This Was A Bad Idea

Chapter 8 - Sam

She wrenches her hand free, her whole arm visibly shaking.

It's like someone just stabbed her, the sudden change completely overriding the sarcastic yet kind demeanor she's usually swathed in.

I look closer, eyes widening. Dark strands stain her fingertips, like inky veins running beneath the fragile skin. Her lips crack open in a wordless scream.

"Shit, Sam!" Elliot yells, almost dropping his phone as he scrambles over to her. He brings a hand out to grab her shoulder but she pulls herself backwards.

"No- don't touch me!" Her voice is strained with fear, lacquered with pain. Something's hurting her. Her face contorted in agony, something stinging her deep within her skin that we can't see. Her dark skin flushes ashen in the twilight. Elliot's flashlight is aimed at her, highlighting her trembling body, the frantic swerve of her eyes in their sunken sockets.

"Sam, are you okay?" I stammer.

"Don't touch it!" She practically snarls.

"Sam-" I try to say, the words catching in my throat. I swallow hard. "It's okay, hey. Look at me. Breathe. We're gonna get you out of here. Come on, just....." My voice tapers off. I can't come up with anything that can possibly calm her.

This isn't a panic attack or a nervous breakdown, it's something much worse. Something dark and unearthly that no one but her can feel. My eyes flicker towards the still-growing mass of dark black strands still staining the walls. Some sort of plant? A chemical?

It did something to her. I glance over at the expanding threads. It looks like it holds some sort of substance, a volume too thick to be a liquid but not spongy enough to take the shape of moss or a plant.

There's a dark crunching sound behind me, an ear splitting creak of stone that sounds like a neck being broken. Sam's frantic disposition only increases, desperation ebbing in each movement.

"You. Need to. Leave!" She screams, each word wrenching painfully out of her like they're leaden in her mouth. Her movements are erratic, reduced to a series of spasms that she can't seem to control. Another sharp crunch splits the air.

I whip my head backwards. A thick line of sweat beads on the back of my neck and I can feel a drop of it slip down the curve of my spine. The back wall, the wall that supposedly held the locks and the fence- is now pitted with thick cracks that definitely weren't there before.

The sound of concrete crumbling apart splits through the air, covering up the sound of Sam's frantic breaths. Another sound is there too, a deep undertone of something that sends a chill curling through my entire body.

A thousand needle pricks shoot down my arms, the back of my neck. I feel something brush over me, like a hard fist pressing against my throat.

A sweep of agony wraps around my skull like a vise. It's subtle, like the thin brush of pain after you knock an elbow against a doorframe. It beats in time to my heart, a tiny metronome. My arms give a sharp spasm.

All of a sudden, my skin is reeling with an itch that seems to come from underneath my bones. Threads of black sheep underneath my skin, like ugly veins protruding through paper-thin flesh. They crack in fissures looking like someone injected my veins with ink. They crawl up my arms, the thin black lines threading through me like beads of water. I can feel something gnawing at the back of my head, a sharp overpowering fear that almost drives me into a hyperventilating lump on the cold floor.

"Oh god...." I murmur. My lips feel swollen, my mouth lined with sandpaper.

"Orion, are you okay?" I can hear Elliot ask.