Chapter 1 - Nigel & Octavia
*Author’s note. This is an 18+ book. DO NOT CONTINUE if you are not over 18 years old. This contains MATURE CONTENT. Be warned of triggering subjects such as sexual assault, violence, horror, and gore. It is a supernatural, Lovecraftian horror story. Cosmic terror on a human scale. I write this from the darkest part of me. DO NOT CONTINUE AS THE WARNING SIGN HAS BEEN POSTED.*
The walkway sits broken and jagged from long stretches of battering climate. Close to it and inside grooves weeds battle for space. Lurking close by, a neglected field loaded with garbage and waste glances at the perpetual difficulty. Low illumination from the sun sways between the developing shadows growing from two-story homes, an apartment building, and a ghetto wall. The air crushes with mugginess and the fragrance of desperation float in the quietness.
Nigel, a biracial kid around seventeen, strolls close to Octavia, a Caucasian young lady around eighteen years old, across the road. Their chat is brimming with life and laughter. Her grin draws his cheerful looks. Nigel’s hand slides to her ass cheek as they walk. She loves him and wants him to pull her to the side and be as sexually aggressive as he talks. He discusses a comical experience at the market store and he falls deep into her sea-green eyes. He is smitten.
The atmosphere pauses as if the world hiccups on mute.
As Nigel steps first on the concrete from the asphalt road, his sneaker gets stuck. He stumbles for a moment, catches himself, and on the next footstep he tumbles. He yipes in shock, embarrassment, and irritation. His eyes flick to his shoelaces. Nothing untied. He looks back to where his feet caught. No sign of glue. He catches Octavia’s eyes fill with mirth. She outstretches to pull him to his feet when Nigel freezes. His mouth grows dry and an instinctual fear punctuates him in the gut.
Barely a whisper on the ground are thin, hair-like tentacles that reach up from the ground. They are faint enough and diminutive enough that it would take a closer inspection to see the retractable mandibles on each stalk. If a rogue biotech company “weaponized” CRISPR research and introduced the genes of Bobbit worms and Xenomorphs from the Alien franchise would be proud of this tentacle “fur”.
The setting sunlight catches a single, tiny drop of blood on the tips where his feet stepped. His eyes follow the blood trail to the soles of his feet. Carnivorous tendrils like wisps of cotton candy extend from within the rubber soles to the sidewalk. Nigel’s mouth gapes as he realizes his hands are immediately immobilized on the concrete and becomes visibly discombobulated when he gets trapped.
He yells at Octavia to stop moving. As Nigel struggles for his life, more filaments flicker with a bioluminescent bright-blue and purple color. He twists his ankle to free himself and sees the going of armored scales on the thread. His fingers are gripped by prehensile follicles that blend perfectly with their environment. The ends twist into thickening braids, growing stronger by the second.
Octavia freezes. Thoughts jumble with rising fear. Her voice finds itself and she yells for help. She scans the homes, the parked cars, and down the street that they came from. They’d been lost in their own world they had not noticed that they were alone. Nobody was out on this midsummer night. Noone living. No music. No signs of life. Octavia screams as she watches his flesh getting torn bit by piece from Nigel’s hands and feet. His buttocks sit in a growing pool of blood.
She lets out a chilling scream as her shirt is ripped away from her and hurled into the air. Octavia YELLS as she is slammed into the side door of a car by an unseen force. Her bra is violently torn away revealing her breasts. They are kneaded and flattened. Hulking finger impressions sink deeply into her chest. Octavia’s hysteria heightens when her legs are spread apart and an immense pressure over her pelvic bone crushes her deeper and deeper into the door over and over again. She’s a limp, wet teddy bear slammed over and over again. Glass begins to crack at the pounding.
She reaches for Nigel as they both suffer. Both of them fight and struggle when everything abruptly stops. Octavia stands with weakened knees against the fiberglass door, catching her breath and Nigel flips to his side. The sudden horror has stopped. Nigel and Octavia’s fingertips brush, then... it begins again, but this time...
Octavia is pulled to her feet by her hair to stand on her tiptoes until she is DRAGGED TO THE ROOF OF THE CAR. In DEFIANCE OF EVERY KNOWN LAW OF PHYSICS.
Nigel screams for her. His mouth fills with the real stab of fear. Panic drowns his eyes. A dull, milky haze eddying over the sidewalk gives an obscene mood to the atmosphere. Otherworldy. A spectral membrane lashes forward with a whip-like speed as a flat pad with a maw with bristling black barbed teeth cut through jeans and flesh. Nigel lets out an inarticulate SCREAM of sheer horror as the tentacle flexes and pulls, jerking him flatter to the concrete. His eyes catch Octavia’s own. He is powerless to help her as he watches her get slammed repeatedly, her rear end pounding the roof, her back arched, her head torn back from her shoulders, held invisibly by her hair. Her legs whip up and down like jello.
She loses focus as Nigel’s bones crack INTO the concrete. The unseen horror wraps further up Nigel’s body to get a better grip... and thousands of centimeter-sized sphincter-like mandibles open and close hungrily, razor barbs gnashing. The force flips Nigel onto his stomach. The dossier for cosmic horror would be inspired at this juncture of Nigel and Octavia’s last moments of life.
Nigel’s brain short-circuits as he watches Octavia die from the violent sexual assault and seeing his body dissolve into the furry concrete.
In long, drawn-out minutes Nigel’s body is absorbed into the worn concrete sidewalk. Octavia’s lifeless body slides off the roof of the car, landing with a wet thump. The same filaments then devour her body.
As the sun sets for the night, the world hiccups again. The wind blows by on the sidewalk that sits broken and jagged. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Around the corner, a small white fiat travels down the street. Two men and two women occupy the car with hip-hop music casting into the airwaves. The car turns down the now-familiar street.
Curved phantom spikes with jagged edges coalesce along the road. Spores and orbs sparkle encircling and free float above the edges and with a silent snap like titanium vertebrae realigning into twin barracuda-style teeth.
Each set of tires pop and hiss as they drive over the solidified road strips. Gashes appear on the tire sidewalls. Stringy flesh-colored cartilage grip the rear two tires like the Hulk’s poltergeist reached from the earth to immobilize the Fiat.
Inside the car, above the music is a cacophony of excited and pissed voices as the car quickly comes to a stop.