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Staircase of Depravity
I wake in darkness, a constant pounding in my head. It’s like a jackhammer driving through my skull, and I fear it’s not going to stop until I get out of this blackness. The side of my face is wet. I trace this back to a wound on top of my head, oozing blood with each pulse. I tear a strip from my shirt to hold over the cut to try to stem the flow. In darkness I have no idea of how much blood I’ve lost, or am still losing. In darkness memories are lost too – I know not where I am, or how I got here.
A shard of light is the only thing I can see. It’s up high as if it’s at the top of a door, or from a window in a basement. With little else to do I approach it, shuffling my feet cautiously across the dusty floor. My hands are outstretched, grasping at dirty air, hoping to find something to hold on to. I hear a snap and feel something clasping my foot. I scream - my head throbbing, the blood flowing faster, and a new pain attached to my toes. I reach down and place my hands around a steel mouse trap – or, considering the size, a rat trap. I ease back the spring and release my toes, tossing the trap aside, and continuing towards the light.
As I get close I stumble, my hands reaching forwards onto something solid. I look up again at the shard of light, realising that it’s coming from beneath a door at the top of some steps. Freedom is just a few steps away I tell myself as I reach my hand out to a rough banister – glad to finally have something to hold to steady myself. My fingers feel wet through the torn shirt on top of my head, so I tear myself a new strip. As I touch the wound with the fresh material a wave of nausea hits me. My hand tightens on the rail, but there’s not a thing I can do to stop it coming. I retch - dry at first before foul tasting chunks pass through, splashing onto the floor.
I take a deep breath to try to clear my head, but the air in here is rank. I wipe my mouth on the sleeve on my shirt, the stiffness and smell of which makes me think it’s not the first time I’ve done that recently. I pull myself onto the first step and then I’m gone. Like a movie in my mind I see myself booting a football into the goal. I must have been eight or nine. I’m sent to go fetch the ball, Christ I can remember cursing the fact we didn’t have nets. It’s in the long grass. I remember this day now. When I get to the ball I see a fox in the grass too. Half of its guts are hanging out, and it’s breathing heavily. What was I doing? I stuck my hand right in there, poking at the open flesh, touching the bone.
What the hell was that all about? This is no time for a flash-back, I’ve got to get out of here. I place a foot on the second step, and as I bring the other one up to join it, it happens again. This time I’m fourteen or so. I’m alone in the boys’ changing-room at school. I can see that my hand’s in my shorts, and I’m having a real good time. This is when I discovered the gap in the wall where I could see into the girls’ changing-room. I picked a good day too, the girls in the final year had their PE lesson. Just as I was getting there I heard a slap on the wall. I turned in shock at that crucial moment, spurting my stuff all down Mr Ferguson’s leg. It continued to pump out, thick and creamy, all over my hand. Mr Ferguson was still staring at his leg, and the stiffening stain on it. I don’t know what came over me then – I flicked my hand and all the stuff in it right at him, into his face. Some of it must have gone in his mouth – it had to, and I just laughed and laughed.
This is crazy, I’ve no time for mind tricks. I take another step, trying to pull myself further up, but I’m struck again. I’m slightly older again, seventeen now. I’m in the toilets at a pub, looks like The Nag. I see these two boys come in and they smile at each other, then smile at me. Now I never was the kind of bloke to like two soft-looking chaps staring at me, especially when I’m trying to go for a slash. I can’t perform under those circumstances, and there’s nothing worse than having a full bladder, and not being able to empty it. I pushed the clever-looking sod into a cubicle, and grabbed his mate by the arm, throwing him in too. I squeezed myself in there with them and pulled out my blade. Now these two freaks, they were messing themselves. I wasn’t going to hurt them or anything, just wanted a bit of fun. “Kiss” I told them, waving the knife around, showing them who was calling the shots. They paused, mumbled about not being like that. I told them with Mr Knife in charge they’d be what I wanted them to be. With a bit of forceful persuasion and minimal bloodshed they did it, a full on kiss, tongues and all. I opened the door and kicked them out. It did the trick too, the gold flowing fine after that.
Must be the blood-loss screwing with my mind, got to keep going. Step four and I’m twenty-one again, watching Stephanie, my first love, waiting to surprise her. From the strongest branch I look into her room, at her with her face white with expectant fear. It’s only a matter of time until she peels back the sheets. I’d picked it off the road earlier that day, it hadn’t been dead that long, and only the back half was mangled – one of its legs I left squashed to the road. I’d carefully severed the head and emptied the skull, filling it with all of the love letters, all of the lies she’d sent me over the previous six months. I’d broken into her room earlier that day and snuggled the badger-head into her bed between the rest of her teddies. Stupid cheating b***h.
As her scream pierced my ears again I returned, blood trickling down my forehead. I tore another fresh strip and moved on towards the light. I tried to miss a step, but my feet were like lead, and the second they crashed down I was again taken from this place and dumped into my past. In almost darkness, the pale light of the moon shone down on my spade as I dug through the night. After a few hours I struck the solid wooden box I’d been looking for. I eagerly shifted dirt with my hands and pulled off the coffin lid. There she was in all her decaying glory, wearing enough jewellery to keep my pockets full for some time.
I’ve done some pretty wrong things in my time, but why now go back over them? It’s too much. Before I even take another step I know another one’s coming, but I move up anyway and once more find myself in the presence of the recently deceased. In a morgue I stood over the body of a young woman. I placed my hands behind her head and unhooked a necklace, eying it for a moment before dropping it into my pocket. I smiled as I reached down and began to pull at the clothes, placing my hand in on a cold breast. I took out my knife and plunged it in, cutting away at the nipple.
I’m going to hell. I’ve no doubt about that, but let me pay for my sins then, not now! Up another step, I yell and I scream, trying to block out what’s coming next, but it’s no good – it’s a recent one too. I’m standing outside a house, ringing a doorbell. This wasn’t long ago at all. Weeks? Days? Hours? This old dear opens up, and I tell her I need to read the meter – holding out the electricity board card I made on my computer. The gullible old cow let me in, and even offered to make me a tea. Of course, I didn’t let her get that far. I clocked her over the back of the head with a wrench. It burst open like a melon. When the heck was that though? Why can’t I remember?
A few more steps to go, but I’m not sure how much more I can take. The sickness is back in my stomach, but I manage to hold it all in for long enough to pull myself up one more step, that little bit closer to freedom. I don’t know what this one’s all about though – it’s like being here, pitch black. Light’s pouring in all of a sudden, I’m blinded, I shield my eyes, my head throbbing. What? It is in here? I’m at the bottom of the steps, and some bloke’s rolling down towards me. When the hell did this happen? How long have I been down here? Where is he now? Soon enough I see what I did to him, with the door still open at the top I pushed past him, tried to get out. As I got close he grabbed my leg and the door slammed shut, me inches away from it. He paid for it dearly. Even though it was pitch black I can faintly see me thumping him, over and again, pounding his head against the floor until it opened up and stopped moving.
This is weird, completely bloody weird. Did that really happen? What’s wrong with me? I take another step, so close now I can almost touch the door – if only leaning forward didn’t make my head throb. Another vision, or memory or whatever they are, and I’m still in this dark place. I can hear a crunching and chewing sound. What on Earth was in there with me?
I’m back at the top of the stairs, that horrible chewing noise stuck in my ears. My stomach can take no more and I throw up again. I begin to cough, gasping for air as I feel something stuck in my throat. I stick a finger in and hook it free before coughing it into my hand. It’s a human fingernail, and not one of mine. The taste of blood in my mouth is not mine either. What ever have I become?
I take the final step to the top of the stairs. Again I get that feeling like I’m in a memory, but I’m still here. Is this a memory of me being here or is it for real? I push open the door, but as soon as I do so I’m faced by the sweet little old lady with the caved in melon-head. She’s got a broom and she’s pushing me back down the stairs. I try to hold on, my fingernails digging into the wall, trying to gain a hold. She changes tact and hits me on top of the head with the broom, and down I tumble.
It was a vision. But was it a memory - or what is to be when I open that door? I touch the wall, and I can feel them, my scratch marks. At least I know how I got the bump on my head.
I push open the door and she’s there waiting for me. Again she’s pushing me back with the broom. I almost stumble and grab the banister. I’m forced to turn and look back down the steps where I can see a half-eaten body. I vomit heavily, some of it splashing into the room above me. For a second the old woman is caught off guard and I manage to knock the broom out of her hand. I pick it up and catch her in the stomach with it. I clamber past her and push her down. I look at her, crumpled in a broken heap at the bottom and spit down towards her. As I’m about to push the door shut I get a shove on my back and once more I’m the wrong side of the door, falling down.
As the door is closing and light slips out of the room once more I catch a glimpse of a woman standing at the top, naked. I’m sure she was missing a nipple.
I wake in darkness, a constant pounding in my head. It’s like a jackhammer driving through my skull, and I fear it’s not going to stop until I get out of this blackness. The side of my face is wet. I trace this back to a wound on top of my head, oozing blood with each pulse. I tear a strip from my shirt to hold over the cut to try to stem the flow. In darkness I have no idea of how much blood I’ve lost, or am still losing. In darkness memories are lost too – I know not where I am, or how I got here.
A shard of light is the only thing I can see. It’s up high as if it’s at the top of a door, or from a window in a basement. With little else to do I approach it, shuffling my feet cautiously across the dusty floor. My hands are outstretched, grasping at dirty air, hoping to find something to hold on to. I hear a snap and feel something clasping my foot. I scream - my head throbbing, the blood flowing faster, and a new pain attached to my toes. I reach down and place my hands around a steel mouse trap – or, considering the size, a rat trap. I ease back the spring and release my toes, tossing the trap aside, and continuing towards the light.
As I get close I stumble, my hands reaching forwards onto something solid. I look up again at the shard of light, realising that it’s coming from beneath a door at the top of some steps. Freedom is just a few steps away I tell myself as I reach my hand out to a rough banister – glad to finally have something to hold to steady myself. My fingers feel wet through the torn shirt on top of my head, so I tear myself a new strip. As I touch the wound with the fresh material a wave of nausea hits me. My hand tightens on the rail, but there’s not a thing I can do to stop it coming. I retch - dry at first before foul tasting chunks pass through, splashing onto the floor.
I take a deep breath to try to clear my head, but the air in here is rank. I wipe my mouth on the sleeve on my shirt, the stiffness and smell of which makes me think it’s not the first time I’ve done that recently. I pull myself onto the first step and then I’m gone. Like a movie in my mind I see myself booting a football into the goal. I must have been eight or nine. I’m sent to go fetch the ball, Christ I can remember cursing the fact we didn’t have nets. It’s in the long grass. I remember this day now. When I get to the ball I see a fox in the grass too. Half of its guts are hanging out, and it’s breathing heavily. What was I doing? I stuck my hand right in there, poking at the open flesh, touching the bone.
What the hell was that all about? This is no time for a flash-back, I’ve got to get out of here. I place a foot on the second step, and as I bring the other one up to join it, it happens again. This time I’m fourteen or so. I’m alone in the boys’ changing-room at school. I can see that my hand’s in my shorts, and I’m having a real good time. This is when I discovered the gap in the wall where I could see into the girls’ changing-room. I picked a good day too, the girls in the final year had their PE lesson. Just as I was getting there I heard a slap on the wall. I turned in shock at that crucial moment, spurting my stuff all down Mr Ferguson’s leg. It continued to pump out, thick and creamy, all over my hand. Mr Ferguson was still staring at his leg, and the stiffening stain on it. I don’t know what came over me then – I flicked my hand and all the stuff in it right at him, into his face. Some of it must have gone in his mouth – it had to, and I just laughed and laughed.
This is crazy, I’ve no time for mind tricks. I take another step, trying to pull myself further up, but I’m struck again. I’m slightly older again, seventeen now. I’m in the toilets at a pub, looks like The Nag. I see these two boys come in and they smile at each other, then smile at me. Now I never was the kind of bloke to like two soft-looking chaps staring at me, especially when I’m trying to go for a slash. I can’t perform under those circumstances, and there’s nothing worse than having a full bladder, and not being able to empty it. I pushed the clever-looking sod into a cubicle, and grabbed his mate by the arm, throwing him in too. I squeezed myself in there with them and pulled out my blade. Now these two freaks, they were messing themselves. I wasn’t going to hurt them or anything, just wanted a bit of fun. “Kiss” I told them, waving the knife around, showing them who was calling the shots. They paused, mumbled about not being like that. I told them with Mr Knife in charge they’d be what I wanted them to be. With a bit of forceful persuasion and minimal bloodshed they did it, a full on kiss, tongues and all. I opened the door and kicked them out. It did the trick too, the gold flowing fine after that.
Must be the blood-loss screwing with my mind, got to keep going. Step four and I’m twenty-one again, watching Stephanie, my first love, waiting to surprise her. From the strongest branch I look into her room, at her with her face white with expectant fear. It’s only a matter of time until she peels back the sheets. I’d picked it off the road earlier that day, it hadn’t been dead that long, and only the back half was mangled – one of its legs I left squashed to the road. I’d carefully severed the head and emptied the skull, filling it with all of the love letters, all of the lies she’d sent me over the previous six months. I’d broken into her room earlier that day and snuggled the badger-head into her bed between the rest of her teddies. Stupid cheating b***h.
As her scream pierced my ears again I returned, blood trickling down my forehead. I tore another fresh strip and moved on towards the light. I tried to miss a step, but my feet were like lead, and the second they crashed down I was again taken from this place and dumped into my past. In almost darkness, the pale light of the moon shone down on my spade as I dug through the night. After a few hours I struck the solid wooden box I’d been looking for. I eagerly shifted dirt with my hands and pulled off the coffin lid. There she was in all her decaying glory, wearing enough jewellery to keep my pockets full for some time.
I’ve done some pretty wrong things in my time, but why now go back over them? It’s too much. Before I even take another step I know another one’s coming, but I move up anyway and once more find myself in the presence of the recently deceased. In a morgue I stood over the body of a young woman. I placed my hands behind her head and unhooked a necklace, eying it for a moment before dropping it into my pocket. I smiled as I reached down and began to pull at the clothes, placing my hand in on a cold breast. I took out my knife and plunged it in, cutting away at the nipple.
I’m going to hell. I’ve no doubt about that, but let me pay for my sins then, not now! Up another step, I yell and I scream, trying to block out what’s coming next, but it’s no good – it’s a recent one too. I’m standing outside a house, ringing a doorbell. This wasn’t long ago at all. Weeks? Days? Hours? This old dear opens up, and I tell her I need to read the meter – holding out the electricity board card I made on my computer. The gullible old cow let me in, and even offered to make me a tea. Of course, I didn’t let her get that far. I clocked her over the back of the head with a wrench. It burst open like a melon. When the heck was that though? Why can’t I remember?
A few more steps to go, but I’m not sure how much more I can take. The sickness is back in my stomach, but I manage to hold it all in for long enough to pull myself up one more step, that little bit closer to freedom. I don’t know what this one’s all about though – it’s like being here, pitch black. Light’s pouring in all of a sudden, I’m blinded, I shield my eyes, my head throbbing. What? It is in here? I’m at the bottom of the steps, and some bloke’s rolling down towards me. When the hell did this happen? How long have I been down here? Where is he now? Soon enough I see what I did to him, with the door still open at the top I pushed past him, tried to get out. As I got close he grabbed my leg and the door slammed shut, me inches away from it. He paid for it dearly. Even though it was pitch black I can faintly see me thumping him, over and again, pounding his head against the floor until it opened up and stopped moving.
This is weird, completely bloody weird. Did that really happen? What’s wrong with me? I take another step, so close now I can almost touch the door – if only leaning forward didn’t make my head throb. Another vision, or memory or whatever they are, and I’m still in this dark place. I can hear a crunching and chewing sound. What on Earth was in there with me?
I’m back at the top of the stairs, that horrible chewing noise stuck in my ears. My stomach can take no more and I throw up again. I begin to cough, gasping for air as I feel something stuck in my throat. I stick a finger in and hook it free before coughing it into my hand. It’s a human fingernail, and not one of mine. The taste of blood in my mouth is not mine either. What ever have I become?
I take the final step to the top of the stairs. Again I get that feeling like I’m in a memory, but I’m still here. Is this a memory of me being here or is it for real? I push open the door, but as soon as I do so I’m faced by the sweet little old lady with the caved in melon-head. She’s got a broom and she’s pushing me back down the stairs. I try to hold on, my fingernails digging into the wall, trying to gain a hold. She changes tact and hits me on top of the head with the broom, and down I tumble.
It was a vision. But was it a memory - or what is to be when I open that door? I touch the wall, and I can feel them, my scratch marks. At least I know how I got the bump on my head.
I push open the door and she’s there waiting for me. Again she’s pushing me back with the broom. I almost stumble and grab the banister. I’m forced to turn and look back down the steps where I can see a half-eaten body. I vomit heavily, some of it splashing into the room above me. For a second the old woman is caught off guard and I manage to knock the broom out of her hand. I pick it up and catch her in the stomach with it. I clamber past her and push her down. I look at her, crumpled in a broken heap at the bottom and spit down towards her. As I’m about to push the door shut I get a shove on my back and once more I’m the wrong side of the door, falling down.
As the door is closing and light slips out of the room once more I catch a glimpse of a woman standing at the top, naked. I’m sure she was missing a nipple.
That was... excellent. Sorry I didn't read through it first time around, only story on the second page. :-\
Whoa.. weird and fantastic at the same time.
Wonderful. I really like that. Especially the recollections, which were disturbing and fascinating.
Vivid, weird, sick and absolutely wonderful.
This one, for some strange reason, I really enjoyed especially as I started off smiling at the rat trap. I definitely wasn't smiling at the end.
This one, for some strange reason, I really enjoyed especially as I started off smiling at the rat trap. I definitely wasn't smiling at the end.
Staircase of Depravity
I wake in darkness, a constant pounding in my head. It’s like a jackhammer driving through my skull, and I fear it’s not going to stop until I get out of this blackness. The side of my face is wet. I trace this back to a wound on top of my head, oozing blood with each pulse. I tear a strip from my shirt to hold over the cut to try to stem the flow. In darkness I have no idea of how much blood I’ve lost, or am still losing. In darkness memories are lost too – I know not where I am, or how I got here.
A shard of light is the only thing I can see. It’s up high as if it’s at the top of a door, or from a window in a basement. With little else to do I approach it, shuffling my feet cautiously across the dusty floor. My hands are outstretched, grasping at dirty air, hoping to find something to hold on to. I hear a snap and feel something clasping my foot. I scream - my head throbbing, the blood flowing faster, and a new pain attached to my toes. I reach down and place my hands around a steel mouse trap – or, considering the size, a rat trap. I ease back the spring and release my toes, tossing the trap aside, and continuing towards the light.
As I get close I stumble, my hands reaching forwards onto something solid. I look up again at the shard of light, realising that it’s coming from beneath a door at the top of some steps. Freedom is just a few steps away I tell myself as I reach my hand out to a rough banister – glad to finally have something to hold to steady myself. My fingers feel wet through the torn shirt on top of my head, so I tear myself a new strip. As I touch the wound with the fresh material a wave of nausea hits me. My hand tightens on the rail, but there’s not a thing I can do to stop it coming. I retch - dry at first before foul tasting chunks pass through, splashing onto the floor.
I take a deep breath to try to clear my head, but the air in here is rank. I wipe my mouth on the sleeve on my shirt, the stiffness and smell of which makes me think it’s not the first time I’ve done that recently. I pull myself onto the first step and then I’m gone. Like a movie in my mind I see myself booting a football into the goal. I must have been eight or nine. I’m sent to go fetch the ball, Christ I can remember cursing the fact we didn’t have nets. It’s in the long grass. I remember this day now. When I get to the ball I see a fox in the grass too. Half of its guts are hanging out, and it’s breathing heavily. What was I doing? I stuck my hand right in there, poking at the open flesh, touching the bone.
What the hell was that all about? This is no time for a flash-back, I’ve got to get out of here. I place a foot on the second step, and as I bring the other one up to join it, it happens again. This time I’m fourteen or so. I’m alone in the boys’ changing-room at school. I can see that my hand’s in my shorts, and I’m having a real good time. This is when I discovered the gap in the wall where I could see into the girls’ changing-room. I picked a good day too, the girls in the final year had their PE lesson. Just as I was getting there I heard a slap on the wall. I turned in shock at that crucial moment, spurting my stuff all down Mr Ferguson’s leg. It continued to pump out, thick and creamy, all over my hand. Mr Ferguson was still staring at his leg, and the stiffening stain on it. I don’t know what came over me then – I flicked my hand and all the stuff in it right at him, into his face. Some of it must have gone in his mouth – it had to, and I just laughed and laughed.
This is crazy, I’ve no time for mind tricks. I take another step, trying to pull myself further up, but I’m struck again. I’m slightly older again, seventeen now. I’m in the toilets at a pub, looks like The Nag. I see these two boys come in and they smile at each other, then smile at me. Now I never was the kind of bloke to like two soft-looking chaps staring at me, especially when I’m trying to go for a slash. I can’t perform under those circumstances, and there’s nothing worse than having a full bladder, and not being able to empty it. I pushed the clever-looking sod into a cubicle, and grabbed his mate by the arm, throwing him in too. I squeezed myself in there with them and pulled out my blade. Now these two freaks, they were messing themselves. I wasn’t going to hurt them or anything, just wanted a bit of fun. “Kiss” I told them, waving the knife around, showing them who was calling the shots. They paused, mumbled about not being like that. I told them with Mr Knife in charge they’d be what I wanted them to be. With a bit of forceful persuasion and minimal bloodshed they did it, a full on kiss, tongues and all. I opened the door and kicked them out. It did the trick too, the gold flowing fine after that.
Must be the blood-loss screwing with my mind, got to keep going. Step four and I’m twenty-one again, watching Stephanie, my first love, waiting to surprise her. From the strongest branch I look into her room, at her with her face white with expectant fear. It’s only a matter of time until she peels back the sheets. I’d picked it off the road earlier that day, it hadn’t been dead that long, and only the back half was mangled – one of its legs I left squashed to the road. I’d carefully severed the head and emptied the skull, filling it with all of the love letters, all of the lies she’d sent me over the previous six months. I’d broken into her room earlier that day and snuggled the badger-head into her bed between the rest of her teddies. Stupid cheating b***h.
As her scream pierced my ears again I returned, blood trickling down my forehead. I tore another fresh strip and moved on towards the light. I tried to miss a step, but my feet were like lead, and the second they crashed down I was again taken from this place and dumped into my past. In almost darkness, the pale light of the moon shone down on my spade as I dug through the night. After a few hours I struck the solid wooden box I’d been looking for. I eagerly shifted dirt with my hands and pulled off the coffin lid. There she was in all her decaying glory, wearing enough jewellery to keep my pockets full for some time.
I’ve done some pretty wrong things in my time, but why now go back over them? It’s too much. Before I even take another step I know another one’s coming, but I move up anyway and once more find myself in the presence of the recently deceased. In a morgue I stood over the body of a young woman. I placed my hands behind her head and unhooked a necklace, eying it for a moment before dropping it into my pocket. I smiled as I reached down and began to pull at the clothes, placing my hand in on a cold breast. I took out my knife and plunged it in, cutting away at the nipple.
I’m going to hell. I’ve no doubt about that, but let me pay for my sins then, not now! Up another step, I yell and I scream, trying to block out what’s coming next, but it’s no good – it’s a recent one too. I’m standing outside a house, ringing a doorbell. This wasn’t long ago at all. Weeks? Days? Hours? This old dear opens up, and I tell her I need to read the meter – holding out the electricity board card I made on my computer. The gullible old cow let me in, and even offered to make me a tea. Of course, I didn’t let her get that far. I clocked her over the back of the head with a wrench. It burst open like a melon. When the heck was that though? Why can’t I remember?
A few more steps to go, but I’m not sure how much more I can take. The sickness is back in my stomach, but I manage to hold it all in for long enough to pull myself up one more step, that little bit closer to freedom. I don’t know what this one’s all about though – it’s like being here, pitch black. Light’s pouring in all of a sudden, I’m blinded, I shield my eyes, my head throbbing. What? It is in here? I’m at the bottom of the steps, and some bloke’s rolling down towards me. When the hell did this happen? How long have I been down here? Where is he now? Soon enough I see what I did to him, with the door still open at the top I pushed past him, tried to get out. As I got close he grabbed my leg and the door slammed shut, me inches away from it. He paid for it dearly. Even though it was pitch black I can faintly see me thumping him, over and again, pounding his head against the floor until it opened up and stopped moving.
This is weird, completely bloody weird. Did that really happen? What’s wrong with me? I take another step, so close now I can almost touch the door – if only leaning forward didn’t make my head throb. Another vision, or memory or whatever they are, and I’m still in this dark place. I can hear a crunching and chewing sound. What on Earth was in there with me?
I’m back at the top of the stairs, that horrible chewing noise stuck in my ears. My stomach can take no more and I throw up again. I begin to cough, gasping for air as I feel something stuck in my throat. I stick a finger in and hook it free before coughing it into my hand. It’s a human fingernail, and not one of mine. The taste of blood in my mouth is not mine either. What ever have I become?
I take the final step to the top of the stairs. Again I get that feeling like I’m in a memory, but I’m still here. Is this a memory of me being here or is it for real? I push open the door, but as soon as I do so I’m faced by the sweet little old lady with the caved in melon-head. She’s got a broom and she’s pushing me back down the stairs. I try to hold on, my fingernails digging into the wall, trying to gain a hold. She changes tact and hits me on top of the head with the broom, and down I tumble.
It was a vision. But was it a memory - or what is to be when I open that door? I touch the wall, and I can feel them, my scratch marks. At least I know how I got the bump on my head.
I push open the door and she’s there waiting for me. Again she’s pushing me back with the broom. I almost stumble and grab the banister. I’m forced to turn and look back down the steps where I can see a half-eaten body. I vomit heavily, some of it splashing into the room above me. For a second the old woman is caught off guard and I manage to knock the broom out of her hand. I pick it up and catch her in the stomach with it. I clamber past her and push her down. I look at her, crumpled in a broken heap at the bottom and spit down towards her. As I’m about to push the door shut I get a shove on my back and once more I’m the wrong side of the door, falling down.
As the door is closing and light slips out of the room once more I catch a glimpse of a woman standing at the top, naked. I’m sure she was missing a nipple.
I wake in darkness, a constant pounding in my head. It’s like a jackhammer driving through my skull, and I fear it’s not going to stop until I get out of this blackness. The side of my face is wet. I trace this back to a wound on top of my head, oozing blood with each pulse. I tear a strip from my shirt to hold over the cut to try to stem the flow. In darkness I have no idea of how much blood I’ve lost, or am still losing. In darkness memories are lost too – I know not where I am, or how I got here.
A shard of light is the only thing I can see. It’s up high as if it’s at the top of a door, or from a window in a basement. With little else to do I approach it, shuffling my feet cautiously across the dusty floor. My hands are outstretched, grasping at dirty air, hoping to find something to hold on to. I hear a snap and feel something clasping my foot. I scream - my head throbbing, the blood flowing faster, and a new pain attached to my toes. I reach down and place my hands around a steel mouse trap – or, considering the size, a rat trap. I ease back the spring and release my toes, tossing the trap aside, and continuing towards the light.
As I get close I stumble, my hands reaching forwards onto something solid. I look up again at the shard of light, realising that it’s coming from beneath a door at the top of some steps. Freedom is just a few steps away I tell myself as I reach my hand out to a rough banister – glad to finally have something to hold to steady myself. My fingers feel wet through the torn shirt on top of my head, so I tear myself a new strip. As I touch the wound with the fresh material a wave of nausea hits me. My hand tightens on the rail, but there’s not a thing I can do to stop it coming. I retch - dry at first before foul tasting chunks pass through, splashing onto the floor.
I take a deep breath to try to clear my head, but the air in here is rank. I wipe my mouth on the sleeve on my shirt, the stiffness and smell of which makes me think it’s not the first time I’ve done that recently. I pull myself onto the first step and then I’m gone. Like a movie in my mind I see myself booting a football into the goal. I must have been eight or nine. I’m sent to go fetch the ball, Christ I can remember cursing the fact we didn’t have nets. It’s in the long grass. I remember this day now. When I get to the ball I see a fox in the grass too. Half of its guts are hanging out, and it’s breathing heavily. What was I doing? I stuck my hand right in there, poking at the open flesh, touching the bone.
What the hell was that all about? This is no time for a flash-back, I’ve got to get out of here. I place a foot on the second step, and as I bring the other one up to join it, it happens again. This time I’m fourteen or so. I’m alone in the boys’ changing-room at school. I can see that my hand’s in my shorts, and I’m having a real good time. This is when I discovered the gap in the wall where I could see into the girls’ changing-room. I picked a good day too, the girls in the final year had their PE lesson. Just as I was getting there I heard a slap on the wall. I turned in shock at that crucial moment, spurting my stuff all down Mr Ferguson’s leg. It continued to pump out, thick and creamy, all over my hand. Mr Ferguson was still staring at his leg, and the stiffening stain on it. I don’t know what came over me then – I flicked my hand and all the stuff in it right at him, into his face. Some of it must have gone in his mouth – it had to, and I just laughed and laughed.
This is crazy, I’ve no time for mind tricks. I take another step, trying to pull myself further up, but I’m struck again. I’m slightly older again, seventeen now. I’m in the toilets at a pub, looks like The Nag. I see these two boys come in and they smile at each other, then smile at me. Now I never was the kind of bloke to like two soft-looking chaps staring at me, especially when I’m trying to go for a slash. I can’t perform under those circumstances, and there’s nothing worse than having a full bladder, and not being able to empty it. I pushed the clever-looking sod into a cubicle, and grabbed his mate by the arm, throwing him in too. I squeezed myself in there with them and pulled out my blade. Now these two freaks, they were messing themselves. I wasn’t going to hurt them or anything, just wanted a bit of fun. “Kiss” I told them, waving the knife around, showing them who was calling the shots. They paused, mumbled about not being like that. I told them with Mr Knife in charge they’d be what I wanted them to be. With a bit of forceful persuasion and minimal bloodshed they did it, a full on kiss, tongues and all. I opened the door and kicked them out. It did the trick too, the gold flowing fine after that.
Must be the blood-loss screwing with my mind, got to keep going. Step four and I’m twenty-one again, watching Stephanie, my first love, waiting to surprise her. From the strongest branch I look into her room, at her with her face white with expectant fear. It’s only a matter of time until she peels back the sheets. I’d picked it off the road earlier that day, it hadn’t been dead that long, and only the back half was mangled – one of its legs I left squashed to the road. I’d carefully severed the head and emptied the skull, filling it with all of the love letters, all of the lies she’d sent me over the previous six months. I’d broken into her room earlier that day and snuggled the badger-head into her bed between the rest of her teddies. Stupid cheating b***h.
As her scream pierced my ears again I returned, blood trickling down my forehead. I tore another fresh strip and moved on towards the light. I tried to miss a step, but my feet were like lead, and the second they crashed down I was again taken from this place and dumped into my past. In almost darkness, the pale light of the moon shone down on my spade as I dug through the night. After a few hours I struck the solid wooden box I’d been looking for. I eagerly shifted dirt with my hands and pulled off the coffin lid. There she was in all her decaying glory, wearing enough jewellery to keep my pockets full for some time.
I’ve done some pretty wrong things in my time, but why now go back over them? It’s too much. Before I even take another step I know another one’s coming, but I move up anyway and once more find myself in the presence of the recently deceased. In a morgue I stood over the body of a young woman. I placed my hands behind her head and unhooked a necklace, eying it for a moment before dropping it into my pocket. I smiled as I reached down and began to pull at the clothes, placing my hand in on a cold breast. I took out my knife and plunged it in, cutting away at the nipple.
I’m going to hell. I’ve no doubt about that, but let me pay for my sins then, not now! Up another step, I yell and I scream, trying to block out what’s coming next, but it’s no good – it’s a recent one too. I’m standing outside a house, ringing a doorbell. This wasn’t long ago at all. Weeks? Days? Hours? This old dear opens up, and I tell her I need to read the meter – holding out the electricity board card I made on my computer. The gullible old cow let me in, and even offered to make me a tea. Of course, I didn’t let her get that far. I clocked her over the back of the head with a wrench. It burst open like a melon. When the heck was that though? Why can’t I remember?
A few more steps to go, but I’m not sure how much more I can take. The sickness is back in my stomach, but I manage to hold it all in for long enough to pull myself up one more step, that little bit closer to freedom. I don’t know what this one’s all about though – it’s like being here, pitch black. Light’s pouring in all of a sudden, I’m blinded, I shield my eyes, my head throbbing. What? It is in here? I’m at the bottom of the steps, and some bloke’s rolling down towards me. When the hell did this happen? How long have I been down here? Where is he now? Soon enough I see what I did to him, with the door still open at the top I pushed past him, tried to get out. As I got close he grabbed my leg and the door slammed shut, me inches away from it. He paid for it dearly. Even though it was pitch black I can faintly see me thumping him, over and again, pounding his head against the floor until it opened up and stopped moving.
This is weird, completely bloody weird. Did that really happen? What’s wrong with me? I take another step, so close now I can almost touch the door – if only leaning forward didn’t make my head throb. Another vision, or memory or whatever they are, and I’m still in this dark place. I can hear a crunching and chewing sound. What on Earth was in there with me?
I’m back at the top of the stairs, that horrible chewing noise stuck in my ears. My stomach can take no more and I throw up again. I begin to cough, gasping for air as I feel something stuck in my throat. I stick a finger in and hook it free before coughing it into my hand. It’s a human fingernail, and not one of mine. The taste of blood in my mouth is not mine either. What ever have I become?
I take the final step to the top of the stairs. Again I get that feeling like I’m in a memory, but I’m still here. Is this a memory of me being here or is it for real? I push open the door, but as soon as I do so I’m faced by the sweet little old lady with the caved in melon-head. She’s got a broom and she’s pushing me back down the stairs. I try to hold on, my fingernails digging into the wall, trying to gain a hold. She changes tact and hits me on top of the head with the broom, and down I tumble.
It was a vision. But was it a memory - or what is to be when I open that door? I touch the wall, and I can feel them, my scratch marks. At least I know how I got the bump on my head.
I push open the door and she’s there waiting for me. Again she’s pushing me back with the broom. I almost stumble and grab the banister. I’m forced to turn and look back down the steps where I can see a half-eaten body. I vomit heavily, some of it splashing into the room above me. For a second the old woman is caught off guard and I manage to knock the broom out of her hand. I pick it up and catch her in the stomach with it. I clamber past her and push her down. I look at her, crumpled in a broken heap at the bottom and spit down towards her. As I’m about to push the door shut I get a shove on my back and once more I’m the wrong side of the door, falling down.
As the door is closing and light slips out of the room once more I catch a glimpse of a woman standing at the top, naked. I’m sure she was missing a nipple.