“If you can hear me, that means I might be able to escape…And I hope you will listen carefully.” I punched the button on the voice recorder app, the grease on my finger leaving a faint smudge in the middle of the screen. I tried to look stern, but looking down at the woman that used to be Ann Crowley, I couldn’t help but break into a large grin.
“That,” I said, thrusting my finger at the small phone held in my other hand, “is so fucking precious.” When I squatted down near her, the woman tried to back away further, but she was already at the end of the short tether that trailed out to bands around her wrists, ankles and neck. Tears were streaming from her wide eyes, and the fear I saw there threatened to ruin my good mood, but I gamely pushed on.
“Seriously, it’s like something you’d see in one of those…what do they call them? Found footage movies. You know, the dumb things where everything is supposed to be real so they can justify bad camera work and low budgets?” I tapped a finger on my chin, feeling the cooling blood starting to congeal there. “Shit! If I had known you were going to try to do a little dramatic message, I would have given you a video camera and a flashlight.” Then a thought struck me.
I poked at the phone again, my eyebrows raising in surprise and delight. “Oh, no! It’s too much! You shot a video with your phone too? Why both?”
Even through her fear, she knew enough by now to respond when I asked a direct question. “I-I was going to try to email it out if I got a signal…and I realized the video file would be too big. It would take too long.”
Chuckling, I nodded. “That’s smart thinking. Well, before we start getting you fitted for your gear, let’s watch it together!” I shuffled closer to her and plopped down, holding the phone where she could see it too. When I held out my arm, she moved under it and I gave her a squeeze, trying my best to ignore her trembling. Then I hit play.
My name is Ann Crowley and I’ve been abducted. It happened about two weeks ago I think, but I’m having to base that on the date showing on my phone, assuming it hasn’t been messed with. I was walking out to my car to go to work one morning and someone came up behind me with a rag. I tried to fight back, but they were far too strong, and when I woke up, I was here.
I don’t know where here is. I’m in a large brick room, it looks like it might have once been a boiler room or something in a large building, but I don’t see any boiler or anything else now other than a couple of air vents, a door on the far end, and the ropes and chains binding me to the floor. I’ve tried to listen for any sounds that might be clues, but the room is either soundproof or in a very quiet place. I’m sorry I’m not more help.
The man that took me is a monster. While he has never tried to bother me…sexually, he has physically tortured me with a variety of implements. Razers, a hot metal rod, a piece of bamboo and roaches are some of his favorites. Worse, he seems to be trying to break me down mentally--the way I’ve heard people are treated when they’re prisoners of war sometimes. He won’t let me sleep, he talks to me for hours, and based on my limited sleep patterns and the strange thoughts I’ve started to experience, I have every idea that my food and water is being drugged with something.
He is an extremely large man, with a gaunt face and long arms and legs. He’s not fat, but his stomach bulges out a great deal--almost like something is wrong. He reminds me of a big, pale spider. Oh! And I forgot the most distinctive thing. He is wearing some kind of clown face. Not a mask, and I don’t think it’s make-up either. I think he actually tattooed lines around his eyes and mouth like you see on some clowns. Vertical lines above and below his eye, a circle around his mouth curving up into a smile, though the circle isn’t complete and the line trails off onto his left…no. his right cheek. Like whoever was doing the tattoo didn’t get the chance to finish it.
But if I can send this message, I’m going to send it either to Mom or to Brett. If it’ll go through. He gave me my phone back a couple of days ago, and at first I thought it was a sign I was finally going to go free, but then I realized no matter what I do there’s no signal here. He had clearly charged the phone before giving it back, but even being careful I’m already at 40 percent battery. So I’ll finish the message here.
Please send help if you get this. Look for me. I’m alive…I just…I need to get out of here. I don’t know what he’s going to do with me, but the things he’s telling me…these crazy, awful things…they’re starting to make sense to me. Every day I feel more of myself slipping away, and that scares me more than dying or any pain he’s inflicted on me. Please get me out of here before I’m gone.
Mom…Brett…I love you.
I gave her a squeeze as the video finished. “See? What did I tell you. Even more precious.” Standing back up, I kicked her in the face--not hard enough to break anything, but enough to send her flailing until the band around her neck snapped her back. “That’s not for trying to get rescued. That’s for being so stupid about it.” She looked slightly dazed, but her eyes found mine again after a moment. She still had some anger and fear left, but she was close now. “Still, I’m glad to hear you’re starting to appreciate your lessons. We’ll start those again tomorrow, but for now you need to get fitted into your gear.”
I yelled a command in the tongue of the Rat God, Withers, that I had served since that time in the mine all those years ago, and the door at the far end swung open. Two of my Hounds, formerly Jessica and William Fortney of Pensacola, Florida, shuffled into the room carrying two bulging sacks. Like all of my Hounds, they were silent in their work both due to their training and their lack of vocal cords. But like all my babies, they looked so happy! The missing lips helped, of course, but it was mainly in the eyes. Their gazes were bright and attentive, ready to do whatever I might require.
They drew near and I patted their heads, eliciting a tremble of pleasure and the quick sucking in and expelling of dark saliva, which I allowed as a form of…wet purring, I suppose? They were both wearing the light blue coveralls I gave to all the Hounds, and I saw with great pride that the clothes were still clean and unstained. A few of the Hounds had regular bouts of incontinence, and nothing disappointed me more than that lack of self-control. But these two had retained more of their intelligence. They were not capable of being a Torch Crow, of course, but they were certainly leaders among the Pack.
But this one…this one would be a Crow. With a slight gesture, the two Hounds were on her, holding her down and tightening the restraints until she was on all fours and could move very little except for her head, which they kept still. That was the important part. I removed the body harness from one sack and began securing it to her, tightening the straps and threading the chains through old and new openings in her flesh.
Then came the other sack, which contained some of my finest work yet. It was a helmet and mask of sorts, inspired somewhat by a medieval plague doctor’s mask with its small goggle eyes and long, narrow beak. But I had made several improvements.
To begin with, the Crow’s mouth was partially open, with serrated chains running along the edge of both the top and bottom. I had considered using some kind of gasoline or electric motor for their motion, but as with so many things, I knew there was a better way.
Instead, they were connected to chains that ran down into the body harness and into her arms itself. As she moved her arms to and fro, so too would the chains move back and forth. That, combined with the mouth opening and closing based on the position of her head, would allow my beautiful light bearer to rend flesh with ease and eat her fill.
Because that was the other biggest improvement. Atop the head sat a small iron basket filled with slow burning wood. It provided the right amount of light, and while it would still be very hot in the Crow’s head, I did provide enough padding that it should do no more than some light blistering over time.
And the health of my babies was paramount. I had selected Ann Crowley based almost entirely at random due to her last name, but I still loved her like she had been with me for years. She had enough antibiotics in her system that even though the fitting of the harness and the head were very painful, she would not get an infection from it. And I would continue to tend to her wounds as needed until her body adapted the same way her mind was starting to. Until she truly was my Torch Crow.
A month later and she was ready. I couldn’t help but cry a little as I looked at her standing there, proud and fierce, the goggles of the mask steaming slightly at her quick, excited breaths. She had kept her lips because she would keep her voice, and as I held the knife aloft in one hand, I could hear those dry, cracked bits of flesh rubbing against each other with barely contained excitement. Not wanting to hold her in suspense any longer, I began.
“For years, I wandered in the darkness. I knew the truth and the power of the Rat God, but I was at a loss as to how to truly worship him. I killed, I tortured, but it was without purpose and without underlying plan or beauty.” I sniffed slightly, predictably even, because this part always choked me up a bit. “But then…then, I found others that were of like minds even if their faith took a different form. A family of sorts, that is working towards the swiftly approaching Day of Reckoning. The Representative has shown me my part to play much as I have shown you yours.”
I leaned forward, stroking the side of her mask with the hand that held the knife. “I know that these lessons were hard to learn, but the most important things always are.” I held the index finger of my other hand to the ceiling. “And as we know, there is a Better Way.”
Immediately, my wonderful Crow raised her own hand, pointing up. She croaked out her response with a great deal of effort. “The Time is Nigh.”
I felt the growing excitement moving through my limbs like a current at her words. “Oh, yes. Yes it is.” I gave a command and a Hound entered the room with a small sack containing needle, thread, and antiseptic. I patted it absently and turned back to the Crow. This was her time, her glory.
“As I’ve told you, I have a large tumor in the outer wall of my abdomen. The doctors said it was malignant, but that it could be easily removed. I told them to fuck off, as I knew it was a sign--a mark. A small, mewling child made of rotten flesh and corruption that I would carry to term and then impart to another, my best and brightest, during our final days of preparation. You are that other, and that time is now.”
Without another word, I set to cutting into my stomach, careful to not cut deeper than necessary to reach the precious growth within. The Hound began shuffling excitedly at the sight of fresh blood, but it knew better than to lick the floor unless I gave the word. Less than five minutes and it was out. It was the size of an orange, but a wonderful mixture of green, black and red. I had the thought that it looked like a gigantic ball of rotten Christmas candy, and it made me laugh.
Slippery as it was with meat and blood, I didn’t want to risk dropping it, so I handed it into my Crow’s eager hands. It had felt hard in spots, but it would be no match for my Crow. As I watched, she bit down on the tumor with her beak and began flailing her arms this way and that, the chains sawing through the thicker outer layer with a squelching quickness. In moments it was broken down enough that she tilted her head back and began consuming it, her wet, hungry smacking making me so happy that I began weeping again a little.
Afterward, I sewed myself up and went to lay down. I would need a few days of rest, but there was time. Time to rest and plan and prepare. Time to dream. Riding high on the exhilaration of the day and several powerful drugs, I slipped into one of those dreams. When I woke later, I knew it tasted of prophecy.
I was at the lead of a convoy of semis as they rolled into an isolated town on the edge of nowhere. The power plant had gone down half an hour ago, and people were fumbling around in the dark. Several were outside in their yards or the street, wondering why at least their phones didn’t work. They would pause and watch as the semis rolled by, a combination of curiosity and fear passing over them as their eyes followed the trucks’ route towards the center of town.
Then the semis stopped and the sides of the trailers fell open, revealing all of the fearsome Hounds and the beautiful Torch Crows that would light and lead their way with their blazing flames and their terrible voices. In the dream, I remember climbing on top of the truck cab and watching as my children streamed out into the arteries of the town like some kind of cleansing poison. Chemotherapy for the soul. Even in the dark and at a distance, I could make out my special one, the Crow that had partaken of my fleshy child. My heart was filled with pride and love and joy.
Then I saw a woman, her face a bloody mask of terror and sorrow, climbing up onto the roof of the cab with me. She was crying and begging me to help, begging me to stop this. She was wailing about those “things” taking her children. I knew she didn’t understand, and I try to be tolerant, but I can only bear so much. What I can’t bear are those ignorant people that can’t appreciate all we are doing for them and decided to lash out by insulting my babies. Even upon waking, I didn’t think my reaction was unreasonable.
I picked her up by the throat, her tiny fingers clawing at my hand as she thrashed and struggled for air. She had fight in her, and she was brave enough to confront me…
“What’s your name?” I loosened my grip just enough for her to breathe a little.
Her eyes rolled in confusion and fear. “What’s…Emily. It’s Emily.”
I rolled my eyes slightly, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “What’s your last name?”
“Birdsong. Emily Birdsong.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Withers provides. I think that’s close enough. Emily, I have a wonderful opp…”
She lunged forward and bit down on my other hand, getting enough of a grip to draw blood right away. I felt a flare of anger and I ripped my hand away, leaving a small chunk of meat behind. Gripping her throat tighter, I flung her back down to the asphalt with a sickening crack.
That didn’t sound good. It had looked like she landed on her head. She may be out of the running for a Crow position, but possibly still a Hound?
I jumped down and examined her. For several seconds she was still, but then she started moving slightly, and I thought I heard a low groan. She was alive. Thank God she was alive. At least…I think.
---
Credits
Comments