BUILDING
NINE
By
B. Michael Conover
1.
Nick Mathews crouched behind the
large blue garbage compactor, his long black hair stuck to his face in swooping
curls and his shirt clinging oddly to his body. Nick’s pants were wet as well,
but not from sweat, because he had pissed himself almost an hour ago and the
smell was becoming putrid. His eyes slowly scanned up the long concrete walkway
before him, occasionally blinking away the sweat. On either side of the walkway
were steel structures holding large cardboard boxes framed in blue metal, each
one tucked neatly into its own spot by the large cranes that moved behind them.
The cranes were silent now; all Nick could hear was his own labored breath and
the fast, rhythmic beating of his heart.
A noise at the end of the walkway
caused Nick to jump and a sharp gasp escaped his lips. Nick clamped his large
hand over his mouth, quickly covering all but his wide, terrified eyes. He
stared directly at the end of the walkway, unable to
see what he knew was there.
“Ni-ick,” a voice from the other end
drew out his name like a taunting schoolboy. “I seeeee
yooou.”
Nick whined through his hand which
had gone white from pressing to hard against his face. The fluorescent lights
flickered above the walkway and a ghostly figure appeared at the other end, a
good fifty yards away. He was not very tall but his lanky build made him look
it, as did his tight blue tee shirt and blue jeans that came to rest about
three inches above his bare feet. He was a slightly feminine nineteen-year-old
boy with pale white skin, pink eyes, and bright white hair: an albino. Thick
red fluid coated his chin and trailed down to his shirt, which was soaked down
the front. Nick dropped a full load in his pants. The boy’s eyes turned fiery
red and his body exploded into a powdery mist before it sucked back into a
dense ball of white that hovered momentarily before streaking toward Nick.
Nick’s life flashed before his eyes. Birth through manhood was a blur, but the
reels slowed at the start of the night’s shift and the events that led him to
this end replayed.
2.
A whistle blew outside the Machinery
Tractor Parts distribution center at eleven pm sharp. The second shift workers
poured from the doors and headed across the plant road and up the steps to the
turnstile. Waiting on opposite side were the third shifters, lined up to the
side, letting the second shifters pass. When that sad
parade was done, the turnstiles were electronically switched to go the other
way. The night shift then filed in one at a time.
At the front of the line were the
permanent men of Building Nine (B9), four red necked men who shared a love of
God, country, beer, and all things camouflage. The leader of the group, wearing
a thick camouflage coat, was Dean Johnson. Dean was a bear of a man, both in
size and amount of facial hair, whose orders were followed even more than the
supervisors and he had become accustomed to people flinching when he moved his
arms. Next was Jack Thomas, camouflage hat, Dean’s oldest and smallest friend;
together they looked like the number ten. Pete Gibson, camo pants and mullet
(business up front, party out back) was as stupid as he was ugly and strong. He
was the real muscle of the group and the most profane. He said fuck every other
word and ended most sentences with a goofy laugh and dim witted smile, no
matter the topic. Tom “Two Teeth” Morris, camo socks and underwear,
was Pete’s best friend, mostly because he was dumber and uglier than Pete.
Others came and went from B9, but always under the suspicious eyes of these
four who would never leave Building Nine.
Nick Mathews was one of only two
others working in B9 at the time. He was middle-aged, good-looking and well
built, muscles in all the right places. Nick didn’t look like he belonged to
the group and given a choice he would have never been there. He had pissed off
his supervisor in Bldg. 4 and was sent to nine as punishment. He was just
biding his time until someone granted one of his numerous transfer requests and
he could say good-bye to those four pieces of shit and the new, quiet freak
that he had grown to pity.
That freak couldn’t be seen in the
line up of third shifters by the turnstile. He hung back at the very end of the
small parking lot, just beyond the pale yellow light thrown down from the dingy
bulbs overhead. He was standing there that night, dark hooded sweatshirt
wrapped tightly around his skinny frame, hood hiding his face. His name was
Marc Neilson, but he had been called
3.
Building Nine sat at the eastern
edge of the complex; at six stories it was the tallest building there. During
the day it was filled with workers, a few to each floor picking parts for
orders from around the country. The night shift was simply there to pick up the
slack of first and second shift. At eleven-fifteen the supervisor would meet
with the six at the first floor lunch area and give them the orders that were
left, then he would not return again until lunchtime
to check on their progress. Truth was the supervisor hated coming to Bldg.
Nine, hated the workers there as well. He sometimes would not come back at all;
just let them do their thing. It was one of those nights; he was in no mood for
this shit.
“Alright, boys, listen up.” He
waited for them to quiet. “You have a pretty slow night, only fifty some
orders. Shouldn’t take you long, maybe until lunch.
Then I need you to do some cleaning.”
“We ain’t no
fucking maids, boss,” it was Pete. “Ain’t no fucking
niggers neither.”
“Pete, I don’t want any trouble from
you,” the supervisor tried to sound authoritative but it came out just a little
shaky. These guys all had a few screws loose and he was nervous just being in
their presence. They owned Bldg. Nine and they knew it. “This came down from
way up top” a lie “it’s a directive from the union safety administrator”
a big lie, but necessary “he needs y’all to clean up the sixth floor.
There’s loads of trash piled up there between the crane aisles and it caused an
accident on second today. You’ve done it-”
“Fuck you,” Pete was hot, his
favorite mood, Tom and Jack began to snigger. “I told you we ain’t no fuckin’ nig-”
“Hold up Pete,” Dean spoke and all
fell silent. “Union directive, huh?”
“That’s right,” Dean had bit; the
supervisor knew it would get done. “It’s for the safety of-”
“We’ll do it,” Dean’s gaze had
stayed steady on the supervisor who seemed to squirm a little under its
intensity. “You can go now.”
The supervisor made to act huffy at
Dean’s dismissal but thought better of it. He was just glad to be leaving. He
gathered his papers under his arm and strode out the door. As soon as the doors
closed Dean, Jack, Tom, and Pete burst into a laugh loud enough that the
supervisor was sure to hear. Nick smirked a little and got up to start his
work. Marc was already pushing his order cart down to the elevator.
“That kid gives me the fucking
willies,” Jack said as he and his cronies watched the boy climb onto the
elevator. “I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t trust anybody, Jackass” Dean
said. “He don’t really cause any problems, so we’ll
leave him be. I don’t trust him either, though. He looks at us kinda funny and
I’m not sure what it is, but hell, he ain’t a spick, a nigger, or a Jew and
sure as hell is white enough!” More laughter from the knuckleheads echoed
throughout the building. Nick just pushed his cart and shook his head, man, he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here.
4.
The first part of the night went by
pretty fast. Each guy went out on their own to fill their share of the orders
as quick as possible. Only Pete and Tom stayed together, as always, and their
stupid laughs and dumbass conversations could be heard all through the
building, echoing between the floors by way of the opening between the aisles
where the cranes sat silent.
Nick finished first, as usual and
made his way up to the sixth floor right after lunch to survey the cleaning
job. Stacked at the end of the walkway opposite the elevator were two giant
piles of trash. There were bags filled with discarded order papers and
wrappings and lots of other shit. Nick could tell this was just a crap job that
the first and second shifters didn’t want to do and had convinced their bosses
to leave for third. Getting rid of the trash meant hauling it to the elevator and
taking down to the second floor, where the trash compactor sat. There they
would compact it until the bin was full and release it out a slide on the
outside of the building that led to a big dumpster. It looked to Nick like
there was about three compactor loads there, which equaled to quite a few trips
down the elevator.
It was about two-fifteen and Nick
could hear the others still rolling their carts up and down the various floors.
Despite the coolness of the night outside, Building Nine was warm as always
except for the sixth floor, which stayed relatively cool. Nick’s shirt was
pretty much soaked around the collar and under his arms, so he pulled it off to
cool down. Sure that nobody else would be up for a while, Nick seized the
opportunity for a little shut eye and sat on the concrete floor, leaning his
back against a wall, and drifted off to sleep.
5.
At about two-thirty Marc finished
with his orders. Parking his cart next to Nick’s on the first floor, he too
made his way up to the sixth floor to wait for the others. The elevator ride up
was bumpy as usual and Marc watched as the lights flicked from one to the
other, finally arriving at six.
Looking straight down the center
aisle, Marc thought he was alone. He began to walk to the other end where the garbage
awaited but stopped when he saw some movement on the right hand side. Marc
could tell by the toned arm that it was Nick and he slowed his pace. Nick quit
moving and the sound of snores was unmistakable. Not wanting to wake Nick, Marc
backtracked down the hall and went up the aisle opposite where Nick was
sleeping. From there he could peek through the gaps in the bins and watch Nick
as he slept. Marc preferred Nick to the others, he was more…defined. He felt
the familiar stir in his pants as he stood alone, not knowing that his biggest
secret was about to come out.
6.
“What the fuck!?”
Pete could not believe his eyes. He and the boys had seen Nick sleeping and
decided to scare the shit out of him by sneaking up on either side of him, but
Pete and Tom got a surprise themselves. “Hey, boy!
What the hell are you doing?”
Marc heard the yell but he had
obviously not heard the men approaching. He jumped backwards and tried to pull
his hand out of his pants but they were too tight. He stumbled slightly when he
came backwards and fell hard onto the concrete, hand finally breaking free.
Marc’s eyes were wide and showed emotion for the first time the men could
recall He was terrified.
“I think we got us a fag-boy here,
Tommy,” Pete said, smile growing, feeding of the terrified look on the boy’s
face. “I should have known.”
Before Marc could get to his feet,
Pete and Tom had each grabbed an arm, dragging him around the corner. Marc’s
face was growing as red as it could with embarrassment and fear; he kept his eyes
on the ground. Once in full view of the others, Marc was thrown to the ground
just at Nick’s feet, who was trying to inconspicuously shake the sleep away. He
was now putting his shirt on as he looked down at the boy, who was beginning to
cry.
“What the hell is going on?” Nick
knew this couldn’t be good.
“Naw, Nick, keep your shirt off,”
Tom’s laugh was more sinister than dumb. “Seems Whitey here really likes
looking’ at you half-naked!”
“Yeah,” stupid laugh, “Tommy’n I
caught him with hand down his pants, touchin’ his pecker while looking’ at
you.”
A couple tears fell from Marc’s face
now but he would not allow himself to really cry. Instead, he just stared at
the ground, praying for them to let him be. He would not be returning to B9, he
told himself; he was going to leave as soon as possible and never come back. He
didn’t know how bad the boys of B9 hated faggots, though.
“Is that right?” Dean was taking
control. Pete and Tom nodded together, Tom laughing and showing his blackened
teeth. They had come across a faggot once before and had beaten him to a pulp,
Tom knew they were going to kick some fairy ass tonight.
“Wait a minute,
guys.” Nick tried to stay cool but he did not like the vibe he was
getting. “You must have mistaken-”
“We know what we saw,” Pete’s gaze
turned venomous. “Don’t go callin’ us liars.”
“C’mon, Pete.”
Nick knew bad things were going to happen now. “Just let him be, he didn’t hurt
no-”
“Shut yer fuckin’ mouth.” Pete’s
face had transformed to something evil, he had turned beet red and was grinding
his teeth. “Maybe you liked it, havin’ the boy watchin’ you. You
a fag-boy, too, Nicky?”
“That’s enough-” Nick stopped as
Pete stepped toward him. Nick was sweating again, even worse than before. “Calm
down, dammit!”
Pete reached for Nick’s collar and
reared his fist back at the same time.
“Pete, stoppit,” Dean did not have
to raise his voice. He seemed calm and together, but Nick did not like the look
in his eyes. “Nick ain’t no queer. This boy, though.
We should have guessed. Always so quiet, sneaking around
without sayin’ a word to nobody. He’s definitely a fag.”
Nick had a look of utter disbelief
on his face; there was no logic to what Dean had just said. He pulled the front
of his shirt down after Pete let go and surveyed the group. They were all
looking down at Marc and nodding their heads. They were dumber than Dean so his
words must have sunk into their thick skulls like those of a wise old sage. Fucking morons.
“You guys are unfucking believable!”
Pete’s hand was around Nick’s throat before all the words came out and he found
himself pushed against the wall. Pete stared him directly in the eyes,
unblinking. Nick looked away quickly.
“Now, Nick,” said Dean, who was
still calm and looking over at Nick now. Tom and Jack stared at the boy on the
floor, who was still looking down, and rocked back and forth in anticipation.
“You don’t have to join us in this, although I would be disappointed. If you
like you can just walk down the hall, get on the elevator and head down to the
first floor. We’ll take care of all the trash up here. But I warn you,”
Dean turned his whole body to face
Nick, his calm gaze giving way to a sinister scowl.
“If you try to stop us, or run and tell,
you’ll be joining him,” Dean moved in a little a closer to Nick and lowered his
voice, “We’re just going to scare him a bit, it’ll be fun.”
Nick shifted in Pete’s firm grip. He
sure as hell was not going to help these idiots, but what about the boy? Pete
tightened his grip on Nick’s neck and he began to see stars. That decided it
for him; he pushed against Pete who did not move until he received a nod from
Dean.
7.
Nick took the elevator down; he was
headed for the first floor. Nick felt like he was in a dream, he couldn’t
believe how the night had unfolded. He hated himself for what he was doing,
leaving that boy at the hands of those idiots, but he did not want to go back
to jail. Nick tried to tell himself they were just going to rough him up a little
bit, nothing serious, but he felt in his gut that it was a lie.
Damn you, boy! Nick punched the
elevator wall and the clang resonated up and down the shaft. Why did you
have to go and fuck up like this? He told himself it was the boy’s own
fault, he shouldn’t have been doing what he was doing, he
must be an idiot, too. Nick paced around the elevator, rubbing his sore hand.
He looked at the panel to see what floor he was passing. It was the second, and
that’s when he heard the first scream.
Nick pushed the emergency stop
button with his whole hand and looked up at the ceiling of the elevator. The
caged light bulb cast a yellow light on his face as he stood motionless,
listening. A few moments later he heard another scream, this one more chilling.
Without thinking about what he was doing Nick pushed the button to take him to
the sixth floor. Shit, Nick, you’ve done it now.
As the elevator ascended, Nick heard
the boy’s final scream. It began overhead and got louder, then faded. The
scream stopped with a yelp and Nick heard a crunching, snapping sound that he
began to pray was not what he thought.
8.
Nick did not wait for the elevator
doors to open all the way; he slid sideways through the opening as soon as it
was wide enough. He ran down the hall, still feeling like he was in a bad
dream. Slowly, Tom came into view from between the aisles at the opposite end,
his face white and his eyes wide. Jack followed with near the same expression.
Neither one acknowledged Nick as he swept past them to where Dean and Pete
still stood.
It took a moment for the sight
before him to register as real, but when it did, Nick’s stomach sank to his
feet. Dean was standing with a look on his face that was neither intimidating
nor sober. It was the first time Nick had seen him look as though he did not
know what to do. Dean was just staring into the darkness between the aisles,
where the cranes moved on tracks along the ceiling and six floors below on the
ground. Pete was standing next to a small opening, leaning over the waist high
railing holding something in each hand. As Nick stepped just one step closer,
he saw that Pete was holding an old tattered tennis shoe in each hand.
The blood drained from Nick’s face,
as it had already from the others’, and he leaned forward over the railing.
Looking down Nick could see rays of light that crisscrossed the blackness at
each level of Bldg Nine. He allowed his eyes to move down slowly, dreading what
he was sure to see. The very bottom, where the track for the crane lay, was
nearly pitch black. It was hard to make out anything
through the bright strands of light, but as Nick’s eyes adjusted he was able to
make out what looked like a clump of melting ice cream straight down from the
railing. It was Marc Neilson’s crumpled and bloody body.
Nick fell backwards immediately. His
mind was racing to try and make sense of what it had just seen. It wouldn’t
register, his brain would not click. Was it Marc’s body he’d just seen, laying
across the crane track mangled and bloody? Nick shook his head and pulled
himself up by the railing and looked down again, this time quickly. He gasped, mouth and eyes wide open.
“Holy fuck,” was all he could say.
9.
The next thing Nick knew he was
walking quickly down the aisle toward the elevator. No thoughts were running
through his mind, he was just moving. What he saw with his eyes played out on a
giant movie screen in his mind, and Nick was the only person in the theater. He
sat enrapt by the shaky image of the elevator doors getting closer. He was
almost there when he was pushed from behind and sent lunging out of his comfy
theater seat toward the concrete floor of B9.
“Where the fuck
you goin’?”It seemed Tom had regained control of his functions first.
“You ain’t goin’ anywheres yet, boy!”
Nick only stared up at him from the
floor, his mind desperately trying to make sense of the whole fucking night.
Tom’s eyes were still wide, his skin pale and it seemed his moronic brain was
just about to explode. Nick watched as one by one Dean, Jack, and finally Pete,
still holding the tennis shoes, appeared behind Tom. They were all looking at
Nick and he swore they were deciding whether or not to drop him over the
railing as well. That very real possibility drove Nick to his feet.
“What the hell happened up here?” Nick
tried to look angry but was sure he only succeeded in looking as scared as they
did. “You were just going to scare him! That was all, remember Dean?”
Dean opened his mouth to speak but
didn’t get the chance. Pete pointed a shoe at Nick and began spitting out
words. “Don’t try and say we fuckin’ did this on fuckin’ purpose you son of a
bitch! It was a fucking accident and-”
“He’s fucking dead, Pete!” Color was
returning to both Nick and Pete as they spat at each other. “Accident or not
that’s fucking murd-”
“Don’t you fuckin’ say it, mother
fucker, don’t you fucking say it was that-” At that moment all five of them
began to yell. Spit flew in all directions as each one told the rest to shut
the fuck up and fuck yous were sent all around. This went on for almost a
minute before a noise caused them to stop.
Somewhere behind them they heard
crying. It sounded like Marc. All their faces went white once again, except for
Nick. Nick was the only one who seemed to take this as a good sign.
“He’s alive!” Nick couldn’t believe
it. “He must have survived- we’ve got to get help, let’s go!”
Nick took off toward the elevator
and looked back, seeing the rest standing in the aisle, unmoving. He started to
say something but decided not to waste his breathe. Nick jumped onto the
elevator and hit the button for the first floor. The dream like feeling was
almost completely gone as the doors closed on the group of men standing alone
on the sixth floor.
The
elevator ride seemed exceptionally long and bumpy as Nick paced back and forth
in front of the doors. He was thinking about his next move, getting help for
Marc. A part of him felt so happy that the boy was alive and yet another still
slapped him and said You left him alone, asshole. You let those bastards
drop him six floors just to save your own ass!
Just then the elevator light
flickered, hissed and popped. Nick was in the dark. A freezing cold draft blew
over him and he shuddered, thinking the light must have kept the elevator
somewhat warm before. Then he noticed that there were no lights in the elevator
at all, not even a bulb to tell him what floor he was on. The car was still as
well, no longer bumping downward. A cold breeze passed him again and the hairs
stood up on the back of his neck, on his arms, everywhere.
Nick spun around and saw the hazy
white face of Marc looking at him through the darkness. In a flash, the pink
eyes turned red and the whole image shot up through the ceiling of the
elevator. Nick let out a long gasp, he had been holding his breath since the
light went out and hadn’t realized it. The elevator lights fizzled back on and
the doors opened and he was on the second floor. He pushed the button for the
first, but nothing happened. The second floor beckoned in front of him. The
dreaminess of the night swept back over Nick as he stepped out of the elevator
and onto the second floor.
10.
The men stood silently on the sixth
floor, no one moved. The noise had stopped when Nick left, and now they just stared
at the elevator doors. Jack and Tom looked petrified, Pete was red face pissed,
and Dean was obviously thinking of their next move. It was Pete who broke the
silence.
“FUCK!” His favorite word exploded
from his lips. “What the hell are we going to do, Dean? If that fuckin’ boy is
alive we’re in for it!”
“He ain’t alive, dipshit.” Dean had
regained his confidence. “Nobody could survive that fall,
we all heard the sound he made when he hit. The only thing we have to worry
about is that damn-”
Another noise interrupted Dean, this
one sounded closer. It wasn’t crying this time, it was
clanking noise, echoing up from between the aisles. Everyone turned their heads
that way except Dean, who turned his whole body. It was Dean who spoke.
“Is that you down there, Nick?” No
answer. “Is the boy alive or not?” Silence.
Dean started for the end of the
aisle, but the others hung back until he was a good ten yards ahead and then
followed. As Dean marched around the corner and out of sight, Jack picked up
the pace. He didn’t like it when Dean wasn’t around.
“Hold up, Dean!” Jack had barely
gotten the words out of his mouth when a scream echoed so loudly they all
flinched and took a step backwards. It was Dean, they
all knew it even though they had never heard him scream that way before. A few
seconds after the first scream came another.
“HE’S EATING--” the scream ended in
a gargle as if someone had poured water down Dean’s open mouth. The three men
ran, more or less, around the corner and Jack immediately blew chunks all over
the wall. Dean’s back was to them and his feet were kicking about a foot off
the ground. What must have been piss was dripped off his shoes. His arms were
moving wildly, hands clawing for the something in front of him. His head was
thrown back and shaking violently, hair wet with the blood that spewed up like
a fountain and rained back down on him. What had caused Jack to throw up was
steaming in a pile on the floor just under Dean’s feet. At first Jack had
thought it was shit but he lost his stomach when he realized that the red and
brown pile was made up of coils of slippery, slimy intestines, a lot like the
ones he pulled out of deer every season. These did not belong to any deer, they
belonged to Dean.
The
others held their stomachs down, but they were frozen in fear. After a few
seconds that seemed like an hour, Dean’s feet quit kicking, his arms fell to
his sides and the horrible gurgling sound of blood spewing from his throat
stopped. The sound that remained was like that of an animal, chomping and
tearing the flesh from its prey. Dean’s body shook with every tear and hung
limp during the chomping. All the men felt like running, but their legs would
not allow it. Tom found his legs and stepped backwards slowly before he turned
and sprinted toward the elevator.
Pete jerked his head and watched Tom
run and stumble down the aisle. Then he turned back to Dean’s suspended body;
breathing fast and uneven he stepped slowly towards his old friend.
“Dean?” Of course,
no answer. “Dean, what’s going on?”
Pete sounded lost. He crept closer,
breathing louder and sweating profusely. He reached his hand out towards Dean’s
back, he was going give him and nudge and see what happened. Before he could
touch him Dean’s body fell to ground like a redneck rag doll. Pete lost control
of all his bodily functions when he saw what had been holding him up. A pale
white face stared at him with red eyes. Blood was smeared all around his mouth
and dripped from his chin. The front of his shirt, of Marc’s shirt, was soaked.
It was he who had just ripped the intestines from Dean’s body and feasted on
something inside. He still looked hungry.
11.
On the second floor Nick had heard
the screams from above. He ran down to the end of the aisle, directly below
where they had dropped Marc. He first looked up to where the screams had come
from and saw nothing but shadows dancing in the sixth floor opening. Then he
looked down, expecting to see up close the mangled body of Marc Neilson where
it should have been lying just below. Instead he saw nothing, not even a
splatter stain. Terror rushed over him like a white ghost in the darkness.
As Nick stared at the spot where a
white and mangled body should have laying, another scream came from above. He
looked upwards and saw more shadows dancing. The screaming continued for a few
heartbeats and then stopped.
“What’s going on up there?” As if to
answer him a giant shadow leaned over the railing on
the sixth floor. It looked like Pete, Nick thought he
could see the shadow of a mullet. Pete kept leaning over the railing until he
toppled over it. The enormous body hurled silently down and Nick pulled himself
out of the way just in time.
As the body passed the second floor
it was facing Nick and his mind seemed to take a Polaroid of the grisly sight.
Even as he heard the splattering thud as it hit bottom, he saw in his mind the
body that hovered at the second floor. It was definitely Pete,
his mullet blew in the wind above his neck. His front side consisted of a giant
bloody hole that shown bright white rib bones and his spine, no trace at all of
his usual well-stocked beer gut. Blood flew above the body like the tail of a
comet. Once Nick’s mind was sure of the gory details, it quickly moved to the
present where Nick immediately lost control of his bladder and his stomach
flipped, as if to assure Nick that it was still intact.
12.
Tom made it to the elevator and
pushed the button frantically. Tears streamed down his face and joined the
sweat that was soaking his clothes. He whined and begged for God’s mercy and
for the doors to open and take him to safety. He didn’t know what was back
there and he didn’t give a flying fuck, he wanted out! Pete’s screams caused
him to turn and press his back to the elevator, staring down the aisle.
When Pete stopped screaming Tom
heard the same gurgling and chomping noises he had heard earlier. Then he heard
some shuffling and a great splat. Tom was not smart, but he had heard that
sound earlier, as well. Pete must have gone over the railing. Tom began to sob
and whine like a school girl, like a fag boy who was
being held upside by his feet, six stories in the air. Tom would only find
redemption at the bottom of the crane aisle.
Through his teary eyes, Tom saw Jack
appear at the end of the aisle, walking backwards with his hands out
in front of him. Jack tripped over his own feet and fell to his back and Tom
could hear him sobbing, as well. Tom looked around desperately for an escape.
He realized with horror that the only stairs in the building were on the other
side of Jack. He turned and began to pry at the elevator doors, thinking there
must be a way to climb down.
As Tom pried, he heard his name
being called. He stopped and listened, the voice was not coming from anywhere,
but it was everywhere, it was inside his head. It called again, taunting him.
Tom turned and pressed his back to the doors once again. He was begging for his
life under his breath, asking anyone, God, an Angel, even Satan, to spare his
life. They couldn’t help him, the voice in his head told
him so.
Tom looked back to Jack who was
still crying and had one hand up as if it would stop whatever was coming at
him. Tom’s eyes followed the tip of the hand to the side of the aisle where
everything had taken place that night. I see you,
the voice in his head taunted some more. This time Tom answered out loud.
“LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”
His voice was broken by his sobbing. “LEAVE ME ALONE OR ELSE!”
Or else what? Just then a figure
stepped around the corner at the end of the aisle. Tom’s jaw dropped when he
saw the brazen white hair of the fag-boy and his face and clothes covered in
blood. He was smiling at Tom who could only shake and push harder against the
elevator doors. The pink eyes of the boy flashed red and Tom felt himself falling
backwards. He didn’t make a sound as he watched the light of the sixth floor
grew smaller and smaller. His body slammed into the roof of the elevator, still
parked on the second floor. Tom groaned into unconsciousness and the elevator
roof replied with a creak before it gave way, spilling his limp body into the
light of the second floor.
Up above Jack was still crying. He
had lost his two best friends in a matter of seconds and was now about to see
his insides eaten while he was alive. It was enough to make most men cry. Jack
whimpered and kept saying he was sorry as the bloody boy approached him with
red eyes glaring.
“Sorry don’t cut it, shit-head.”
Jack’s high pitched screams echoed through all of Building Nine.
13.
Nick had run to the elevator when he
heard the crashing. Tom lay on top of a couple bags of garbage in the elevator,
his only saving grace. Tom fell into his chest and moaned. Nick then propped
him up with a hand on his shirt and hit him open handed across the cheek. Tom’s
eyes flew open as Nick shook the sting from his hand and they both looked up,
hearing the scream.
Tom quickly regained his strength
and pushed past Nick, heading down the aisle. “We gotta get outta here, Nick!
It ain’t fuckin’ human, man! We gotta get to the stairs…gotta get out.”
“What’s going on up there, Tommy?”
“It fucking crazy up there, he’s
eating their hearts while they’re still pumpin’, Nick. It ain’t human, we gotta
go!”
Tom took off, still mumbling, and
disappeared around the corner. Nick jogged after him, not wanting to find out
what he was talking about until they were safely outside. He rounded the
corner, just steps after Tom, and saw him pulling on the door to the staircase.
It wasn’t moving.
“FUCK, man!” Tom’s voice simmered
almost to a whisper as he half-heartedly beat his fist on the door. “We gotta fuckin’ hurry man!”
“Let me try.” Nick pushed Tom out of
the way and began to pull on the door. Tom backed up cursing and ringing his
hands together. “It’s not moving, Tommy. We need a crowbar or a-”
Nick had stopped talking when he
turned to face Tommy. The look on his faced registered with Tom just moments
before Marc grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. Nick watched from behind
as Tom’s body went into the air and he screamed until blood spurted out of his
mouth.
Tom’s body then dropped just low
enough for Nick to see the boy’s face over its shoulder. The blood that was
smeared all over his face steamed in the cool air.
“I’ve got to drop Tommy off.” Marc’s
voice was not rough, his eyes were pink again. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be
right back.”
His eyes flashed red and then he
turned into a sort of vapor that shot up through the opening of the crane
aisle. Tom’s body went along with it, suspended in the middle of the mist.
Nick immediately turned and tried
the door again. He frantically looked around for something to pry it open with
and when he found nothing, he ran. He didn’t know where he was going to run to,
but he headed towards the elevator, knowing in his soul that it was useless. As
he ran, he heard the wet thud of Tom’s body hitting the redneck pile on the
crane tracks and his heart began to beat faster. He spotted the compactor to
its right and jumped on top of it. He then slid down the other side, between it
and the wall, and waited.
14.
The white ball of light stopped
suddenly just in front of the compactor and the boy returned. The blood on his
face and clothes were now gone, his eyes their calm pink. He stared at Nick
through the gap and turned his heady slightly, like a confused puppy. He smiled
at Nick and even seemed to blush.
“Come on out, Nick. I don’t want to
hurt you. I like you. I always have. I just want to be with you, even if just
for a moment. Come out and talk to me.”
Despite every cell his body
screaming at him to stay put, Nick felt himself rise and crawl over the
compactor, never breaking eye contact with Marc. A fleeting wave of relief
swept over him as he thought he just might survive this night, survive Bldg.
Nine. The boy looked harmless now, almost like his old self but more confident.
Nick’s old feelings of pity for the boy even returned, though just slightly
ebbed.
“You are a very good looking man,
Nick,” Marc definitely blushed this time. “I have wanted to tell you how I feel
so many nights now. But I resisted, I kept it inside.
“When those,” --- his eyes flashed
red briefly and his face contorted demonically, but quickly regained its soft
look --- “goons caught me tonight, I was even slightly relieved. I thought for
once I was spared the agony of desire from afar. You would at least know how I
felt about you. I was touching myself while watching you. I was thinking of
what it would be like to be in your strong arms.”
Marc reached out to touch Nick’s arm
but Nick’s natural reaction caused him pull away. Pain swept across Marc’s
face.
“Well,” Marc looked down, hiding his
face as he spoke. “Now you do know. You know how I feel and so do those goons.
Or at least they did before I ate their pumping hearts right out of their chests.
I was hoping it would end differently for you, Nick. Even
though you did leave me up there alone with those bastards. I thought
you would help me when you realized how I felt. I thought you would…..”
Nick didn’t like where Marc was
going with this. His bottom lip began to shake. He stared at the top of Marc’s
head and searched for words himself, something to calm Marc down but his brain
wouldn’t cooperate. No words came to his lips before Marc began to speak again.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Nick.
You know how I feel and I know how you feel, you pity me.” Marc’s voice was
different again. Nick’s whole body shook along with his lip as rage overtook
the hurt and softness in Marc’s tone. “It would have been good, Nick, even if
it were only for one night, it would have been good. But I guess you’re not
really much better than them. You should have saved your pity for yourself.”
Marc’s face shot up and his eyes
burned red. The blood had returned to his face and clothes and for the last
time that night screams echoed through Building Nine. When the echoes subsided,
and the final splat was heard by no one, Building Nine fell quiet again.
Stacked at the end of the crane track were the bodies of the last six people to
ever work in Building Nine. On top was a special boy, painted white by God and
splattered with red by the pity and hate of the ignorant, smiling up at the
crisscross pattern of light shooting through the darkness.
END
“Building Nine” is copyrighted
2005 by B. Michael Conover and may not be reproduced without
permission. Mr. Conover welcomes your comments and you may email him at bmconover@hotmail.com