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Inthrallis – Chapter 40

January 4, 2015

Inthrallis – Chapter 40

Despite the fact that Moller knew in his head the expansive size of the place, in the dark it may as well have been a broom closet or a coffin. He had one hell of a time getting the flashlight app on the cellphone to shine the light where he needed it while simulatenously using his hands to find the opening he needed. His mind was playing tricks on him, which he knew was a typical phenomenon in the dark, but he found it more irritating to him for some reason than frightening.

He tried placing the phone in an outer jacket pocket on top of his wallet to keep the light above the pocket rim. The phone fell out when he reached up and he heard it hit the stair and bounce three times and the light went out as it reached the floor. He was two hours, or so he guessed, finding the battery, getting it back in the correct way, and booting it up again. Thankfully, it worked. He had to hold the battery in to see where the back plate of the phone was, which of course wound up being right under his feet. He snapped it on and walked back up the steps.

This is what you get for stealing.

Moller had had enough of whatever part of his unconscious was reacting by feeding his conscious mind spooky thoughts. He decided to try talk to it, compose a letter aloud to it as he worked.

“Dear Whatever…Hypothalamus or what-have-you… This is not helpful. We are not at f—ing Disneyland in the Haunted Mansion. We are not riding a roller coaster. This is not Halloween. This is serious… and if we don’t get out, we are dead. This includes you. Please consult with the parts of the brain that actually want to live and shut the f— up. Thank you. Sincerely, Me, 538 Deep Dark Hole Cove, Kingston, Missouri, USA.”

This monologue was interrupted halfway through and several more times further along after he found the opening he needed. The upper right corner of the door was a little worn, perhaps from rust or rubbing on something. The boltcutter could therefore get a very small grip and he began the work of peeling the inside panel of the metal door like a tuna can.

The work was slow and tedious. He cut and banged his fingers many times, cursing. He then lost the grip on the boltcutter and had to chase them down the stairs and then take the now familiar walk of shame up again to continue. After many hours of this and only a little progress he was exhausted and so sat down to take a break.

He was in part getting used to the smell. Though it was more like a steady nausea now instead of an intense urge to hurl, that was in some manner preferable. The rag was now covered also in his sweat which helped to mitigate the odor of decomp when he managed to wipe his face and try to take a breath through the rag.

He was too tired to work but afraid to sleep. He knew the longer he stayed, the higher the chances that he’d become hungry, begin exhibiting dehydration symptoms, and that would only exacerbate the games that his imagination had in store for him inside a tomb.

Moller wondered what had put Martin on to him, how they had seen through his excuses for a leave of absence.

He also wondered where Martin got the idea that Moller was a government agent. That was strange.

He decided to stay at the top of the stairs and try to as much fresh air as the tiny cracks around the door allowed. He leaned his head on the door and took a nap.

He didn’t remember it upon waking, but he dreamed briefly of Deanie Holburn and her beautiful kids playing in the backyard. They all seemed blissfully unaware of the snakes slithering in the grass as they played and enjoyed the afternoon sun. Moller tried to warn them, then to scream. All that came forth was a click and a hiss.

He woke with his heart pounding in his chest, screamed for help, and banged, bashed, kicked and clawed at the door. If anyone heard him, there was no sign of it.


From → Inthrallis, Novels

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