The Cabin Is Always Hungry (A Dungeon Core Horror Slasher)

HELLS GRACE

Part 16

Dripping, and dripping, and dripping…

Fear rose inside him, adrenaline in a beating frenzy. With one pull, a root gave out, then two. Leo fell to his knees, looked up at the ceiling, and eyes gleamed with determination.

He hunched over, hands clutching his abdomen. He hadn’t eaten in a day and was left unconscious for more than thirteen hours. His stomach growled, reverberating across the enclosed space. As if his senses caught up to him, he took a lungful of breath and retched nothing but bile fluids. His body shook as he assessed his surroundings, stood up, and limped toward the pile of corpses.

He knelt in front of Art Gomez and John Kitson’s bodies. Then to Johnny, cradling Scottie’s decapitated head. I wasn’t the one who “decorated” these corpses. Too macabre for my taste. I had to give the credit to Goliath himself. He spent an hour playing dolls with them, mainly for Leo’s benefit. He knew that our worthy guest would wake up sooner or later, and this was Goliath’s gift to him for delving a second time—a welcome-back present.

Leo spotted an old bundled piece of yellow paper shoved inside Art’s mouth, barely peeking out of his rotting lips. He fished it out, careful not to disturb the body. He unfurled the note and read it:

Round Two?

You are the best prey I have ever had.

I will do my best to make you worthy.

Sorry for not catching you, brother.

Take a knee, and see you soon.

- G

“Take a knee…” Leo whispered. He looked at the note again.

I wished I could spare one of my Power slots for [Glean] and infiltrate Leo’s thoughts. I only had eight Power left, and the scenario was still young. I never thought of Goliath as the sentimental type. True, he pride himself as a deadly hunter (of humans at least), and he loved the challenges he faced when chasing them down, but he never really voiced his feelings. Part of it was my fault, as I did not give him the ability to speak and merely communicated with his hands and body. I wondered what he was like before the System snatched him and whether his bloodlust was natural or System-made. He always struck me as a go-with-the-motions type of guy. He liked to be alone sometimes; the reason he chose his lair in the middle of the woods.

Goliath seemed to form a kinship with Leo. For the brief time I’ve known him, the killer had never given such…intimate reach…with another delver. He recognized that Leo was ex-military, and Goliath had his automatic respect. Given the chance, he would still kill him. Would Goliath be upset about killing another soldier? Someone connected to his line of work before? The System did not reveal if my archetype had preferences for victims, and Goliath never said which delver was off-limits to him.

Leo crumpled the note and almost burst into tears, but nothing flowed out of his eyes. He was so dehydrated he could probably drink a gallon of water in seconds. He felt something on his hand, and when he looked down, a small plastic water bottle was in his grip. Leo chucked the bottle away, frightened, scrambling back to his feet.

The magic bottle rolled toward the pile of bodies, the water sloshing with each bump.

“That cost me one crystal, Leo,” I said. “Better drink that before you go out there.”

Eventually, his heaving slowed, and he cautiously approached the water bottle I gave him, inspecting it from afar. Leo licked his cracked lips and bent over, grabbing the bottle and opening the cap. Sniffed. Doesn’t smell like poison, he probably thought. His thirst overpowered him.

He drank it all.

“Careful, or you’ll—”

Leo coughed violently and retched half of what he drank to the ground. Having all that water coat his parched throat made him feel better. He whirled around and glimpsed another body lying on a stone slab in the middle of the chamber, surrounded by glyphs and jars with floating human organs in a strange, pale green fluid.

My body.

I thought I did a good job, making it look like I was killed through a grandiose ritual sacrifice. Compared to the real thing, I was just butchered in the woods and left to rot. Perhaps I might have gone overboard by drawing every scary demonic symbol that the demon thought appropriate and turned this chamber into a cultist’s sanctum, complete with three dozen black candles, six empty effigies of robed knightly figures, and six statues of giant horned goats. There was even a large glass mosaic on the ceiling above the stone slab, painted with demonic figures battling against angels on the nine mountains of Hell.

Based on Leo’s horrified reaction, it worked.

Recognition crossed his face. “Mark…Castle?” He approached my corpse. Slowly. Afraid to touch it. Afraid to disturb whatever dark magic that had permeated this place. “What the fuck…”

I didn’t think he would remember me. I was young when I was a camper at Cedar Pine Summer Camp long ago. And yet, he still recognized me. I must have made a great impression on him, which was both warming and depressing.

I am dead, and the people who know me will see the same thing he did. Soon.

He strode closer, not daring to cross the glyphs’ threshold drawn on the ground, muttering, “What happened to you?”

Did he know I was missing for weeks? His family had already moved out of Point Hope long ago, but I didn’t know how closely Leo looked the town up. My missing case wasn’t national news or broadcast across Oregon. I had to thank the Cult of Astaroth for that by cornering it only to the local newspapers.

Leo continued to study my corpse, and the longer he stood there, the more I realized he was going to trigger a trap—An illusion trap.

Leo whirled around and heard a growling noise emanating from the pile of corpses. A bated breath here with eyes trained at the dead bodies of his friends and strangers, afraid they would all spring up like the Walking Dead and reach for his throat. But the bodies did not rise to eat him. Whatever he heard must be in his head. He regarded my body again.

My dead, faded, milky-white eyes were staring right at him, the corpse’s head slightly tilted to face the foolish spectator.

Looking right through his soul.

Looking alive.

“Fuck!” Leo exclaimed and stumbled back, landing on his ass. His Resolve sharply went down into a bright orange. I could see on his face that he swore my head was facing the ceiling a moment ago. Now, he was questioning reality.

“Ahh, Leo, if you don’t want to see this second part, you should look a—”

Too late.

My facial muscles started moving, my lower jaw yawning, and Leo hiked up his breath. A black matted rat wiggled out of my gaping, rotten mouth and scurried toward Leo. The man shrieked (which no one above could hear) and struggled to get back to his feet. He bumped his shoulder against the devil-looking horned goat statue as he ran toward the stairs, toward a set of wooden iron-wrought double doors. It took him a few seconds to pry the door open, and he ran up another set of stone steps, scrambling his way out of the dimly lit tunnel with only the fixed torches to guide him.

It led him to a dead end.

But Leo was more perceptive than I had initially thought. He quickly found a hidden compartment on the wall, and sliding the panel open, he reached in and pulled the lever inside. The wall slid to the right, revealing the back of a metallic shelf. He was about to force his way out when the shelf moved on its own three seconds after the stone did, sliding to the opposite side.

He walked into the cellar.

Leo heard people talking above him. Maybe two or three. Maybe more. It didn’t look sure, but he was cautious where he stepped. That way, he didn’t alert them to his presence. Ahead, the cellar was a maze-like concoction of shelves, smelly boxes, antique cabinets and furniture, and old clothes draped over them without thought. He waded his way around half-broken chairs stacked on each other and machinery and appliances from the '70s or '80s no longer in use. The only light source was the small, exposed fluorescent light bulb swinging slightly in the middle of the room. Finally, he saw the rickety stairs leading above, hesitating to climb them.

Leo heard something stir from his left. It came from behind the blue tarp, hanging like a curtain and obviously hiding something behind it. A slight breeze opened a flap at the bottom. There were no windows he could see, no way for the wind to get in unless he missed an air vent.

I strategically placed the hidden vents around the cabin for these occasions. You know? A ghostly breeze made things extra creepy. Made things…dramatic and thematic. Perception and immersion were vital to every horror movie, such as needing oil or butter before frying your food in the pan. How you would need salt and pepper to season your meal.

Nevertheless, Leo took the bait against his better judgment. He had seen things that shouldn’t exist: a mountain of a man who remained kicking after a hail of bullets and killed his friends; a tree-like monstrosity who chased him through the woods; and a woman with demonic golden eyes who captured him. He never liked this place. I see it through his eyes how he would rather be in Portland than inside the house of horrors. Would rather be home. Would rather be anywhere else.

“Keep going,” I said. “Keep going, Leo. Open the tarp. You still have a part to play tonight.”

He spotted an old baseball bat wedged between a duffel bag and a box filled with old family portraits of a family of five that I pulled from the internet. He slowly grabbed it from the shelf, glancing at the ceiling to make sure no one heard him, but it seemed like they were too busy arguing about something.

Extending the bat out, he used its head to push the tarp to the side, revealing a wooden door with a small, rectangular port window. Leo paused, reluctant to open it. But curiosity got the better of him, and he cautiously approached the door, unlatched the lock on the port window, and parted it aside.

Leo held in his gasp. He saw a woman and a boy huddled in the corner through the window. Prisoners? He probably thought. He had heard the screaming and violence an hour before. How many people did those freaks kill since he was incapacitated? Finding that the door was already unlocked, he hesitated whether to continue opening it. What if it was a trap? What if they were a part of it?

The woman and the child heard the door quiver, the hinges betraying his cover. The woman pulled the boy closer, shielding him with her back as the door creaked open.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay! I’m here to help,” Leo said reassuringly. He had to talk over the woman’s quiet prayers. “I’m trapped here just like you,” he added.

That stopped the woman’s chanting. With the boy still cradled in her arms, she turned around. There must be something on Leo’s face, the way his tattered clothes looked and his face caked with dried blood and mud, that told her to trust him. “They killed Zack.”

Leo didn’t recognize the name. “Okay. Is Zack your…?”

“My fiancé.” She gestured to the boy. “His father.”

“You saw them?” Leo asked.

The woman almost burst into tears. “Demons,” she said. “This place is cursed.”

Leo’s stance shifted as if the woman’s words were a confirmation he had been waiting for. That he wasn’t going crazy. He walked over to them and knelt beside her. “I’m Leo. You?”

“Eliza,” she said. “This is Danny.”

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Danny didn’t stir. “What’s wrong with him?” Leo asked.

“It’s this place,” Eliza said. “It’s making him do things. Bad things.”

“Like what?”

Eliza shook her head. “I--I just need to get him out of here. So he can feel better. This place wants Danny here, and I’m afraid what will happen once it’s finished.”

“I know where the stairs are, but there are people above us.”

“Don’t let them down here!” Eliza said. “It could be them.”

“I made sure I was quiet,” Leo said.

“Let me see your eyes.”

Leo paused. “Uh…what?”

“Let me see your eyes,” Eliza repeated.

Leo leaned closer until he could feel the woman’s breath against his face, tickling his cheeks. “What are you looking for?” Leo asked to break the tension.

Eliza shook her head and leaned away. “You’re not one of them.” She gave him half a smile.

Leo flinched. “One of them?”

“Possessed.” Now, she was confused. “You…I thought you fought them.”

“The big guy, yeah. And the creepy tree. That’s what went after us. What did you see?”

“A demon,” she said. “It possessed three people, including poor Danny, and tried to kill us.”

“Shit.” Leo’s shoulders slumped.

“Wait…a big guy? With a fox mask?”

Leo nodded. “How many fucked up things are in this place?”

“How many people are outside?”

“Three. Maybe four.”

“You think it’s safe to go out there?”

“We can find another way out. There might be another basement door or something that leads outside the cabin.” He was trying to give her hope. To provide her some courage.

“Yeah. Right.” She nodded, and Leo helped her and the boy up.

Leo studied Danny for a moment, making sure that the boy was okay. He was looking for wounds or other signs that he was bleeding. After all, Danny was pale as snow, staring off to the wall, and never once looked Leo in the eye. Not even when Leo pushed Danny’s eyelid upward for a good look. This must be what a gentled delver looked like when the System didn’t have them under its control.

“His pupils are dilated,” Leo said. “Did they give him drugs or something? How long has he been like this?”

“I don’t know,” Eliza answered, still desperately holding back her tears. She didn’t want to start bawling in front of this stranger. But she realized something. “Wait. I was still awake when they dragged me here. They went through a…a door. Another door.”

“It’s not behind a metal shelf, is it?”

“Yes. I think so?”

“Hm. That’s where I came from.”

Eliza paled. “So…the only way out is through—”

“Yep. Above.” Leo tightened his grip on the baseball bat. “Follow me and stay close.”

“You’re not getting away with this,” Tessa said, still tied up near the hearth. “Sooner or later, you’re going to mess it up.”

“Shut up, bitch,” Jenna said, sitting on a couch after looking around the living room for ten minutes and finding no gems at all. “We didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Lady, I’ve listened to a ton of true crime podcasts, even the ones that involved a cult, and they never get away with it in the end. They always have a tell.”

Furniture clattered from the second floor where Hodge and Melanie were busy turning everything in the bedroom upside down, getting frustrated with each minute that passed. Tessa glanced at the stairs, then regarded the woman in front of her again.

Jenna put one hand on her hip, the other gripping a knife. “And what about you? Do you think you’re going to be the heroine of this episode? The final girl? What happens if you die first?”

Tessa chuckled softly. “There’s something in this place I can’t describe.” Her eyes flicked around the room as if she was scared the shadows would grab her. “But I know it wants you. Not me. You. Who’s going to die first between you and me? I’ll bet my fucking money it’s you.”

Jenna trudged toward Tessa, raised the back of her hand, and slapped her across the face. She leaned down, smiling. “We’ve cut bitches like you before. I never participated. But this time…I think I might. I think I’ll enjoy slicing that pretty face of yours. If I die, I’ll know you won’t become prom queen for your senior year. Not even homecoming.”

“Who gives a fuck about prom? Only people who peaked in high school talk about that stuff.” Tessa looked Jenna up and down.

Jenna scoffed. “I ruled that school when I was your age. Better than you. Prettier than you. I can get any guy I want. All I see is a second-hand carbon copy of a heaping trash.”

“What was your name again?”

“It’s Jenna Batt—”

“Oh, right. No one remembers you.”

I chuckled. Well, Jenna Batten walked right into that one.

Jenna glowered at her. “You think I’m weak? Just because Hodge is not in the room, you think you can bully me?” Jenna slowly put the tip of the knife against Tessa’s cheek, drawing a tiny trickle of blood.

Tessa winced, anger boiling in her eyes. “Get that fucking knife out of my face.”

“You think you’re so tough? How’s your boyfriend, Ms. Tessa Burton?” Jenna asked. “How’s Cody?”

Tessa visibly paled.

“Oh, right…he was butchered like cattle in your own home. Have you heard a man scream for his life? I’ve heard dozens. I’m always curious about what it would feel like if it was someone you love. My friend did that to him. Maxine Fairlie. And what she did to your boyfriend, the papers could not even describe nor publish. The cops could not even release pictures of.”