Post by Deleted on Dec 19, 2020 23:01:29 GMT -5
NATHAN GREY
JORDAN PATRICK SMITH as
SØREN
STEPHEN MERCHANT as
ULRIK LEFEVRE
WRITTEN & PERFORMED by KAT LEON
the beginning of endless night
NOVEMBER 6—AFTER NATHAN retrieved his suitcase from the baggage carousel he followed the TAXA/TAXI signs to the depot. The airport was crowded as people were funneling in and out of the country for the looming holiday season. He weaved through the slow walkers and cut through little shortcuts to get around people who were just standing around waiting for their flight to board. Finally he reached the escalators leading to ground level. As the stairs descended, he adjusted the strap on his messenger bag and let out a tired sigh.
The moving stairs emptied into a concourse. Most people continued straight after reaching the bottom toward the egress where ten revolving doors separated the cold outside from the warm interior. Others went left toward the dozen or so car rental service desks where long lines snaked through roped off thoroughfares. To the right of the exit waited a handful of chauffeurs holding signs with names jotted on them. One sign had N. GREY neatly written in bold block lettering. The man holding it was thirty-something, tall and athletic, with short, slick blond hair parted to the right. He wore a black peacoat with matching slacks, shined shoes, and leather gloves. Nathan walked off the escalator and wheeled his rolling suitcase across the concourse to meet the driver.
“I’m Nathan Grey,” he said.
“Of course you are, sir,” the other answered behind his black cotton mask, then added, “My name is Søren. It’s my pleasure to assist you while you are in our beautiful Denmark. Let me take those.”
Søren slung the messenger bag over his shoulder and picked up the suitcase. “This way, sir.” He led Nathan out the doors into a long tunnel where taxis were lined up bumper to bumper. The cabbies waited by their cars, offering rides to everyone stepping out of the revolving doors. Søren went right. Nathan followed him past a dozen cabs to a black Audi S8 idling quietly next to the curb.
Søren used the remote to open the trunk. As he loaded in the bags he caught Nathan moving to open the passenger door. “One moment, sir,” he said before closing the trunk. Nathan felt a bit awkward as he waited. He’d ridden in who knows how many Ubers and never did a driver open his door for him. Søren came around the bumper and opened the rear passenger door. Nathen thanked him as he bent down to climb into the car and settled in the leather seat.
Søren shut the door before heading around to the driver’s side. He got in behind the wheel, closed the door, and started the vehicle. After checking the mirrors he hit the gas. The car smoothly accelerated through the tunnel and then up an incline. At the top of the ramp the car exited the dim passageway and merged onto a highway. Rays of sunlight filled the car with light as farmland streaked by both sides of the car.
Until today he had never flown first class and now he was sitting in a luxury car being driven around by a chauffeur. It felt unnatural to him. Most people would be happy to have some relative you never knew leave you a whole lot of money after they died. But he has always subscribed to the idea that there’s a price to pay for everything. Nothing is free and there’s always a catch.
Nathan sat forward and said, “Excuse me. How long is the drive?”
“About an hour,” Søren said, “depending on traffic.”
“Okay.” Nathan sat back for a moment, before leaning toward the front again. “Let me ask you something. Did you work for Niels?”
Søren had a hint of a smile. “I did.” His blue eyes glanced back in the rearview mirror. “I worked for Mestre Gram for five years before his passing.”
“What was he like? I only know what other people have said about him.”
There was a mischievousness in the way Søren’s eyes pursed then rolled toward the highway. A moment passed, as if he had to consider his answer. “Mestre Gram was a misunderstood man. To those who only knew the character he played on the television he was a monster. But those who knew him personally have nothing but kind words to say of him.”
“Really?” Nathan was genuinely surprised. “That’s just not what I expected. Many people where I’m from think he murdered my mother. My grandfather even tried to kill Niels for it.”
Søren gave a little shrug of his shoulders. “All I can tell you is what I experienced in all my years working closely with him. I think the isolation wore on him, especially near the end after he became sick. He had no family with him in his final moments. Only myself and Mr. Lefevre were present.”
“Lefevre’s the lawyer, right?”
“Yes, Mr. Lefevre is…excuse me, was Mestre Gram’s lawyer here in Denmark. He is handling the estate and in that regard he will have many more details for you than I can provide.”
“Gotcha,” Nathan said. He took that as the chauffeur’s way of saying no more questions.
“You look tired, sir, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Nathan actually was worn out from the flight but it was more than that. He hadn’t felt right for a week, not since learning the truth about being adopted and the identities of his birth parents.
He said, “It’s been a long few days. Also, I didn’t sleep much on the plane.”
“Turbulence?”
Nathan shook his head and said, “Bad dreams.”
“I see,” Søren said real big then smiled. “Get some rest, sir. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”
Nathan was tired but he didn’t think he’d fall asleep. His mind was filled with fog but the thoughts kept racing aimlessly through it. He took the airpods out of his pocket and inserted them in his ears, then double-tapped the right one to resume the playlist. A hiss filled his ears. Must have been the end of whatever song was last playing. As he waited for the next track to begin, his head was nodding. His mind was too busy to fall asleep, but maybe if he just closed his eyes for a moment, he’d feel better…
NATHAN AWOKE TO KAT LEON singing Your Time Is Running Out…Out…Out…He sat forward to see the car was slowly making its way down an unpaved road surrounded by dense evergreen trees. He saw the sun through the windshield dipping down to the horizon even though it was still early in the afternoon, a reminder at just how far away from home he was.
The woman continued to sing:
Where you gonna run to now?
Nathan saw Søren talking in the rearview mirror but he couldn’t hear over the music. He removed the airpods. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“We’re there, sir. I was about to wake you.”
“I didn’t expect to fall asleep.”
“Do you feel better,” the chauffeur asked.
“A little,” Nathan said with a stretch.
As the trees broke ahead, the first thing Nathan saw was a large structure constructed from bright, red-stained wood and white stone. It almost looked like some type of arena.
“That’s not the house, is it?”
Søren tried to hide a chuckle. “That’s the manège. It used to be where Mestre Gram kept his horses, but after he became ill he could no longer ride, so he sold them. There are thirty stalls inside, and in the middle a riding arena.” He turned the wheel and the car pulled off the road onto a cobblestone parking lot and drove to the front of the mansion.
Three stories of red brick and stone lorded over. The orange light of the setting sun reflected off the glass of the impressive bank of windows which were evenly spaced across the first and second floors. A third row of windows were small circles extending out from the high pitched navy roof. In the center was a large, triangular pediment of solid marble supported by four pillars. Sculpted into the rock was a tree with long branches covered in thick foliage and a winged serpent coiled around its trunk.
A white Land Rover was parked out front of the house. Søren pulled the car next to it and shut off the engine. Nathan noted the pool to the right of the house and the patio behind it. Off the left was a garage with five white doors. The front door opened and out walked a man in a dark blue suit. When he raised his hand to wave a gold watch peaked out from his sleeve.
Nathan said, “Is that the lawyer?”
“Yes, that is Ulrik Lefevre,” Søren said before getting out of the car. He headed around to the passenger side and opened the door. Nathan climbed out of the car and took another look around the property. There was no doubting its beauty but it also felt isolated. There were no other houses to see because the entire property was surrounded by the same evergreen trees he saw on the road. The nearest neighbor could be miles away. He imagined what it must have been like to die here all alone and felt a tremendous sadness come over him.
Lefevre called down to them from the stoop. “Welcome, Nathan Grey. I trust the drive was uneventful.”
Søren chimed in. “He slept most of the way.” Then turned to Nathan and said quietly, “Go ahead while I gather your belongings, Mestre Gram.”
Nathan corrected him without missing a beat. “Grey. Not Gram. And just Nathan, please.”
Søren said playfully, “I’m sorry…Nathan. A slip of the tongue, as you Americans say. You look quite like your father, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Nathan didn’t know how to respond to that so he just smiled and tipped his head before heading toward the house. As he walked up the five steps the lawyer pulled out a paper mask and hooked it over both ears. Nathan said, “Mr. Lefevre?”
“Yes! Ulrik Lefevre, at your service.” He was a few inches taller than Nathan, who himself was an inch over six feet. Lefevre had red hair parted left and a short goatee with little gray hairs starting to overtake his chin. A pair of black frame glasses sat high on the bridge of his nose. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.” His accent was thicker than Søren’s but still quite understandable. “We’re so happy to have you here.”
“I’m happy to be here,” Nathan said. “This is quite a house.”
“Oh, indeed. Niels Gram was very successful. Like you, he inherited money from his father, though considerably less than what you now own. He was adept at investments, you see. His portfolio is quite diverse, including property all over Europe as well as the U.S., which I’m told by my American counterpart you have already assessed. There are also stocks in several companies he helped fund that are now listed on the Fortune 500.”
“It’s a lot to take in.”
“I imagine so,” Lefevre said. “Shall we take a tour?”
Lefevre led Nathan first to the garage. There were two sports cars—a Porsche and a Mercedes-AMG—a Bentley Mulsanne, an Aston Martin DBX, and a Ducati motorcycle. The keys were in a locker just next to the door which was secured with an electronic keypad. Next it was the interior of the house. They entered through one of the side doors into the kitchen then weaved through the first floor. There was the dining room next to the kitchen, a den, a library, two sitting rooms, a veranda facing the swimming pool, and a music room. As they went through the house Lefevre made sure to point out everything that was of great value, such as the first editions in the library, or the art collection in the sitting room which included works by Goya and Cézanne.
Pompous prick, Nathan thought, as if he was incapable of understanding just how fucking expensive all this shit was.
The tour continued. Lefevre’s dress shoes clicked lightly on the freshly waxed granite floors and echoed faintly off the stucco walls. He pointed out bathrooms along the way, which he called toilettets, as well as smaller rooms that served as closet space, a second kitchen, and a television room with a huge flat screen, a wrap around bar and enough seating for a party of fifty.
Lefevre said, “That’s about it for the first floor. Let’s head upstairs. The front staircase is just at the end of this hallway near the front door.”
Nathan was following a few feet behind when he heard something, like a lock releasing. He looked over his shoulder to see a section of the wall had swung open a few inches. A hidden door! The flash of excitement caught him off guard. He looked over his shoulder. Lefevre was still walking toward the foyer.
Fuck him, Nathan thought as he went to check out his discovery. He grabbed the door and pushed. The hinges creaked and moaned as the opening expanded to reveal a second door. It didn’t look like anything else he had seen in the house thus far. The wood was stained dark red and all around it runes were carved into the black molding which arched over top before extending down each side. Short metal spikes, quarter-sized in diameter, were embedded into the wood, arranged in six inch grids. Certainly would deter someone from trying to break the door down, he thought.
Curiosity drew him closer to the door. He reached out his hand to feel the wood, careful to spread his fingers around the spikes. It felt warm to the touch but he didn’t let go. There was an allure that he couldn’t shake and a feeling that something inside was beckoning him to enter.
“Mr. Grey,” the lawyer called out, having walked back from the foyer. “I was saving this room for last for good reason. Please, let’s continue to the second floor.”
Nathan looked from Lefevre to the door, then back to Lefevre. He removed his hand from the door but it came slowly, as if some force wasn’t quite ready to let go of him. He held the palm up and looked at it for just a moment before dropping it to his side and continuing after the lawyer. “If you insist,” he said with a sarcastic bite. “Let’s go on with the show.”
As the two men headed toward the foyer the false wall began to slowly move on its whining hinges, swinging inward until it nearly was shut, leaving a narrow slit of darkness to watch them walk away.
They walked past the front door and turned to a spiral staircase. As they climbed to the second floor, Lefevre explained the floor plan. “Up here you’ll find six bedrooms, five bathrooms and two half-baths, as well as a small kitchen.” He pointed to the stairs continuing up. “The third floor is a partially finished attic. Mr. Gram used it mostly for storage. We can go up there next.”
“I’ve seen attics,” Nathan said matter-of-factly. “We have them in America.”
Lefevre flashed a wide smile. “Of course.”
Nathan saw the annoyance bleeding all over Lefevre’s face. It caused the skin around his eyes to pull back, making them narrow into little slits. He wanted to tell the man to fuck off but there was still paperwork to sign before all of this was official. Until then, play nice.
“Ulrik, I had a very long flight. I didn’t sleep. I feel like I’ve had a constant headache ever since I found out via twitter that I was not only adopted, but that my birth father died and left me all over this. So if we could just keep this to the necessities, I would appreciate it.”
Lefevre’s face seemed to relax. “I understand, Mr. Grey. Let’s finish this floor and I will stop torturing you.” He laughed. It was rather high pitched and grating to the ears. “Now, where was I—oh yes, the bedrooms. Five of the six are currently in a state of dormancy. The heat has been shut off and all furniture has been covered in sheets to prevent damage from dust or light. After Mr. Gram became ill, he fired all non-essential staff, including most of the cleaning staff, necessitating the rooms being shuttered. A house this large requires a lot of upkeep!”
They came to a set of double doors at the end of the house. Lefevre went ahead and opened them both, pushed them aside then turned around. “This is the master bedroom. The largest in the house, of course. I’m sure you will find it quite inviting.”
Nathan entered to discover it was actually three connected rooms, each of them on their own larger than any bedroom he had ever stayed in. The middle section was a sitting room with two leather wing chairs and a matching sofa situated around a wooden slab coffee table. He could see a balcony behind a set of doors and situated across from the sofa was a fireplace. Above it a flat screen television was mounted to the studs. The right room was the master bathroom. He gave it only a quick glance. There was a large tub in the center of the room surrounded by a tiled platform with steps leading up to it on all sides, as well as a stand up shower and a row of sinks.
He turned around and headed into the room on the left. This was the bedroom. When he entered his nose started to burn from the faint smell of lemon disinfectant. There were a few pieces of furniture—a chest of drawers, a dresser, a large wardrobe, and two end tables pushed off to the side. He expected to find an elegant king size mattress cradled in some antique wooden frame to go along with this whole Lord of the Manor theme ol’ dad must have been going for. Instead there was one of those mechanical hospital beds with guardrails on either side and wheels instead of feet for easy moving. It was bare of any linens which would normally hide the slick plastic and cold metal parts. On either side of the bed there were life support machines and monitors sitting quietly without power.
“As you can tell,” Lefevre said as he entered behind Nathan, “this is where Mr. Gram spent his last few months. I can assure you the room has been properly sanitized.” He adjusted his glasses and let out a long breath. “I do apologize for the equipment. Hospice was supposed to reclaim this bed and all the monitors earlier this week but there was a delay. They are scheduled to arrive tomorrow.”
“Excuse me,” came a familiar voice. Both men turned to see Søren entering the room carrying Nathan’s bags.
“Ah,” Lefevre said with a grin. “I wondered where you went off to.”
“I made a call to the cleaning service to inquire about their availability. They can resume their previous schedule tomorrow, if Nathan wishes.” His blue eyes turned to the new owner of the house. “Assuming of course you have decided to stay.”
“For now,” Nathan replied. “At least until all the affairs have been settled. I’m assuming there are enough funds to cover their services…”
Lefevre laughed quite loudly which earned a sharp glance from Nathan. Søren might have felt equally amused but didn’t betray the impassiveness of how he had presented himself thus far.
“There’s nothing to concern yourself with,” Søren said assuringly. “On Friday you have an appointment with Peter Trinskjær, Mestre Gram’s accountant who will help you with financial matters. In the meantime, where would you like your bags?”
Lefevre jumped in. “One of the other bedrooms can be made presentable I think, don’t you agree, Søren?”
Søren’s eyes rolled to the lawyer and with a somewhat annoyed tone he answered, “Certainly.” His attention moved back to Nathan. “If that’s what you prefer.”
Nathan gave a nod. “Yes, that’s fine. I don’t care which one. I could sleep in one of these closets and it would be nicer than any place I’ve ever lived.” He started to turn back to the lawyer but remembered his medication. He looked at his watch and saw his alarm was set to go off shortly. He stopped Søren in the doorway. “I actually need the messenger bag, thank you.”
“Of course,” Søren said, handing it over, before excusing himself to head down the hallway. Nathan watched for a moment. He still hadn’t decided how he felt about that one. The lawyer on the other hand could fuck right off that balcony for all he cared.
Nathan turned back around and said “Anything else?”
Lefevre stumbled a bit, “Well there’s the…” he adjusted his glasses again.
“The room downstairs,” Nathan reminded him.
“Yes, that.” Lefevre took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “Okay, Mr. Grey. Let’s go.” He walked out of the room, assuming the new owner would follow along. “I must tell you first and foremost I am not aware of what you will find in that room.”
“Really,” Nathan said with a bit of surprise as they reached the staircase. “You seem to know this house inside and out.”
“That is my job,” he noted as they started down the stairs. “As the estate lawyer I must know everything there is of value as required by Danish probate laws.” Nathan followed him into the foyer, then left down the hallway toward the trick section of the wall and the hidden door waiting behind it.
Lefevre stopped a few feet short, as if he was barred from getting any closer. He said, “Since Mr. Gram’s passing I have taken a proper account of every asset and assigned value to each one.”
“But not anything in this room,” Nathan said as he continued past, coming to the false wall. He remembered leaving it more open but paid no mind to it. He pushed it open again. The old door was still there and firmly shut.
“No,” Lefevre said, a little irritated. “Niels Gram’s Last Will and Testament stated quite strongly that no one is to enter this room except for the sole beneficiary of his estate which is of course you. However I strongly request that you reconsider this as there may be issues with probate if a proper accounting of assets is not completed.”
Nathan looked at the door then back to the lawyer. “You said this was in his will?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then—” Nathan slapped Lefevre on the shoulder, drawing an immediate wince. “—I think we should honor his final wishes, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Lefevre answered begrudgingly. “I will leave you to it.” He bowed his head slightly before walking off, with his other hand rubbing the sore spot on his upper arm.
Pompous asshole, Nathan thought. He waited till Lefevre was out of sight before turning his attention to the door. He pressed the palm of his hand against the old wood again but this time leaned into it with his arm locked and weight shifted forward. The door resisted at first but soon released from the frame and swung inward with a low groan. Light from the hallway cast around his body and illuminated an otherwise dark, narrow set of stairs twisting downward into unseen depths.
He shoved his mask into the messenger bag and took out his phone. A quick swipe and the flash lit up the stairwell. He leaned to look down and saw the stairs winded around twice before meeting a solid floor some thirty feet down.
He took a step forward but stopped when something caught his eye to the right. It was a half-rusted oblong knob sticking out of a round base—a light switch. He gave it a turn. There was nothing at first, but then a low, electronic hum started to reverberate in his ears. His feet inched backward out of genuine concern that an electrical fire was about to erupt from the walls. He decided to back out into the hallway but before he could act the hidden door slammed shut behind him, followed by a second thud that he assumed was the false section of wall closing over it.
Then there was light. Not from a fire but from rows of antique bulbs situated around a wrought iron chandelier hanging five feet above his head. The filaments inside each glass globe burned bright orange and the light they emitted matched, covering every bit of the stairwell in a warm glow. He turned his flashlight off and stuffed his phone in his pocket, then started moving down the narrow stairs, careful not to lose his footing and break his neck.
He didn’t know what to expect to find down there. He guessed it might be somewhere between a vault full of gold or a murder basement. But as the room at the bottom of the spiral staircase creeped into view what he found was in fact nothing like he could have imagined.
It was like walking into a hunting lodge almost, because there were heads of bears, lions, and other apex predators mounted all around the large room—roughly fifty by fifty feet by his estimation. In between them were paintings hung in gold frames, all which depicted some sort of depravity. One showed a half-naked man devouring a baby. Others were illustrations of torture devices, death, plagues, or brutal biblical scenes. Light fixtures were mounted between the paintings and animal heads all around the room and above the center was a second chandelier of similar design as the one upstairs but much larger, with at least double the number of bulbs.
As he stepped further into the basement a fire erupted in the mouth of a stone-built fireplace at the other end of the room. It was wide and tall, large enough a man would barely have to duck to walk straight into the hellfire. The flames churned behind a black screen standing guard on the hearth, ensuring no wayward cinders fluttered to land on something flammable.
He continued to take careful steps across the herringbone parquet floor until he came to what sat in the middle of this den—a round table with seats for twelve, etched with runes and symbols he could only guess were pagan in origin based on his knowledge of History Channel documentaries.
Waiting in the center of the table was a black cube, four inches on a side. The faces were constructed from wood and the corners capped with a dull, dark metal. Centered atop the cube was a circle carved from ivory or some similar creamy white substance, inset into the wood with hundreds of tiny spokes protruding outward. Laid before it was a letter, folded and sealed with red wax stamped with a spiral. He picked the letter up, broke the seal, and unfolded it to reveal a hand-written note.
To Nathan,
I am sure you have many questions that unfortunately I will never be able to answer. I watched you all these years from afar most curiously. As I am now so close to the end of my own life it is your turn to take possession of all that I own, most importantly what lies in this box. Within it is something that can be passed only to a blood relative, of which I have only one—you. It is your heritage. Your birthright. The contents are my gift to you but there is always a toll, and the greater the gift, the greater the price. Be warned: once the box is opened there is no closing it again.
Spiral
A laugh left his lips as the paper slipped from his fingers and, after wavering back and forth in the air, landed back on the table. Yeah, he had questions but maybe it was better they go unanswered. Whether or not Niels Gram, Spiral, or whatever else he wanted to be called was a murderer no longer mattered. He was dead and with him all his secrets.
Nathan reached out and grabbed the box. It was surprisingly heavy and required both of his hands to move it closer. He turned it this way and that, looking for some kind of way to open it. There didn’t appear to be a hinge or even a seam for a lid. His fingers moved around the sides in search of a switch of some type then moved to the top. He tried to forcefully turn the ivory sprocket with his thumb, rubbing back and forth but it didn’t budge. However, there was a click, like something being released, and at the very same moment something stabbed his right thumb.
Lightning radiated up his wrist. Instinctively he grabbed his aching wrist, letting the box fall to the table where it landed with a dull, weighty thud. The source of the pain was a microscopic prick in the center of his thumb, from which a bead of blood was slowly swelling in size until it grew too large and spilled over the skin. He looked down at the box and saw something sticking up from the middle of the sprocket—a needle.
“Mother fucker,” he said while his hand tried shaking away the pain. He bent down till his eyes leveled with the top of the box just in time to see the needle retract back into the hole from which it came. Suddenly the sprocket began to rotate, first right with a click then left with a clack, back and forth and never turning the same distance twice, like a lock entering its own combination—until finally the blood-stained ivory disc ceased turning and shot open like the top of a sinister jack in the box.
It startled him to the point that he stumbled backward, landing hard on his backside. When his head raised he saw what could only be described as living darkness pouring forth from the box. The billowing smoke churned in the air and slowly took the hideous of the dragon from his nightmare. His heart raced as he turned his bag over, spilling its contents across the floor. His hand fumbled through the handful of prescription bottles until he found the antipsychotic.
As his hand worked to remove the childproof cap the great beast above him stretched nearly across the entire room and covering everything it touched with its gloom including the lights which darkened the already dim room till it was nearly pitch black. He told himself it was just a hallucination as the cap twisted off the bottle. He went to dig out a tablet but movement pulled his eyes to the ceiling despite everything in him trying desperate to look away.
As quickly as the great beast had formed into the monster it transformed into a swirling vortex, the cone of which angled downward and funneled to the floor between his outstretched feet. The billowing darkness then underwent a final metamorphosis, this one the shape of a person. At first it was featureless like one of those wooden mannequins artists use to visualize poses but then to Nathan’s horror the composition of its visage sculpted into a face that despite being coated in a sticky, tarry substance was instantly recognizable as his own. The thing looked down at him and at once Nathan muttered, “Oh, God,” under a terrified breath.
He looked at the bottle as tears fell down his cheeks. By his estimation there were around a hundred and ten tablets being rattled around by his shaking hand. He was ready to swallow every single one of them to get out of this psychosis. He brought the bottle to his mouth but before the plastic touched his lips a strand of that tarry substance the Shadow Him was composed of shot out of its body and coiled around his arm. It compressed the nerves in his wrist, sending white hot lighting up to his shoulder and throughout his chest.
“You don’t need these anymore,” the Shadow Him said in Nathan’s voice.
Nathan’s fingers numbed and the bottle came loose. It hit the floor and bounced twice before releasing all the little white tablets to scatter out of reach. Fight or flight response kicked in, closing his right hand into a tight hammer. Before his mind was consciously aware of his body’s movement automated survival instinct ordered him to his feet and threw his fist forward. It made contact with Shadow Him’s left jaw but it wasn’t flesh-covered bone he hit. The surface was more viscous, like a thick gelatin, which allowed his hand to sink into the monster’s head until it was buried up to his forearm. He frantically tried pulling his hand back as the black amber crawled its way down his arm like a swarm of tiny insects. Panic flashed like wildfire in his brain and erupted out of his throat like the ululation of an animal being slaughtered alive. For a moment, as the darkness creeped up his neck, he prayed Lefevre or Søren would hear him and come running. That fool’s hope quickly gave way to gruesome reality and heartbreaking acceptance.
He tilted his head back trying to keep his mouth away as the obtenebration worked up the back of his skull and over, until only his face was seen floating like an island surrounded by pitch. He tried closing his eyes as he felt it coming over his brow but thin strands shot out with hooks that latched onto his eyelids and pried them open. His screams turned into sharp hacks and cries as the swarm pushed into his eye sockets, forcing the soft sacks of jelly to pop out of the way so the mass could latch onto the optic nerves and follow them through the orbital canal into his brain. Other strands funneled into his nostrils and even more gathered around his mouth before pouring into the cavity and filling his throat with its vileness.
His screams ceased, replaced with the squeaking sound the soles of his sneakers made kicking the floor as his body arched in agony.