Unknown Hell

I was thinking about creating many stories like this, each playing on a persons fear. Having that person relive that moment, over and over. I don't know if I have enough ideas to create all the layers of hell I wanted, but this is by far my favorite one.

"Sir, time to get up, can't be here all night" a voice echoes in my dream of darkness. I snort myself awake. My sight is blurred, my chin dry with tired drool. The fluorescent light gives my blurred world a very holy, washed out appearance. I blink, trying to moisten my eyes and get my sight back but my glasses are missing. I feel around the table slimy with disease, hitting a coffee mug and a plate of half eaten buttered toast on my exploration.

                I yawn deeply, and that's when I notice it, my tongue now covered with the smell of death that has been filling the air of this small diner. I gag. "What the hell is that smell, and where the hell are my glasses?" I say under my own breath. I finally find my glasses, feeling them jab inside my coat pocket. "Dumbass," I mumble.

                Before I can regain my sight the waitress comes back, "Here's your check," every word accompanied by the smacking of gum in her mouth. That smell, did it come from her? It must be my imagination because I don't know of a single person who would hire someone that smells like they've been wrestling with the dead all day.

                "Thanks," I say while wiping my glasses clean with my shirt; making sure the smell is not mine while doing so, it's not. It lessens when I send the waitress off with my credit card, finally slipping on my glasses. The world now clear, I see the moon big and bright outside these diner windows. If only this run down diner was that beautiful, instead it looks like a condemned diner for the sick. Still it's the only place open this late that can give me a half decent cup of coffee.

I watch as the streets move with the night people who hide from civilization during the hours of the sun; the drug dealers, hookers, and psychopaths. This is my time as well, not delving into the night's culture; I only find comfort in the moon.

                That smell still lingers in the air; I pop my collar and try to cover as much of my nose with it, while not looking too much like an a*****e. I’m pretty shy, and easily embarrassed and I sure as hell was not going to change my way and tell my waitress that I think she smells like s**t. S**t decaying under heat lamps while being marinated by…fresh s**t.

                My eyes continue to wander around this mostly empty diner, just some fellows eating their food, looking so pale under the buzzing lights. I check my watch for the time, half past two. I won't be tired for another three hours.

                The waitress comes back with my card; I glance up at her and quickly avert my gaze. "Thanks," I say as calmly as humanly possible after seeing her face. She's disgusting, that's the only word that comes to mind. Whether it's the lights washing out her color, she's disturbingly pale, with a tinge of blue. Her hair is ruffled and looks to be as dry as hay; and her nails, stuck with dirt as black as the shadows swarming the city streets.

                "Hope to see you again, try to get some sleep alright mister," the gum clicks, the smell walks away.

                Jesus Christ, I look around wondering if anyone else saw the “thing” that just came to my table. But they are all unfazed, worried about their own food. Must be the lighting. I get up, dust myself clean and walk out the door; the ringing of the bell above the door accompanying me out. The cool air smacks me as soon as I step out and I tighten my coat. That vile smell begins to fill the air, "What the hell?"

                I've walked these streets for years, and never have I smelled something so rancid; hard to say when you walk pass alleys full of piss and used condoms all night.

                I walk down the sidewalk and come by this lonely man sitting Indian style with his back against a brick building. He wears a coat so worn down there is no way he finds warmth in it. The moon light makes his skin a cool white. Patches of his skin black with dirt and blood. I slow down as I near him, noticing that he is as still as a cadaver, maybe he’s dead.

He jumps himself awake, "Scared me half to death," his voice muffled by an overly large and shaggy gray beard. He takes in a deep breath of the rotten air. He continues to sniff around, finally looking straight at me. "Hey, you smell that?"

I dare not ask if he smells the s**t that perfumes the air, for it could very well be him. "No… nothing," I respond.

"I smell something fresh," definitely not smelling what I smell I think to myself. "Haven't smelled something like that in years, brings back some good memories." He flicks his tongue to moisten his lips. They now shimmer gray in the moonlight.

I smile and begin to walk away, out of the corner of my eye I see him staring me down, and I pick up my pace.

It must be in my head, but each time I walk by a stranger they seem to keep an eye on me, like a nude model that has lost her way on a street full of horny teenagers. They seem to be undressing me with their eyes, both men and women, all of them looking worse than I have ever noticed.

A hand reaches from a valley and pulls me into its shade. A stranger lets out a deep smooth sigh, and takes in my scent, "Damn baby, you're smelling fine tonight," a soft woman's voice speaks from behind me. I feel the goose bumps lining the back of my neck. "Looking to party tonight?"

She runs her hand toward my crouch, like stiff spider legs ready to entrap a fresh meal. I grab the icy hand that violates me and turn around to face this voice, "Sorry I'm really not…"

The smell hits me so hard I take a step back into the light. She steps closer to me, the stench following her every step. When the light strikes her face something stares back at me more hideous then the girl at the diner. She look's dead, even in this light I can see the open wounds on her arms, the dry hair, the dull colored eyes.

"Baby, come on give me a tiny taste," with every curve of her lip I can see her rotting teeth, every word carried on a cloud of rotting air. I can feel the coffee and toast hit the back of my tongue, I swallow hard to keep it down.

I continue my walk, a bit faster this time. Each time I look back I find her staring at me, I think I see glimmering saliva running down her chin, but from this distance I can't be sure. I slow down and turn to her again, she continues to stare, and I stop and stare back.

She takes in a breath so intensely her chest grows two times bigger. She opens her mouth, " Bloooooooooood!" Her dry voice echoes so loud I step back and cover my ears; I feel the world vibrate around me, the glass windows rumble and crack. I close my eyes, they feel like their bursting? When I feel the world ease I take my hands from my ears and notice spots of blood in the palms of my hands. "Jesus," my words muffled in my ears.

When I look up at her, she is no longer alone, a dozen more strangers, more gather every second; all looking as dead as her. I feel my heart pick up pace.

"Dumbass," I whisper to myself. The smell, the pale bluish skin, the dull eyes, the open wounds…they're all dead. The entire city is dead.

"Bloooooooooood!" the crowd screams in unison. “Move.” I tell my legs, “Move!” and finally they run from this growing danger. I encounter more of them, all of them already alerted by their kin. All of them picking up pace and trying to chase me down.

They run so fast, their breathing so hard it echoes loudly off the sides of the buildings. I can't keep this up, my legs burning. They snap at the air behind me, trying to taste me. The sweat entices them more, hundreds crowd the street now. They run over each other in this chaos. I look for an escape into an alley or a building, but the dead only hemorrhage from every crevice, fall from fire escapes and crash out of windows as I pass them by.

"Bloooooooooood!” they scream again and I run faster, how much longer can I run? That's when I hear the snap and crack of steel breaking bone and I crash to the asphalt below. "Fuuuuuuuck!" I scream so loud my throat becomes raw. I look down, "What the hell, they trapped me…?" my voice shaking. A bear trap chews its way into my leg; so deep I can hear the bones in my leg splintering.

My face becomes wet with tears. At that moment I hear the footsteps nearing under my sobs. I dare not look back, and try as hard as I can to move forward. But I can't, the pain incapacitating. "Help," I whisper, a whisper because I know it will not be answered. This is my end and no one will save me. I feel my pant leg becoming wet with gushing blood and piss.

Soon they have surrounded me, they are panting like hungry wolves. I look at them all, each one of them craving my flesh, hungry for my blood.

I swallow the ball in my throat, "Please…please…please…don't kill me."

This is how it remains for what seems like hours, the beat of my heart keeping time. I can barely hold my head up, I can feel the blood escaping my body, my heart pumping harder to find some sustenance. Peace washes over me as my heart beat finally slows.

One of them lunges at my neck, he bites down but I feel no pain, the blood spots my face and eyes. I don't even twitch. My mouth is now a spring of blood streaming forth, tempting the others with freshly squeezed blood.

The last images I see are those of bodies pilling on top of me, bones being ripped from my body, skin stretching and peeling being gulped down like candy. I do not feel as muscle and fat are eaten off my chest. My heart is ripped from my broken rip cage and swallowed whole. The image is burned into my retinas as my greatest fear eats me alive.

 

"Sir, time to get up, can't be here all night" a voice echoes in my dream of darkness…

Author's Note

Let me know what you think, I feel my flow can be off at times, that my stories may even sound to similar. That whole dark tone underlying all my writing. Any suggestions on what can be changed to make the story go along better?

Reviews

[Sarah Hawkinson]

I think it was fantastic the way it is! It made me feel nauseous but in a good way, I like being creeped out, and you know how to do gore the right way. I'm biased against zombie stories just because there are so many and they're all the same, but this one opened my mind. I liked the flow and I could actually picture the streets, the diner, the people. Very good imagery and metaphors throughout. Great stuff.

[Gabriella]

I think this flows just fine! At some point I thought maybe it was a dream because it seemed surreal, but hadn't predicted it the way you put it. The mystery of the smell is a great hook, by the way. Good job with this, I don't think any major changes need to be made.