Liz King
The Memory
Chapter 8
There were no words to describe what Kent was seeing. Well sure, you could call the creature repulsive, an abomination, a baffling unfinished clay sculpture of a child, left out in the sun for too long, but Kent didn’t know these words. All he knew was that he had to get away from that thing.
The creature had the build of a small ten-year-old. Its skin was pasty, almost pure white with a pale tinge of pink to it. Its skin hung down in flaps, it completely nude, covered in what looked to be a clear mucus. Its mouth was a gaping maw amidst the skin flaps, unmoving as heavy, wet sucking sounds emitted from it. Its eyes were the worst though, completely black, set into its face like two raisins shoved into bread dough. It was stumbling forward, a long thing that looked to be a tentacle dragging along the tunnels floor. The tentacle was a different color from the body, it was dark purple, blue and green veins pushing up against the skin in places, causing unnatural bulges against the skin.
They stood in silence for a moment, the only noise coming from the black hole that was the creature’s mouth. Then Alice screamed, sprinting away into the dark abyss of the tunnel. The thing let out a terrible howl, flecks of white spittle flying out of its largest orifice as it started charging forward, its wet feet slapping the rock of the tunnel with wet slaps as it lumbered forward. Kent and Greg both yelled in fear, pushing one another out of the way as they sprinted forward.
The things tentacle swung forward towards them, grazing Kent’s shoulder as it did so. The second the slimy object contacted his arm, a memory flashed through his head, more vivid than anything he’d ever experienced.
He flashed back to a few Halloweens ago, back when he was ten. His mother had hugged him tightly, him dressed in a vampire costume, the fake blood on his lips standing his mother’s shirt. She was fat with pregnancy, her body seemed to wrap around him as she pulled him in close. He blushed and pushed her away, feeling too old to be getting things like hugs.
She’d smiled down at him and handed him his candy basket, a small orange one made from plastic, molded into the shape of a winking pumpkin. He had raced out into the street, joining a group of friends waiting for him.
“Finally, there you are!” One of them had said in a bored tone, her pink devil mask blocking her face from Kent’s view.
“Are you guys ready to trick or treat?” Somebody asked from the front of the pack. All the kids, including Kent had jumped and said “Yes!” Before all racing off in their own directions, seeing who could get the most candy. Kent rushed off in the direction of the gated community, knowing he was likely to get more candy from there then the small neighborhood he was in now.
Around halfway through his trip, he had to run through a small thicket of woods to get to the community. It saved a half mile from his trip, and it even had a paved trail through it. He slowed down as he approached the entrance of the woods, caution filling his body as he noticed for the first time just how dark it was. This was the first year he’d trick or treated alone, his mother had usually walked with him down this trail on Halloween night, her extra-bright flashlight illuminating all the pathway, leaving no chance for the things in the shadows to leap out and grab them, dragging them off to do...things to them.
Kent shook his head, hoping to get the idea out of it. You idiot, monsters don’t exist. He’d thought as he started walking down the trail, his small, dim flashing clutched tightly in his left hand. He tried to hum as he walked to fill the silence, but he found he’d lost his voice. The darkness of the woods seemed to press against his eyes, doing something weird to them, making him see things moving about in the darkness.
Finally, something materialized from the darkness. It was standing, no, hanging very still, its back turned to him as Kent approached it. It was almost comical the way it was seemingly floating a few inches off the ground, its bright yellow jacket hanging slightly off its shoulders, the toe section of its large, floppy shoes almost touching the asphalt. Kent stood, stoic, watching as a frigid wind stated to blow, turning the body around to face Kent.
The face was almost blue, the stereotypical red nose barely clinging to the man’s pale nose. His wig was on the ground beneath him, it had likely fallen off as the man kicked the stool out from under him. Kent took another step closer to the clown, terror and panic overrun by his burning curiosity. He was still a kid, he had never been subjected to death before, heck he barely even understood the concept of it. He took another step closer, now about a foot away from the corpse. He could now smell the strong scent of brandy emanating from the man’s body, he had likely chugged some down before jumping off of the chair, which Kent could now see sat a few feet away, on its side. Kent reached out a trembling hand and poked the man’s leg. Nothing happened for a moment, then the body moved. Its arms jerked forward, towards Kent, the clown’s eyes wide open with fear as a gurgling noise emitted from its throat.
Kent had screamed, dropping his basket and flashlight as he sprinted away as fast as he could, not stopping until he finally reached his house, pounding on the door until his mother had come out her angry expression instantly turning to that of compassion as she took her son into a loving embrace, asking him what was wrong.
The next day, the police had taken down the body and had talked to Kent, trying to comfort him, but it was to no avail. He’d live his life scared of clowns, there was just no way for him to feel normal again.
As fast as the memory had overtaken him, it was over. Kent was still running for his life, the tentacle retracting back to the creature’s body as it lumbered into the darkness of the tunnel. As Kent glanced back, he could almost swear the thing was smiling, if he could even call it that, the corners of its mouth were drawn up, making it look like somebody had carved a crescent moon into a pile of clay.
They ran for a while, Kent right behind Greg, until they finally came to a stop, hands on their knees, faces red and wet with sweat. As they looked up at each other they started laughing, sharp noises void of any joy, only used to get out some of the terrible energy building up in them. Kent could still hear Spark barking in Greg’s back, each shrill yelp echoing down the tunnel.
“Shut the freaking dog up, man!” Kent yelled, placing a hand on the wall as he clutched at his side, his side burning with an intense pain. Greg swung his bag off his back, cradling it in his arms and he whispered into it, sticking his fingers in to pet his dog. Kent slid down the wall into a sitting position, hoping to God the thing hadn’t followed them. The dog eventually shut up and Greg grimaced, slipping his bag back on.
“What the hell was that thing?” He asked finally, sitting down in the middle of the tunnel, perpendicular to where Kent sat.
“I don’t know man...I really don’t know. It touched me with that...tentacle thing. I...I really don’t know why but it made me remember this terrible thing from my childhood…” Kent said, not sure why he was being so open to Greg. Maybe it was because the cave was weakening his emotional barriers, making him more vulnerable to talking and speaking his mind. Greg’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he sat up more.
“What did you see?” He asked.
“I remembered something from a couple of Halloweens ago. Remember when Marcus Antony hung himself?”
“Yeah, that was the guy who uh...who played as a clown for parties right?”
“Yeah, that’s him. Well, I was the kid that found his body first. Seeing that clown suit on the body, seeing him reaching out to me as his eyes filled with such horror...it scared me, y’know man? I never really...y’know... I just never really liked clowns much after that. They terrified me… I don’t know what that memory came to me when that thing touched me, but it did.”
Greg stayed quiet for a moment then spoke. “I think I...Well I think I’ve reached the only logical conclusion anyone could reach from this experience.”
“Yeah, and what’s that?” Kent asked, desperate for any sort of explanation he could find.
“We’re in hell, and they’re trying to find out what scares us to punish us that way. Kill us fear. This is our punishment.”
Kent stayed quiet, thinking about this. Greg said it with no humor of any kind, it was a genuine theory, one of which Kent couldn’t really disprove. The boys sat in the dark, Greg had turned off his flashlight, not wanting to waste any power, thinking. Around them, the cave started to shift.