The Fate of Roger Williams
The Fate of Roger Williams
It was a hellish January night. The snow fell thickly and swiftly, obscuring all. Trees gave way to the weight of ice that collected upon them and fell to the ground with a crackling roar like thunderbolts, and then were silent. It had been several hours since one of the wailing trees tore down a power line on its way to the earth, and the town was plunged into darkness.
Without power to keep the heater running Roger Williams’ small apartment began to fill with an almost sinister chill. Currently, he sat reading a collection of horrific tales by candle light, and trying to keep his mind off of the winter storm that raged outside. He shivered from fear and cold as he read on. The combined tales of Poe and Lovecraft summoned a thousand phantasmal terrors to his mind's eye, and he smiled.
He had always been a fan of horror tales. He had even written some amateurly which he shared only with his closest friend, Artemis Corvan. Actually, closest was a bit generous. Corvan was his only friend, and the two shared a bond that was entirely their own. He took a moment from his reading, and stared at the wall, idly worrying if his friend was alright. It was pointless however. The storm had taken out both the hardline and cellular phones, so he would not hear from Corvan until at least morning.
Williams ran his hand through his dark brown hair, and watched the shadows dance on the walls. The white-noise of the storm, the empty space in his house, and his own wandering mind were making him unbearably lonely. He returned to his reading, resolving, at the very least, to not allow himself to be miserable. Perhaps his only friend was unreachable, and perhaps his social life was in ruins, but he still had stories, and imagination to spare. So, he lost himself in tales of the fantastic and the morbid.
Suddenly there was a heart stopping crash from the back of his apartment. Roger leaped from his seat and spun to face the open doorway to the pitch black depths of his abode. Stiff with fear, he reached slowly for the candle, and held it high as he crept slowly toward the cause of the noise. He entered his bedroom, and glanced about. All was clear. The sound must have come from the kitchen beyond.
It was here he saw that one of his windows had been burst open. Shards of glass littered the floor, and many of them were stained with strange, amber ooze. There was even a trail of the mess, leading from the glass, and back further in the house, towards the bathroom.
Roger’s heart beat loudly in his ears as his instincts told him what his logical mind refused to accept. Whatever had come through the window and left this viscous trail was alive. Roger began to look around and reached for something to defend himself with, in case whatever had broken into his home was hostile. All he could find was his bb-gun, and while it looked convincingly like a real firearm it lacked any lethality. “I hope whatever’s in there is scared of guns…” he thought to himself as he grabbed his weapon and moved carefully towards his bathroom.
The door moved slowly open, and Roger kept an eye open as dim light slowly filled the room. The glistening ooze trail led to the tub. Roger followed it with his eyes, and became aware of a vague movement. Against everything his instincts screamed, he walked closer, holding his gun at the ready.
With every breath a burning sulfurous smell filled his nose, and with every step it became worse. And then he saw the thing. A shapeless mass of oozing flesh, with a near human face and numerous long spindly, bug-like limbs gave the being a terrible wrongness. Rather than fingers, the thing had writhing tentacles that reminded him of fat slugs slinking and stretching.
The hideous thing lay in the tub in a pathetic position, like a thing dying. “What in God’s name is this?” Roger asked to the frigid air.
There came no answer, and the creature did not seem to hear him. Instead it continued to pull shard after shard of glass from it's body, loosing cries like an out of tune clarinet. They were occassionally in between long notes, faster ones, which sounded almost like syllables. "T'klee um'kna'ash," it seemed to moan most frequently.
Only once it's simple manner of fist aid was complete did it look to toward Roger, who was no too awestruck to lift his weapon or run away. To his luck, the creature did not seem to have any malice. It merely stared back uncomprehendingly as Roger poured a stream of obscenities, prayers, and promises to whatever gods where listening. "Please just get this thing away from me!" he begged the night air.
Whichever god answered his prayers must have been malicious indeed, for as he finished his plea he became aware of another sound. A loud grating noise like metal giving way. Suddenly a large, black mass of slime coated and shapeless tentacles burst from the tub. As the creature saw this fresh horror it loosed sharp cry of mortal terror. It was all too late. The black mess fell upon the helpless creature and both disappeared from sight in a painful cacophony that drowned out even the sound of a nearby tree meeting at last with the snow covered earth.
This sight forced Roger's legs from their petrification, and he ran. He dropped his gun, and his candle. He did not grab anything on his way out. He ran as fast as he could away from the madness that lurked beneath his house, into the deathly chill of the ice storm, shunning all shelter. After all, what in the world could shelter his shattered mind from the things he had seen? Instead, he welcomed the frozen oblivion that he hoped would be upon him soon, so that he would not have to spend his life screaming insanities. The gods, this time, were merciful.
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Author's notes:
This short story is also up on my DA, but I haven't gotten much feedback on it or my other works on that site. I hope that's ok.
The link to the original DA version is here: http://tanukioh.deviantart.com/galle...87954#/d4pyz2m
Edited to include an expanded exposition, based on the helpful suggestion by mattcruise.
