The Depths

Part 4

He began to feel a lovely, warm heat on the left side of his body. His bloody tears rolled down the side of his red-stained face, as he gradually noticed the change in temperature. He pondered if the heat was coming from heaven, but quickly changed his mind as it grew hotter and hotter. He was slowly descending into hell. He finally mustered the strength to turn his face toward the feeling, and saw it. That damn, cursed stone.

The stone that had shattered the window closest to his bed had the same immaculate shape and ring designs on it as the original. He saw it in intricate detail, as it was illuminated by the ever growing flame in the kitchen. It was stuck in the shack's wall, having crashed through the door of the liquor cupboard and shattered it's contents, spilling the concoction of cheap whiskey onto the nearly extinguished flame in the heavy iron stove. The flames had engulfed the entire kitchen.

The mere seconds in which the events had just taken place seemed to last an eternity. Smoke filled the shack, and he realized that he would die if he stayed any longer. His fear, aided by adrenaline, finally overpowered the pain, and he stood, pulled his raincoat from the rack next to his bed, and staggered toward the door, directly next to the conflagrant kitchen.

He fell to his knees less than a meter away from the door. The glass embedded just above his right knee, combined with his sudden, violent movements, had shorn through the feeble quadriceps in his right leg. It was a strange feeling, he thought, as the adrenaline numbed every sensation in his body, yet he could feel the muscle separate as if he had just cut a strand of rope. He attempted to stand, but fell again. He instinctively placed his hands on the wooden floor to steady himself, and felt the skin of his right fingers and palm burn and bubble as he placed it directly into the growing fire.

He didn't care about his hand. He didn't care about his leg. He didn't feel any pain. He needed to escape this burning hell. He crawled painfully to the door, and placed his wounded hand on the knob. It was still cool, despite the inferno raging less than a foot away. He turned it, pushed slightly forward, and the hurricane winds caught the door and threw it open. He heard the window shatter. The noise of the glass breaking filled him with repulsion.

He crawled out of the inferno into the cool rain. He glanced back inside, and realized just how badly he was bleeding; the entire path he had crawled to his escape had been outlined in a thick coat of crimson. He collapsed, and rolled onto his back. The rain fell harshly onto his body, but the cool moisture felt much better than the hellish heat he had just endured. Suddenly his eyes sprang open, as he came to a horrible realization.

Something had thrown the stone through the window, with force alike that of a cannonball. And he saw its silhouette, crouching twenty yards from his prostrate position. It was staring at him.