! Get us out of here!" The doorknob shook back and forth, but the door itself remained impenetrable.
The tentacles continued their downward approach. Timothy tore away from Jyro and slid on his knees across the wet tiles. Jyro shouted, "No!", fell to his knees and grabbed the boy's belt.
A tentacle slithered around Timothy's waist. The tip of it, soft and wet, brushed against Jyro's hand. He screamed and let go of the boy.
Dear God, help us…
Timothy looked down and saw what had him. His eyes swelled. He kicked and flailed. "Ahhh! Get it off! Get it off!"
"Oh Jesus, no," Jyro cried.
They fell from the ceiling like vines—a forest of winding root-like things ringing around Timothy's arms and legs, leaving dirty wet trails on his clothing. The boy
Timothy, having remained impossibly quiet to this moment, screamed bloody terror in the dark. He turned and began kicking and flailing against the wall. Jyro pointed the penlight at him, and the boy shrieked at him, "Get me out of here!"
"Over here!" Jyro pulled the beam away from Timothy and aimed it at the door. He managed to grab hold of the knob, but it wouldn't budge. He banged the door. Timothy stumbled over and did the same, their arms and fists colliding roughly. Jyro could hear the shouts of the others in the hallway. Someone outside was attempting the doorknob, but to no good use.
The thing behind them turned out a monstrous croak, startling immediate silence into them. They ceased pounding on the door and cowered against it, listening helplessly to the ensuing squelching noises the thing was making.
Jyro looked over his shoulder. He threw the penlight's beam at it. The shadows the thing made melted and moved behind it: an utter abomination, seven feet of writhing, sputtering feces anchored from floor to ceiling, its surface roiling and shifting as various shapes took hold of it, deformed human hands and animal legs and claws, bestial faces emerging to scream only to melt back into its dark, jagged bulk. It seemed not formed of anything wholly solid, but vacillated amoeba-like, spitting hunks of itself onto the walls and floor that swiftly surged back into its massive collective like water being propelled by air.
"What is it!" Timothy screamed, shoving back against the door, tears bursting from his eyes. Jyro felt the boy trembling alongside him, offering his own sheer terror no comfort at all.
As if responding to the boy's voice, the thing jerked toward him, its repositioning midsection bending sideways and showing signs of an apelike face within. Somewhere deep inside its churning mass, a series of bellowing snorts surfaced, like those of an angry bull.
Jyro and Timothy huddled against one another, wobbly with terror.
"You're not real!" Timothy shrieked, shoving back against the door. "You…can't…be!" The thing swayed back and forth like seaweed in the ocean and coughed a storm of foul matter across the small tiled room. The severed pieces throbbed like little hearts and rolled back into the bulk like drops of mercury returning to a silver pool.
Seeing no alternative but to seek out God for assistance, Jyro began to pray: "Be gone, foul creature, to hell from where you came!"
From above came a ghastly sucking sound. Jyro pointed the penlight overhead and saw root like tentacles of sludge writhing and twisting across the ceiling. They moved to a point just above their heads, then separated from the ceiling and wriggled down towards them. Jyro could see ridges on the pale underbelly of one, like those on a snake.
Jyro and Timothy screamed, "No! No!" They hunkered down, jerking their gazes about the dark room in an attempt to defy what they had already come to know: that unless they got the door open, there'd be no getting the hell out of there.
Again they slammed the door with their fists, screaming in desperation, " Help us please! Help! Get us out of here!" The doorknob shook back and forth, but the door itself remained impenetrable.
The tentacles continued their downward approach. Timothy tore away from Jyro and slid on his knees across the wet tiles. Jyro shouted, "No!", fell to his knees and grabbed the boy's belt.
A tentacle slithered around Timothy's waist. The tip of it, soft and wet, brushed against Jyro's hand. He screamed and let go of the boy.
Dear God, help us…
Timothy looked down and saw what had him. His eyes swelled. He kicked and flailed. "Ahhh! Get it off! Get it off!"
"Oh Jesus, no," Jyro cried.
They fell from the ceiling like vines—a forest of winding root-like things ringing around Timothy's arms and legs, leaving dirty wet trails on his clothing. The boy
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