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Writer
Join Date: Sep 2004
Location: MI/USA
Posts: 32
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Incapacitated
This story is included in my soon-to-be-released collection of short stories. The book is called "Book of Bones - Chilling Tales of Horror and Suspense." Feedback is most welcome.
Incapacitated
By Paul Benvin
At first there was only darkness, bitter and unrelenting. Then slowly, like a stomach-churning carnival ride, the dizzying effect of what had just transpired began to take hold. Upon emerging from the cold and lonely confines of his own mind, John would soon wish he never woke up at all.
Just a few minutes before, he had been applying the final coat of paint to the once broken and decrepit rigging of the boiler. For years the community center he worked at was falling apart, and now, only weeks from being demolished to make room for the new center – one that apparently was costing the taxpayers a whopping thirty million dollars – he was forced to make repairs. It didn’t make much sense to him, but John was never one for confrontation. His boss Stanley, a bitter and lonely old man that looked much older than his sixty years, once told him that he was not the stand up type. John wanted to argue with that, but after mulling it over decided that it was in fact true. He never saw much point to quarrelling and bickering over mundane things. So, when he was told to come down here and get to work, he did what he was told. It was, after all, his job.
John whistled as he made his way down the damp stairs that led to the boiler room. In one hand he held a Mag-Lite flashlight, and slung over his other shoulder he carried a ladder. It looked like it had been around since the opening of this place – some forty years ago. The rungs were loose and a few screws were missing, but since there was no other means of transporting his body skyward, this one would have to do. As he neared the bottom of the steps, with his mind on books and movies, his foot came down on a slick patch of cement and he had to drop the flashlight to keep from going head over heels. He stumbled a bit, but regained his footing just in time to witness the flashlight clunk to the ground and go out.
“Shit,” John muttered to himself. “That’s just what I need. A busted neck for being stupid.”
He propped the ladder up against the wall and bent over to pick up the flashlight. After clicking the large black ON/OFF button a few times, the flashlight finally sparked to life. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust themselves, and when they finally did he turned to his right and found the light switch. If he wasn’t more careful, John thought to himself, this was going to be a long night.
As he inspected the pipes leading into the overflow basin, and realized at once that this was no simple task he was about to undertake. Large portions were oozing water, and in some spots whole chunks were eaten away by years and years of rust. What the hell did Stanley expect him to do, replace the whole damn system?
“I should quit,” John said out loud. But he knew he wasn’t going to do that. No, what he was going to do was try and repair these busted pipes the best he could and then call it a night. So, with water dripping from seemingly every possible location and the boilers hissing and groaning in his ears, he dug in his heels and went at it.
After more than six hours, he was almost done. He had applied duct tape to the most severe holes, which seemed to do the trick. What were once steady streams of water were now reduced to a few drops every minute or so. He then used a squeegee he found buried behind one of the boilers and dried up most of the floor. Now, as 11:00 P.M. was giving way to midnight – Stanley is so paying me overtime for this, he thought – he scaled the ladder once more to apply the final few strokes of paint.
As John strained to reach the last few inches, the shoddy ladder he was standing on gave way under the strain of his weight and sent him crashing to the unforgiving concrete below, his head of shiny blonde hair leading the way. His forehead connected with the damp cement with a sickening thud, slamming his head back and snapping his neck in two. John tried to get up, but his body simply wouldn’t respond to his brain’s command. It was like somebody hit a switch and turned everything off. The only thing he could do now was rapidly blink his blue eyes – and wait.
Now he was sprawled out in this dank and musty basement, glaring up at the ceiling with eyes as big as saucers. His legs were crossed at the ankles and his arms were fanned out limply beside him, forming a grotesque recreation of the Crucifixion. His mind was racing, and for the life of him he could not come to terms with the realization that he couldn’t move.
Water from the leaking pipes was slowly dripping, making slight Ping noises every time it hit the cold metal below. It was driving him insane, and if he could manage to get up off the floor he would put an abrupt halt to that annoying racket. But it was useless. Every time he tried he felt the familiar pins and needles coursing through his body, like when you sit on your foot too long and it falls asleep. The only thing he could do now was call for help, but even that was a stretch. No one would be able to hear him from down here, not over the clamorous din of the boilers.
PSSSHH!
Every time one of those monstrosities blew out steam he shut his eyes. It reminded him of a predator waiting for its prey to die so it could pounce with its razor sharp claws and jagged teeth. He was petrified, and in addition to the large black rat that was slowly making its way down one of the protruding beams toward him, he was completely alone.
It was famished. It hadn’t eaten in nearly a week, and what it saw now looked like a fantastic meal. It could smell all that yummy meat, plump and juicy and just waiting to be devoured. As it scampered down to dinner it’s fat body waddled back and forth, dragging behind it a thick beige tail. As it drew closer, it began to drool with ravenous anticipation. Just a few more feet and all the suffering would be over. It would finally be able to gorge.
John was hyperventilating now, gasping for air in quick shallow breaths. His eyes were darting around the room in a desperate effort to find any means of getting out of this predicament, when suddenly he saw something just out of his field of vision. It was something black, and it was moving in his direction. Jesus, that thing is big. What is it? In his current mental state, it took his brain a few minutes to process what exactly it was he was looking at. When it finally clicked, he began to cry for the first time.
The rat was also breathing heavy now, but not from fright. It had reached John’s feet, and now smelled him. Its shiny wet nose pulsated in and out with every intake of air, the shabby whiskers on its cheeks dripping with muck. It darted from one foot to another, giving his shoes cautionary licks to make sure they were not dangerous. Satisfied that they were harmless, it made its way around to John’s exposed hand. As before it sniffed at the flesh, then began to lick between his fingers. Determined to kill the pain inside its stomach, it began to gnaw.
John could hear the rat eating his hand, and the sound made him sick. The hot dog he had for a snack just an hour ago made its way up through his esophagus and out his mouth, splattering on the ground next to his face. The rat smelled this and swiftly ran over to lap up the pool of vomit. As John began to sob uncontrollably, a thick stream of bile dripping from his mouth, the rat continued its feast. First his lower lip, then his upper lip, moving on to his eyes, until gradually most of John’s face was gone. Large chunks of skin and muscle were gnashed away, exposing the glimmering bone beneath. Through the entire process John was awake and aware of what was taking place, only losing consciousness when the rat made itself visible again. The sight of this disgusting creature chewing on a portion of his body was just too much to handle. He fell into a pit of darkness and despair, never to wake again.
After finishing its gruesome buffet, the rat slowly cleaned itself and sauntered off. John, once a vivacious and striking young man, was now a gory manifestation. When he was found the next day, everyone was aghast at what they saw. The mauled and revolting corpse appeared to be smiling. Overhead, one of the rescue personnel noticed a large black rat peering down at them and tried to shoo it away. But the rat didn’t run. It just sat there, crouched up into a tight ball, licking its claws and wiping them across its face. For now it was full, but tomorrow would be another day. It would need to eat again.
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Wish I could write like that.
