Wait and See: Part The Last - The GloBELL ROAR

Peering out from behind my little cardboard shelter, I watched as the silhouette reached the edge of the screen. A leathery fist reached out, pulled back the folding wall of paper. Then I saw what the creature had been doing.

Each doll on the shelf had fallen victim to its spidery fingers. Every mouth and every eye had been sewn shut, thread pulled through cloth and punched through porcelain. Glass eyes were trapped beneath sealed lids, the lurching stitches like monestrous eyelashes against the dolls’ cheeks. Button eyes were lost under a layer of thread, the stitches lying so thick it seemed the doll’s face was a skull, its black eye sockets gaping emptily out. Each delicate lip had been pierced, sewn into silence with a violent force.

And it didn’t stop there. Arms had been stitched to sides, legs sewn together. The dolls were holding hands now, their fingers tide to their nieghbours’ by the black thread that ran through their nails. All the dolls were linked now, trapped in the same tangled web, ending in the discarded cloth figure on the floor.

The creature began to advance, its thunking steps carrying it gingerly across the attic floor, as sunken head twisted slowly from side to side.

A vague, panicked plan started to form in my mind. The key was still in my hand, pressed against the indifferent steel of the golf club. If I could just get that thing near the trunk...

I groped across the floor around me, until my fingers closed around an old battery pack. Carefully, waiting until the creature’s head was turned away, I rolled the thing out across the floor, in front of the trunk.

As soon as the battery pack began to thump across the floor the monster’s head snapped round, moving so fast I barely had time to duck back behind the pile of boxes. A wheezing sound came from beneath the creature’s hood, and I felt my blood turn cold as I realized it was laughing.

It thunked across the floor, and the smell proceeded it, a cloud of rotten breathe coiling through the air like some poisonous fog. Then the footsteps stopped, and I heard something nudge the battery pack. The creature was beside the trunk now, less than a foot away.

I took a deep breathe, and made my move.

I leapt out from behind the boxes, coming up behind the monster. It gave a startled croak, had time to half-turn and snap its head around to stare back over its shoulder. The I swung the golf club, catching the thing full in the flank.

It stumbled back, fell against the side of the trunk and tumbled in. I dropped the club and lunged across the floor, slamming the lid down as fast as I could. The trunk was shaking now, rattling as the beast inside pounded against the walls. Croaks and gurgles came from within, along with throaty snarls of rage.

I slammed the key into the lock, twisted it so hard I thought it would break. Then I stumbled back from the trunk, watching fearfully as it shook and quivered. I’d made my move, and now I’d see if it had been my last

The box shuddered, rocking on its base and slamming up and down against the floor. The sounds from within became sharper, louder, and I could hear long nails scraping against the trunk’s interior. But the lock held and, slowly, the tremors subsided, and the sounds began to fade. The box gave one last lurch, accompanied by a forlorn sort of growl. Then it lay still.

Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t leave the cabin right away. The road was out, and with the rain still coming down hard, it didn’t look like it would be fixed any time soon. So I was stuck there, for another day at least.

I considered taking the trunk outside, maybe driving along until I found a river or lack to chuck it in. But the thought of being in the car with that thing scared the heck out of me, even if it was locked up. Besides, from the sound of the creature’s steps, it was heavy, and I wasn’t sure I could even lift it. So the trunk stayed in the attic, behind a door that could close but had no lock.

The golf club I’d hit the thing with was badly dented, twisted beyond hope of repair. But I kept it close to the bed that night all the same, just in case.

I woke to find the bed still free of string, the golf club leaning unused against the bedside table. The sound of the rain was almost deafening, and I guessed that the sky would be a solid slab of grey. But it didn’t matter; my plan had worked, and the monster was still trapped. As far as I was concerned, all was well with the world. I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

I was grinning at myself in the mirror, feeling the smug glow of the triumphant, when I turned on the faucet.

A tangle of black thread came pouring out.

For a moment I just stood there, staring in mute horror and disbelief as the sink slowly filled with the oily black coils. The my hand slammed back down on the tap, shut it off as fast as I could. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.

I hesitated for a second, then dropped to my knees, feeling panic rising in my throat as I tore open the small cupboard under the sink. No way. No way, I was imagining it. How the heck could that thing even have gotten string into the faucet?

I shoved aside the bottles of cleaning fluid until I spotted the pipes at the back of the cupboard. It took a few minutes, but eventually the rusty metal gave way to my frantic tugs, and a chunk of pipe broke free of its mooring.

I tried to pull it out of the cupboard, only to discover it was still held in place. For running through it, linking it to the remaining pipes, were hundreds of oily threads. The shard of metal in hands was strung like a bead on a necklace, its interior stuffed solid with the long black fibers.

Gosh darn it, the stuff must run all the way back into the walls-

I dropped the chunk of pipe, shot out into the hall way. The linen closet had been stitched shut, and the carpet had practically been woven into the floor. And there was a thick trail of thread, cascading down the stairs from the attic.

I went back for the mangled golf club.

The steps creaked under me as I made my way up, keeping to the edge of the stairs to avoid walking on the oily stream of threads. The door to the attic was already open, a gaping invitation to the room beyond.

I peered around the doorframe warily, half-expecting the thing to leap out at me the moment I entered. But a quick glance showed no danger, and I stepped warily over the threshold, taking in the state of the place. Apparently, the creature hadn’t been finish with the doll-shelf. Each little figure now had stitches driven through its feet, binding it to the shelf. A wild pattern had been embroidered into the folding screen with wide, seemingly random stitches. The tops of every box had been sewn shut, as had most of the photo albums. The rest lay spread-eagled on the floor, their pages now tied to the ground. Through this chaos wound the trail of the threads, leading inevitably back to the far corner of the attic, and the trunk that waited there.

The lid was still closed, exactly as I’d left it. But from the key hole, a line of threads poured out, slipping free to form the river on the floor.

I swore and kicked the trunk, hoping to jostle the monster inside, hear it snarl and confirm that it was still inside, still trapped. But the box was far too light, and nothing growled back at me from within. Apparently, if the string could get out, then so could the creature.

I sank to my knees, clutching futilely at the golf club in my hands. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t. The monster had been in the box when I got here, had been trapped there by the previous owner. It must have been! The sewing had only started after I’d opened the trunk, after I’d picked the wax out of the key hole and unlocked-

The wax. Of course. I could still see the white flakes lying forgotten on the ground. Unless the keyhole was plugged, the thing and its thread could still get out. So if I wanted to trap it again, I’d have to find a way to replace the wax seal. Not that the monster was likely to fall for the same trick twice.

I pushed the question aside. Be fore I started worrying about any of that, I first had to figure out where the monster was now. It had had all night to hide itself away; what might it have done in those long hours while I slept?

I headed down the attic steps, following the trail of thread back to the second floor. The stream ran along the ground, breaking around the carpet only long enough to bind it to the floor, then carried on toward the other stairs. Black threads stretched between the rails of the banister, a spider trail pointing the way down. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I started down the steps, careful not to trip over the mad design cross-stitched into every one.

The ground floor was almost unrecognizable. Thread had been punched through the walls at random, a series of half-hidden stitches rising up from the floor. When they were about a foot below the ceiling, they suddenly leapt out from the wall to the roof, filling the corner between them with a mad cobweb before continuing across and down the other wall. Every room seemed to have been rounded, turned into a tunnel of oily black fibers.

Yesterday the curtains had been sewn closed. Now the windows were sealed, thread punched through their bases and down through the sills, binding the two together. The fridge, the oven, and every cupboard had been stitched shut. The thing’s needle had pierced clean through the metal of the washing machine, and looking through the glass window on the front of the drier, I could see the maze of threads now stretched across its interior.

I picked my way carefully across the floor, past chairs sewn to the floor and tied to the table. Even the light bulbs hadn’t escaped; apparently when they shattered, the creature had simply bound the broken shards back together, weaving a black net around the pieces and sewing them back into the lamps.

To heck with trapping the thing. I didn’t care if the road was out, if I’d freeze to death in my car out there. I’d take my chances with the weather, if I could only get out, if I could just reach the door-

I should have known better. Tiny holes had been drilled through the surface of the door, oily threads pulled through and then punched into the wood of the doorframe, stitching it shut as neatly as a doll’s mouth.

I hammered on the door, shook the handle and slammed my shoulder against it. Nothing. The door didn’t so much as shudder; it was bound too tightly for that, every thread stretched taught. I’ll cut it, I’ll cut my way out, I thought wildly. I stumbled back towards the kitchen, ducking under the pots and cracked plates suspended in the air, caught in the threads and strung up like flies in a web. But the creature had beaten me to it; the knives had been sewn into the rack, their handles a mess of black fibers. I tore back the curtains, shook and rattled every window. All the furniture was tied down, but I slammed at the glass with my fists all the same, hammered it with the bent golf club, hoping it might break. Nothing, not so much as a crack.

I was trapped.

I holed myself up in my room, watching the door with fearful eyes as I tried to come up with some sort of plan. What eventually came to mind wasn’t much, but the trunk was the only thing that I knew for a fact could contain the creature. I didn’t know where it was, but given the sounds it had made when I trapped it the first time, it was probably angry. My whole plan hinged on a stick of gum, and the monster wanting revenge.

I’d dug the gum out of my pocket and chewed on it nervously as an idea started to take shape in my mind. Every now and then I thought I heard a sharp thunk thunk from somewhere downstairs, and it took me a long time to work up the guts to leave the room. As I headed up the attic stairs, I wondered if maybe I should have left a note or something, just in case. Not that anyone was ever likely to find it, I reflected as I knelt down to unlock the trunk. Even if they did, it would probably end up stitched to the table and illegible.

It took a while to pick all the string out from the keyhole, and throw the black fibers back into the box. I thought for a moment of going downstairs, trying to gather up as much of the thread as I could and dump it all in the trunk. But without a knife or at least a pair of scissors, I didn’t have a hope of getting the stuff out of the walls, the floor, the windows... There was just too much. And that thing could probably sew faster than I could tear its work up.

When the lid was open wide, I stepped back from the trunk, took a deep breathe. Here goes nothing, I thought, and started to stomp on the floor as hard as I could. I smashed the golf club against the ground until it snapped, shouting all the while.

‘’I’m up here you little freak! Come and get me!’’

I heard the thunk thunk of footsteps on the attic stairs, realized the thing was closer than I thought. I stepped back, got as close to the trunk as I could, kept my back to it. The gum seemed to have gone sour in my mouth, and a putrid smell was rolling in the door. I hoped to God the monster would fall for this. If it didn’t, I doubted there’d be a second chance.

The creature’s head appeared suddenly around the edge of the door frame. It’s hood titled to the side as it caught sight of me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was grinning as it stepped across the threshold. Its bony fists twitched as it moved, jerking the needle it clutched up and down as though it were stitching.

‘’Thread,’’ the thing croaked, its fetid stench growing stronger as it advanced slowly across the attic floor. I could feel its hidden gaze boring into me, wondering where to stick the needle first.

‘’Thread, thread, thread..’’

I took an instinctive step back, then stopped myself. If this was going to work, I needed room to move. And the creature had to be moving faster.

‘’Yeah, that’s right,’’ I taunted in a thin voice, my throat suddenly dry. ‘’Come and get me you stinking heap of rags.’’

I don’t know if the thing understood me, or maybe just caught the tone of my voice. But as I opened my mouth it’s muttering had given way to a growl, a low, deep snarl, moist and rotten. The thing was only feet away when it lowered its head, spread its twisted arms wide, its fingers bent like claws. The needle gleamed in the monster’s leathery grasp, black thread trailing from it’s tip with an oily gleam.

Here it comes, I thought. It all hinges on this.

With a savage snarl, the creature charged. I’d been expecting it, counting on it, but the suddenness of the attack still caught me off-guard. For a moment I stood frozen, rooted to the spot by fear and panic. Then as the choking stench slid across my face and the bony fingers reached towards me, I stepped aside, out of the monster’s path.

I’d hoped the creature’s momentum would keep it moving, make it overshoot and go tumbling into the trunk. But despite the heavy sound of its footfalls, the thing was agile. It stopped itself in time, came to a stumbling halt and twisted round to face me.

My plan had failed.

I was out of chances.

But I was desperate, and the trunk was so close...Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed the creature, hauling it up off the floor.

I could feel the scaley bulk of the thing under the robe, could feel its clawed hands flailing and slashing at me in a wild fury. The thing was snarling, barking out sharp cries with its putrid breathe. I could lift the beast, but only just. As I heaved it over the edge of the trunk, a sharp pain shot up my arm. I jerked back instinctively, let the thing fall with a heavy thump into the tangle of threads inside the trunk. As I slammed the lid down, I caught sight of my arm.

The thing had bitten me, that much I could tell from the ragged, semi-circular shape of the wound. But what really horrified me were the needles, a half dozen or more sticking out from my skin, torn from the creature’s bloody gums as I wrenched my arm away.

Needles. The thing had a mouth full of needles.

The trunk was shaking, and I could hear the creature shrieking from within. I fumbled the key out of my pocket, rammed it in the hole and twisted as the lid began to lift. I heard the lock click home, and knew I was almost home free. Now I just had to plug the hole.

Before I act, the thread started to creep out, dark tendrils inching towards freedom.

‘’No you don’t,’’ I hissed, shoving a finger in the keyhole. ‘’Not this time.’

My free hand fumbled at my mouth, took out the wad of chewing

gum. The trunk was shaking, muffled snarls coming through the lid. I could hear the sound of bony fists pounding on the sides of the box, clawing at it as the thing inside sought to escape. The threads trying to escape brushed against my finger, left an oily streak as a memory of their touch.

Then I felt the sharp prick of a needle against my skin.

I yanked my finger out, shoved the lump of gum into the lock, pushed it in as far as I could. Then I stumbled back and watched the trunk as it shook and shuttered, waiting to see if I could still get out of this alive.

It took a long time for the box to stop shaking. Even once the rattling was over, the growls kept coming. I could still hear them as I loaded up the car, echoing down from the attic. The thing was practically screaming when I left, clawing at the sides of its prison. Even if it does manage to tear its way out, to get its threads past the wad of gum, there’s a heck of a lot of junk piled on top of that trunk. It’ll take time for the creature to dig its way out from under all that.

The road’s still out, but the rain’s stopped. It took me half the night, but I managed to get one of the kitchen knives free, and cut enough threads away to get the door open. I’ve packed the car with all the food I could find, and all the blankets that weren’t stitched up. I don’t care how cold it gets; I’m not going back there.

I picked the needles out of my arm, managed to wrap a towel round it as a sort of bandage. Still hurts like heck though. I’m starting to wonder if its getting infected.

I’m out here in my car, parked at the edge of the road, beside the washed-out mud cliff. I still can’t get a signal on my phone. There’s not much to do except wait, and my mind keeps going back to the monster, wondering if it’ll get out. Will it leave the cabin if it does, come stalking through the woods, looking for me? Or is it trapped in there for good this time, left to stitch its mad designs on the walls of its prison?

There’s no way to tell. The repair crews should be here soon. All that’s left is to for me to wait and see.

© Clare Van Norden, 2009