Whispers From The Dark by Bryan Hall Page B

was clearing somewhat now, he was able to clearly see objects a few feet from him: the remains of the chair scattered on the floor, the baseball bat the man had discarded earlier, his own arms and hands.  But more importantly, he could see stairs leading up and out of this hell, beckoning for him from twenty feet or so away.
    The man’s voice was pained now, panicked.  “But I want her back!  My money!”
    “That is not my concern,” the swarm responded.
    “Well what the fuck is your concern?”  The man screamed.  “I brought you here, I called for you, I gave you what I was supposed to, goddamn it!”
    Agony coursing through his battered body, Rick grabbed the bat and leaned against the wall with his shoulder, sliding up it until he was standing.  He took a deep breath and forced himself to look toward the source of the conversation.
    His vision still wouldn’t allow him to make out the smaller details, but Rick could see enough to know that that was something to be thankful for.
    The homeowner was on his knees, staring up at a huge dark shape that spanned floor to ceiling.  It wasn’t human in shape; Rick could see no single arm or leg to speak of.
    But even through his still blurred vision, he could see that it was pulsating.
    Squirming.
    And as it did, tendrils slithered out and then back into it, sometimes only one appendage emerging from its ever-writhing body, sometimes a dozen.  It was like a giant mass of worms or snakes all formed together to make this beast that had been called forth tonight.
    Neither the homeowner nor the shape seemed to notice Rick as he crept towards the steps, still leaning against the wall for support.
    “You think a few fingers deserves what you ask for?”  The swarming voice asked.
    “Yes, damn it, I do!  And what about the man--”
    “He was nothing.  He was mine anyway.”
    “There’s another,” the man pleaded.
    He turned his attention to where Rick had been tied and released a panicked whimper before scanning the basement.  As soon as the man’s eyes found his prey he leaped into action, making his way across the room in a half-run, half-walk.
    A mere ten feet from the base of the staircase, Rick turned to face his attacker.  The man was scowling, staring at Rick with contempt.  His right hand was outstretched, brandishing a blood-soaked knife. Rick glanced to the man’s other hand and saw that three of the fingers were gone, blood pouring from the stumps where they had been.
    Either the man didn’t notice the baseball bat or he didn’t think that it posed a threat, because he made no effort to dodge or block it as Rick swung it towards his head.
    The weapon connected with a crack that echoed off the cinder block walls like a gunshot, the left side of the homeowner’s face caving into his head as he dropped to the floor. 
    The stinking, squirming thing sprang into motion.  It lurched towards Rick, moving nowhere near as quickly as the man who had summoned it.
    Rick flung the bat toward the charging beast and watched as the bat disappeared into the creature, absorbed into its writhing mass like a sponge soaking up water.  He pushed off the wall and stumbled across the floor, falling onto the stairs. 
    Surprisingly, it was easier for Rick to crawl up the stairs than it had been to walk to them, and he was over halfway to the top by the time the thing reached their base.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw three of the worm-like tendrils emerging from the creature, snaking their way up the steps towards him.  The room filled with the sound of a million swarming insects.
    He reached the top of the stairs and threw open the wooden door, looking over his shoulder to see the writhing mass struggling up behind him, its hideous body still close to the base of the steps but its tentacles mere inches from his foot.
    Rick passed through the doorway, pulling himself to his feet as he did so.  He stumbled down a long hallway and into the living room.  The