YAWP: A Collection of Short Stories

Something Ugly

October 9, 2017

I remember hearing once that fear doesn't exist. Not really. Fear is something you create in your thoughts to plague you at the worst of times. I can't remember exactly who told me this, but I always associate those phrases with a memory of my mother. I was crying. I was always something ugly when I cried. Salt tears trickled down scarlet, puffy cheeks and from my chin. A wad of cotton blocked the airway in my throat and I gagged as heart-wrenching sobs racked my chest. I was seven years old. At that point, they hadn't even begun to lower the coffin into the ground. I felt the cool pads of her fingers brush a glistening tear from my skin. Her warm brown eyes were like pools of amber as her hands cupped my face.

I remember her voice was soft and distorted to my ears like the voices of actors on a black and white movie projector. Earlier that night, I had crawled from my bedpost until my toes curled on the soft carpet, treading lightly across the wood panels when I reached the hallway. I had meant to open the door to my mother's room, the towering stretch of white that looked intimidating in the dark. My small hands grasped the chilled bronze of the door handle, opening to a dark descent into nothing. I knew they were stairs, but I wasn't quite sure how they got there. I was sure the door I was opening to my mom's bedroom. But the shadows that ensconced the short drop weren't as inviting as the dusty upholstery that usually welcomed me.

I swallowed, apprehension rising in the base of my spine. I twisted my fingers together and stole a glance behind me. The hallway I had come from was just as dark. Suddenly, the creeping shadows that followed were more formidable than what lay ahead. Without thinking, I plunged into the darkness below, not stopping to think about whether this may not be my mother's room after all. In the sudden pitch black of the room I had entered, my hands clawed at the smooth walls for a light switch, knowing well enough there would be a source of light in this dank, musty place. When this bore no fruit, my hands fumbled in empty air until they closed around a cool metal chain. The light flickered dully before the entirety of the room was illuminated. My breath came in out gasps, nothing more than short puffs of air in the chill of the basement when I first saw them.

They were everywhere.

They oozed on the roughhewn floor. They crawled across the surface of the washer and dryer and their spikes cracked when they struck the metal poles. Some hung from the rafters above, spiderwebs melting into the slime that seeped from their skin. They were monsters. There may have been a hundred of them, for all I knew. They crept from the shadows, some left behind trails of slime and decayed skin. There was one creature near the stairs, curling its tentacles over the railing, one at a time, leaving a viscous residue in its wake. Another monstrosity sat in the corner of the room, half-enveloped in shadow. Even so, I could see a mouth filled beyond capacity with sharp teeth, as long and thin as needles. They glinted when the monster shifted into the light of the bulb. Pores erupted from the skin of one with webbed fins on the crest of its head. Another had skin that sloughed off as it dragged its body across rough stone.

I was frozen in place, my bare feet rooted to the concrete floor. I could hear the blood roaring in my ears and a distant alarm going off in the back of my head, telling me the logical course of action would be to run. But I could do nothing but stand still, my fingers barely even twitching at my sides. And then, I blinked. Suddenly, the monsters were surrounding me. I had a sudden intake of breath, panic rising in my chest as I opened my mouth to scream. And then, I felt something cool drip onto the nape of my neck. Ever so slowly, I tilted my head back to look above me, taking in the sight of a creature with a pale pallor, like that of a slug, suspended in the rafters. Another drop of slime landed on my forehead and it was then that, as my mouth gaped open in horror, I began to scream. I screamed and screamed, a guttural screech from the depths of my throat.

My legs finally regained feeling, the numbness being replaced by warmth. I dashed to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. There was a split second when I risked a glance behind me to glimpse the positions of those horrible things. In the swirling light from the cracked door ahead and the dust motes floating in the stale air, there wasn't a monster in sight.