The Depths

Part 6

His heard his joints painfully crack as he attempted to climb faster. He felt his lower legs limply flail behind him as he ascended on his left hand and knees. He had only eleven steps between himself and his sanctuary. He could lock himself in the lamp room, barricade the trapdoor, and... He didn't know. He couldn't afford to stop and contemplate his situation, to try to think of a way out. He was going to die either way. He knew it. But even bleeding to death in a locked room seemed to be a preferable alternative to being killed by the thing which was now ascending the stairs.

Four steps. He glanced up, and froze in his tracks for a second, mesmerized by the slowly revolving light that shone through the cracks in the floorboards above. He heard the heavy footfalls accelerate in frequency. He noticed a change in the odor that was hanging in the air; the scent of saltwater and rotting wood mixed with blood now mingled with a peculiar olfactory sensation similar to that of fish.

As he clambered up the final steps and reached for the lowest rung of the iron ladder, he came to the realization that his right eye had ceased to function due to the significant damage which had been inflicted upon it. He silently sobbed as he ascended the iron ladder. He heard the staccato footsteps accelerate as they pounded on the iron steps, growing ever nearer.

He grasped the iron bars as he attempted to climb higher. His right hand was all but useless, and he stood on his knees in a feeble attempt to support himself. He reached as high as he could, and felt the tips of his fingers brush against the wooden deck above. He finally noticed that some sensation had returned to his right arm, and cried out as the pain returned. He pulled himself higher on the ladder, using his limp legs as weak supports. The footsteps grew louder and louder. He grasped the rusty key hanging on the iron ring embedded on the wall directly to the left of the ladder. He inserted it into the keyhole below the trapdoor's iron handle. He rotated the key. He turned the handle and pushed it with as much force as he could muster. The door rose slowly upward, and fell open with a crash.

Tears of joy stung his left eye. He couldn't feel the right one anymore. Using a strength he didn't recognize, he rapidly ascended the iron ladder. He pulled himself up, sat on the edge of the opening in the deck, and glanced down. He saw the shadow ascending the staircase faster than any man possibly could. He was filled with mirth, at the thought of escaping this thing which had plagued him so, and terror, at the otherworldly thing which he was watching close in on him. He lifted the wooden trapdoor with a great effort, pulled his legs up, and slammed it down.

He sat for a second. In the brilliant, intense light of the lighthouse's lamp, he saw his clothes, skin, and surroundings had been dyed red. He had lost too much blood. He was afraid. Then he felt something, like it was calling him. He looked deeply into the lamp. He felt it's warm, soothing light. It was immaculate. In his cold, dark world, he suddenly felt as if he was far from any danger. He wanted to do nothing but stare into the wonderful light. He felt himself drifting off.

The intense pain returned fully to his arm and neck, rousing him from his catatonic state. He screamed in agony as he felt the excruciating pain and remembered his horrible situation. He reached to lock the trapdoor, and realized that he hadn't retrieved the key from its outer lock.

His eyes widened in absolute horror as he realized what he had just failed to do. He could still hear it coming up the stairs. He still had time. He lifted the door open and saw it ascend the final steps. It's hand shot toward him like a spear. He slammed the door as fast as he could. The crash seemed to be muffled. He breathed a sight of relief, and felt safe once again in the comfort of the light. He smiled and guffawed as he came to a realization.

"I dunno wha' the 'ell ive been so scared of! Yeh stupid fuckin thing, yeh can't even figure out how ter work a latch! I don' need tah lock it! Yeh had tah smash windows ter get into m'house, yeh can't work a damned doorknob!" He chortled drunkenly. He felt a strange tingle in his left leg, but he didn't care. A thought crossed his mind, and he began reaching for anything that could barricade the door, in case the thing threw another one of its damned stones through the door. He saw a stack of old crates a yard away, and stood to reach it. He fell back, as if his leg was caught on something. He looked down and saw its hand.

In the lamp's brilliant light, he saw it perfectly. It was a grayish blue, with speckles of red spattered across it. It's four fingers were unnaturally long, and each was capped with a vicious claw. They had been leisurely slicing through his flesh as he had been talking to himself. The wounds continued from the top of his thigh, all the way down to his knee. He felt the claws click against his kneecap, and plunge deeper. It deliberately gripped his feeble bones. He felt his femur fracture under the incredible pressure being applied by the hand.

The trapdoor had been slammed on its wrist. It began to pull.