stairs, only feet away from the door that led to the basement. Murmuring in restless, troubled slumber, his words were the echoes of things reverberating in the house. Quiet little whispers of the most magnificent depravity, they crept out of the windows, the floor boards, the door frames and every other corner of the house.
It was the fifth and final day of rain.
Hollis rose and staggered into the kitchen, retrieved a glass of water and choked it down. Stumbling upstairs, he burst into the extra bedroom where his cats had grown feral and crazed. Hissing in the corner, he moved past them to rip out the screen and open the window. Hollis hadn’t even made fully out of the room before his two cats had escaped out the window, onto the roof of the gabled back porch and sped off. Peeling his clothes off as he continued back down the stairs, he felt a shifting in his back. Three steps from the bottom, he glanced back to see a pile of writhing maggots. Hollis simply shrugged.
Naked, he fumbled with the basement door latch. One of his fingers fell off and exploded into a mass of squirming grey. He didn’t pay it any attention. Once, twice, a third time, Hollis battered his shoulder against the door until it broke open. Large chunks of his shoulder had fallen off, and thousands of maggots fell through the open wooden steps. Awkwardly swaying, a toe came off on the final step, but he made his way to the farther end of the basement.
The fungus had taken over the wall and most of the floor, a plush pelt of grey. The thick, living darkness within the hole slithered into itself, twitched much like the maggots that Hollis now dropped from his flesh piece by piece. The deeper black and Hollis spoke to each other, in union spoke of devotion and desecrations. Both awaited the other, and only Hollis had to act.
Something came with the rain to New Leeds, something that woke primal forces long buried, long forgotten. That water that came from the air, it mated with the earth in the most primitive, burning way and gave birth to an infectious darkness. A darkness that grew, a darkness that hungered, a darkness that lived.
It was a darkness that compelled Hollis to press, crush and fit himself into that small coal cubby, his body deteriorating as fast as his soul. And as the last bits of flesh gave way to filth and decay, he understood. In those last remaining moments, those last thoughts he had before his identity ceased, he understood that he was no longer in his basement. No, he had passed from there, beyond that, and had gone elsewhere.
Somewhere, that deeper black…
Copyright (c) 2011 by Brian Fatah Steele
“His words worm their way into your subconscious to whittle away at your thoughts well after the last one has been read.” – CL Stegall, author of The Weight Of Night
“Well, let's just say, Steele's got a way with language, with drawing the reader into his ‘post -mythic darkness’ that is irresistible.” – John Claude Smith, author of The Dark Is Light Enough For Me
“A genre bending experience… horrifically beautiful.” – Saranna DeWylde, author of How To Lose A Demon In 10 Days
“Story is paramount… he uses the shocking, distasteful and bizarre as an artist uses colors on a palette.” – Jack McCallum, author of Made In The USA
“This bizarre, action-packed tale freaked me out and grossed me out, which is precisely what Steele is aiming for.” – Court Ellyn, author of Mists Of Blackfen Bog
“(a) little piece of hell… a true ear for real dialogue.” – Matthew Leverton, author of Bending The Darkness
“Get yourself a copy… then come back and thank me.” – starred review from Wicked Lil Pixie.com on Petty Like A God
“An interesting mixture of mythology and religion… (a) casual and conversational writing style enhances the story, creating an exciting fast read that stays with long after you turn the last page.” – starred review from Smexybooks.com on Petty Like A God
“Disturbing, but always interesting.” – starred review from BittenByBooks on In Bleed Country
“Ripe with violent beauty and bloody delight, charming decadence and poetic justice. (His) writing style is glorious, sprinkled with delectably darkish humor, it is rich, layered, textured, and sure to give you bouts of synesthesy. [sic]” – starred review from L. E. Olteano on Far House, Deep House
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