Monday, December 7, 2015

NaNoWriMo 2015: Part 20, now with pictures!

The Horrorphiles, Part 20
By Stephanie Thompson, Words 1, 663

Read previous posts by clicking below:
Evil Comes by Cris Alex.
See more inspiration on my Horrorphiles Board 
Chapter 18 (where I accidentally recap the beginning of the novel), Continued

Next she ran into someone sticky. Maybe she was the victim of The Blob or The Stuff, all Ronny knew was she was stuck to her like Briar Rabbit to the Tar Baby and she wouldn’t stop dancing either. Ronny’s arm kept jerking side to side with the woman’s gyration but she wasn’t getting stopped here. She left  her sweater stuck to the woman, wiping her handoff on the inside of her sleeve. Now she was down to her tank top (or is there a button up under that sweater? Find out) which seemed to attract a Wolfman who took her into his furry arms and spun her around a couple of times like a dysfunctional waltzing couple on a cuckoo clock. He was too strong for her to break away and she had no silver bullets, so she bopped in on the nose as you might for any disobedient dog. HE made a whining noise like an injured dog and released Ronny to grab is sore nose. Then he howled and went back to jumping with the crowd like the encounter with her never happened.
Ronny started making progress through the crowd, she could almost see the end of it when she slipped in a puddle next to Swamp Thing. She caught herself on a rotted zombie who appropriately fell apart under weight, his arm detaching from his shoulder in stringy mess of decomposing sloppy muscle. The zombie was the only one who reacted to Ronny’s actions at all, outraged he “Rarr’ed” to ceiling then proceeded to try to bite her. Her first instinct was to apologize, she even got as far as the I’m in I’m sorry before she laughed at the folly of trying to apologize to zombie who was trying to eat her brains like they were actually in The Walking Dead or something, when she was still holding his arm in her hand, her fingers digging through the smelly rotting flesh. So instead she beat him away with his own arm until she could run past him and finally off the dance floor. When she looked back the zombie was holding his own arm over his head, “rarr’ing” along with the music.
She thought she would never leave the dance floor. Panic combatted hysteria within her as she kept pondering the possibility of being chainsawed to death by Leatherface in the middle of a ballroom. There was no reasoning left in her to understand or figure out of this was really happening, she just needed to leave. Leave the dance floor, leave the ballroom-cum-concert venue, leave the mansion, leave (whatever state they’re in, NC maybe). She’d send the check by mail.Or flee. Fleeing was what she was really doing, leaving it all behind, fleeing the scene, getting the fuck out. 
Or at least she would be as she encountered her next obstacle, she couldn’t seem to find the door. They were hard to miss, huge like most of the other doors in the house, double doors of white oak and gold leaf, a massive scene of angels in armor and trumpets carved into them. And now they were gone. She started feeling with her hands, pressing them into walls and windows hoping to find them or any other exit. She didn’t. So she came up with an alternative, she would break a window to escape. Didn’t matter that she probably wouldn’t survive a jump from five floors up, or if she did she certainly wouldn’t be able to run or walk away. She didn’t care if she had to drag herself with her arms or if she died on impact, she was getting out now.
She found any empty sterling silver punch bowl and threw it with all her might at the nearest window. The shattering glass wasn’t audible over the music or the crowd and like the rest of the crowd the people. . . Monsters. . .fictional characters . . . Whatever nearby paid no attention to her. Ronny looked cautiously over the edge of the broken window. IT faced the front of the house. She could see her single lonely car off in the distance. Just below her was a bed of ivy freshly decorated with a silver punch bowl and giant shards of glass. She looked around the ballroom one last time to make sure the doors hadn’t reappeared during her vandalism. It felt so odd to be this unhinged and some what logical and determined at the same time. She knew she was acting crazy, that none of what just happened could be real, but she was having more success just accepting the illusion of this reality than she had all day the whole weekend trying to fight it.
She took a deep breath, swallowed some panicked/hysterical laughter and jumped, closing her eyes and pulling her knees to her chest like she a cannonballing into a swimming pool. Torrents of freezing October air rushed past her hurling her hair upwards, she almost felt like she was flying, nearly free, and then it all stopped. I’m dead, she thought since she felt no impact, no pain, nothing. I’m dead now. I’m dead.
She opened her eyes. The golden light of the chandeliers burned her eyes. There was a cold wetness on neck. She was back (still?) on the dance floor with Adam. Panicked confusion bubbled up inside her, not mixed with hysteria, not mixed with insanity, just clear terror. She pushed Adam away and wiped his wet remnants from her neck.
“What the fuck?” she said.
The dancers nearest them backed away, giving them some space, of which there was plenty, she saw as she looked around. Most of them were on the dance floor, huddled in a clump, and the huge expanse of the room went out around them, their small numbers not even coming close to filling the room. And they looked different too. Like a collection of rubber masks and poorly applied make-up. Cheap nylon outfits and rubber weapons. One person was literally wearing a sheet like a fifth grader dressed as a ghost.
“What the fuck?” she repeated.
“Veronica? What’s wrong?” Adam asked.
Then it was like she saw him for the first time that night. He was in black and white. That was the only way she could describe it. The rest of the world around her was in normal color and he was in black and white. She checked her hands, there was no smudge of make-up on her. She looked back at him.
Inside his mouth, the corner’s of his eyes, all the little places that would be pink if it was a makeup job was all grey. It occurred to her that this is why she’d assumed he was Norman Bates and never asked about his costume but even that barely made sense because he just looked like Adam. Adam with no color. 
She was sweating. Her throat was closing and she couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded. She needed to leave. Again.

Chapter 19 (you can check-out any time you like)

This time though she had no problem getting off the dance floor or finding the door. In the hallway it was darker, cooler, and quieter. She leaned up against a wall and bent forward. She closed her eyes and counted her breaths out to three, then five, then ten. Her heart still pounded, she was still panicked, but at least she wouldn’t hyperventilate and pass out. 
“Are you ok?”
She hadn’t notice Adam following her out and him speaking gave her a little startle. “No,” she answered truthfully for the first time.
“Is there anything I can do?”
She didn’t look at him. She wasn’t bent over anymore but she didn’t want to look at him, she simply couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle another minute in this place, whatever this place was, because she was starting to think none of it was real. That she wasn’t anywhere. Or she was in hell. But where ever she was she got there by car so she could leave by car.
“I’m leaving. I have to go. Theres an emergency back home.” She spoke in a flat tone with no beleivability and she didn’t care that she sounded like a robot, she didn’t care if Adam beleived her because she was leaving one way or another.
“Wait, Veronica. Please, don’t leave. I’m sorry,” he said.
She didn’t ask sorry about what, She didn’t apologize or slow down to talk it out. She got to the stairs without getting lost and got down to her floor, to her room. The room. 
This time she did notice Adam following her because he never stopped talking. He kept repeating ‘pleases’ and ‘I’m sorry’s’ in different variations, combinations, and iterations. But she didn’t respond or slow down. In her room, the room, she didn’t care about what she took or  left behind. She grabbed her keys and her cellphone, both on the vanity, and was only slowed down by deciding to dig out her wallet. The rest they could keep or burn, she didn’t care. The check was still in her portfolio on the vanity. They could accept that or sue her. She was leaving.
Adam blocked her way, purposefully. She tried to move around him and he stepped in front of her again. He was talking and she was ignoring him. Nothing he said would change anything. A quick fake-out two step actually worked to trick him and she stepped around him. She was leaving.
She followed the spiraling staircase down to the foyer. Adam was shouting now, plus he moved on from meaningless polite platitudes and onto ominous threats and anger, he was harder to ignore.

“I can’t believe after everything I’ve done for you, tried to show you a good time, give you exactly what you wanted and you’re just going to run out like this. And where are you going to run to anywhere? Back to your empty apartment? Your little cyber kingdom? To Jordan?”

Keep Reading with Part 21

Thanks for Reading!