Further Gelded

         

"Please, no. Please..." Jasper pleaded out from his wrinkled lips, his cracked voice emulating the hoarse sound of grating steel. Searing pain pulsated, flaring violently as Jasper felt his arthritis gnaw at his aged joints. His heart pounded rapidly, his respiration resigning to short and gasped breaths as warm beads of sweat delicately skimmed down his haggard visage. His worn and tattered leather loafers pummeled hard against the wet pavement, propelling himself into a quickened stagger. The daunting refuse laden alley he traversed was a winding shadowed corridor with the night sky offering little aid in the way of illumination. There was little to guide his path. Jasper purposefully navigated the garbage strewn corridors using the walls as a foundation, he knew where he was going. Drywed street, he had to escape into Drywed street, there were people there, people who could help him.
         His legs were weak, his body was breaking down, but he continued to painfully trudge forward, resignation was not an option, he wanted to live. It didn't matter anymore that his life had been a mess since the early nineties. It didn't matter that Cindy had their kids, and that his entire family considered him a lost cause. He lost the job that spurned him, the one he had dedicated thirty years of life to. Despite all this he wanted to live, to see another sunrise and to awake amidst a den of trash and to breathe freely, alive. Most of all, he wanted to see Skip again, pet him, tell him he's been a good boy.
            In order to do that, he'd have to escape. To flee the rapid hacking grunts that edged closer with every second passed. He knew he was damned, fate had once again handed him the wrong cards. He had taken almost every obstacle set before him with a shrug, and accepted every ill to befall him with a modicum of apathy. He willed himself forward, showing the most determination he had ever shown in the last ten years. This was all to escape the same final blood swept conclusion that he had witnessed John accept.  And the voices, he had to escape the incessant maddening chanting that continued to haunt him since he entered this part of town.
         He couldn't understand it, the voices were in a language he had never heard before. Perhaps German, it was a loud language that continued to boom out within his skull, repeating the same unintelligible mantra. It had started off soft, barely registering in Jasper's mind. Now, it was all he could hear, that and the hissing squeals at his back.
         The fellas at Mary's soup kitchen had told Jasper and John to avoid this neighborhood and said since the quake, weird things had been happening. A realm of dilapidated concrete towers, once a place folks went to avoid life, was now as dead as the ambitions of the people who had once frequented it. The hollowed apartment complexes provided shelter, space, and privacy. It was all Jasper could ask for, but when vagrants started disappearing, he made sure to avoid the place as if it were the plague. If Skip hadn't of ran off, this horrific night would have never have happened.
      He told himself to not look back, to just keep going forward. His resolve couldn't weather another glimpse of the madness behind him. He fought to keep the images of John's remains out of his head, the brutality and savagery of what he had seen was beyond his threshold of understanding. Whatever was chasing him was not created by God. They looked like people, but wrong, distorted and broken. Their movements were jerky, as if they were going through stop animation. 
         "Help me!" Jasper screamed, rounding a corner. Jasper was now using an adjacent brick wall as support, his legs were trembling. His feet were tired and sore and his lungs felt as if they were going to burst.  His thighs stung painfully from red irritating rash, but he could see Drywed street clearly, with a gold tinted Malibu Max driving past. With hopes lifted, his yellow filth stained teeth made an appearance at the prospect of escape. You're going to make it, Jasper, you're going to make it!
          Phlegm escaped from between dry and cracked lips as Jasper felt a heavy pressure on his back that sent his body crashing to the trash soiled ground. It was on top of him, he could feel a sharp pain in his back followed by the warmth fresh blood provided. The blood from his open wound pumped quickly, seeping out through the torn fabrics of his jacket. He began crawling, his weak withered arms unable to support the weight on his back. The stench was unbearable, spoiled meat coupled with a fragrance of fresh soil. Jasper could feel more of them now, grubby hands grasping onto him, tearing into his legs. His dirt soiled hands tried to maintain their foundation, but he was slowly being ripped into pieces. His scream was coarse and gruff, but it fell onto a city fallen asleep.

***




      Terry felt the sweet gentle caress of his lover's kiss against his lips. Soft, moist, and pleasantly soothing, it was all he could look for in an embrace. His dark green eyes gently scrolled across the curvacious nature of her body, enticing an erection that pushed against the elastic cotton confines of his underwear. Her lovely dark tan skin set a contrast to his irish pallor, as their bodies intertwined in loving union. The bed gently rocked back and forth, releasing a song of squeaks behind a back drop of low gasps and moans. Their eyes met, sharing an intensity that faded at the coming flood of euphoria. Both released relieved gasps before breaking off and rolling towards opposite sides of the bed.
    "Wow..." Sarah murmured, her light brown eyes staring upward, toward the ceiling, her chocolate curls scattered across a white pillow. Terry immediately rolled off of the bed, fishing for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket. All to commemorate and punctuate his contentment.  The cellophane cigarette wrapper crinkled at Terry's touch. No cigarettes left.  A visible moment of disdain struck across Terry's features. If only Terry could slide the stick of tobacco in between his lips and sparked a cherry glow that ate away the cigarette with every blissful inhalation. It would make his night, it would feel good.
        "Out of cigarettes." Terry sighed as he felt Sarah's arms wrap around his waist. Her touch was delicate, her flesh warm. "We got any milk left?"
Sarah looked at him scrupulously as her hands pressed against his bare chest, feeling it rise with every deep breath "You know we do. Besides, it's late. I don't want you out at this hour, it's dangerous."
"Yeah, I know."
"Just smoke what ya got, and head off in the morning." Sarah whispered with a smile. Terry involuntarily reciprocated (how does she do that!) and conceded to spend the rest of the night in his lovers arms. Their heads sank into the soft cushioned comforts of their pillows. With arms locked, they shared their warmth, their eyes growing dim until they fell out of consciousness.
         Terry sat up, his eyes crusted over. The distressed wails of Tyler came out muffled, but loud enough to awake Terry and Sarah. Terry released a heavy yawn, his eyes never leaving Sarah's form.  Terry pushed himself out of bed, remarking, "I'll take care of it."
"Thanks, sweetie." Sarah replied gently.
         Stretching his arms, Terry made his way towards his son's room. Crossing the hall, he gently pushed the door open, revealing a small crib nestled amongst a jungle of toys. Flicking the light on, Terry made easy tread as to not step on the legion of stuffed animals. Tyler was only a few months old, and his arrival had been an unexpected one. Terry was worried that his new born son would be too much for he and Sarah to handle, but with Sarah working as a waitress, and Tyler working longer shifts at the factory, they managed to work it out.  Standing over the crib, Terry grumpily lifted the small tyke in his arms and cradled him. As he held his child, Terry's sour mood began to deteriorate as well as a dampening of the child's cries, "What's wrong little guy?"
         Tyler released a few soft coughs before continuing a set of gentle cries. With a grin, Terry proceeded into the kitchen looking for baby formula. The kitchen was small and cramped, a two person dining table set in the middle, flanked by cupboards and cooking appliances. Scrounging through cupboards, Terry found it sparsely filled with instant dishes, he came up with nothing. It wasn't until he noticed an empty glass jar near the sink when he realized that they were out.
         "Another reason to head out." Terry mused, laying Tyler back down in his crib before returning to his bedroom. Sarah was an angel, a beautiful vision resting peacefully amongst a dark red wool blanket, so peaceful. Terry felt a pang of guilt for having to disturb her.  Walking towards her Terry released an insecure peep, "Erm, honey, I'm going to go get some baby formula. If you can take care of Tyler until I get back."
           "Damnit, Terry" She grumbled, aroused once more from her bed. Sitting up, she yawned and stretched before making way to Tyler's room. " My nipples are sore, but fine, just be back quick, alright? And most of all, be careful."
         Terry nodded his head, slipping on a pair of jeans from the large mound of dirty clothes he had located at the foot of his bed. Finding the white T-shirt he had worn the day before, Terry clothed his upper torso with the wrinkled garment and gave Sarah a comforting look. "I'll be fine sweet heart, it'll just take me a few minutes. I'll be right back."
         With parting words, Terry turned his back on his lover and made his way towards the door. From a wooden plaque coat hanger Terry retrieved his black leather jacket, the leather groaned as it slid over him, hugging his frame. With a twist and a pull, Terry was out the door.
***




         The sky was dark, not a star in the sky, the only thing to be revealed behind a dark swirl of clouds was a pale moon that hung over head much like Tyler's mobile. Street lights could be found on every corner of the city, though most of them in Terry's neighborhood had burned out. It was difficult to discern if whether or not folks lurked in the shadows. After some issue with his car having a dead battery, Terry was resigned to walk. He knew his area well enough to plot a course from here to the local 24/7 market. The neighborhood he resided in was of low property value, crime was common here, but it had not touched Terry and his family. Just keep your head low, pay no mind to the drug dealers staring out at you from their broken derelict concrete castles, or the scantily clad prostitutes calling out from the street corners, willing to give you everything they can for a few dollars thrown in their face. This wasn't a place Terry wanted Tyler to grow up in, that much was obvious.
         Terry was thankful that it was the weekend.
         Terry had met Sarah in the rural town of their birth, struck up a romance in high school and pursued it since. Though safe, they craved a life outside the small town world they lived in, they longed for the city lights and strove to becoming successful in the urban jungle. These were all the delusions of two dumb kids wanting to escape a fate of becoming stale like their parents. After Terry had procured work at an auto part factory, Sarah and he had rented a home in the neighborhood. It was the cheapest they could afford.
         It was funny, children living off the farms wish to make it big in the city, seniors who've lived in the city would like settle down in the farm lands. If Terry could have it his way, they'd move back with their parents, but Sarah was a proud woman and wished to avoid that shame. She had been attending a community college, filling her head with ambitions and goals that Terry wasn't sure he could aid in.  It was depressing that he could not achieve what Sarah yearned for, and a part of him felt like he was holding her back.
         It wasn't too long until Terry recognized the bright fluorescent lights of down town. Beams of light cut into the darkness, revealing twenty-four hour shopping centers and restaurants. Cars cruised slowly and carefully along dimly lit avenues, as to not arouse the suspicions of on duty police officers. Rhythmic muffled percussions could be heard from the club down the street. It was but a small pulse of life in an otherwise dead city.
         Glass double doors slid open for Terry, revealing a luminous realm of processed food and goods. No shadows dwelled here, everything was well lit and organized for the convenience of the late night consumers who stalked the aisles.  Terry joined their ranks, perusing through the food catacombs for baby formula and perhaps a snack to satiate his late night craving. The beings that shared his floor space were odd in appearance, as if they had waited all day to crawl out from the shadows to roam the night. Their faces were gaunt, their gaze cast downward collecting pools of shadow over their eyes. Catching his distorted reflection within a shiny metal clothing display, Terry  grimly realized the similarity of appearance between he and the other beings in the store.
         Wishing not to dawdle, Terry hurried his stride across the recently mopped floor. Formula and a bag of potato chips, he held both of them clutched in one arm as he made his way to the cashier. He made eye contact with the narrow faced thin bodied young man working the cashier before casting a glance at the trove of tobacco products and whiskey.  After greeting,  Terry slid his items across the red counter top and watched as the cashier rung up the total. Terry asked for a pack of cigarettes, his hands shaking slightly at the joyous reunion between he and an old friend. It was as if running across a field of flowers to catch a long removed lover. Slipping a twenty out his wallet, Terry paid for the total and stuffed what change he got back into his pocket. Bagged and ready, Terry left the store, leaving behind the nocturnal creatures that remained.
         Once outside Terry immediately indulged in his desire, tearing the cigarette pack open and producing a stick of tobacco. Coveting it, Terry took the tightly packed cylinder into his mouth and sparked a flame. With a deep inhalation, he contently purred. It was smooth, rich, and everything Terry wanted to top off his night. It was all that was needed, all that was yearned for, finally achieved with satisfying result. He embraced the nicotine and the pleasures they had to share. Closing the lid of his pack, he wedged the cigarettes into jacket pocket. Looking down the dark roads that lead in the direction to his home, he took one more puff before putting his body in action.
         Walking along the sidewalk, Terry found himself flanked by a number of closed down shops. Boards partially covered the smashed windows that lead into the remains of what was once some proprietor's dream. Gang graffiti stained the outside walls, warnings to those who could interpret them. A black lincoln pulled along parallel to Terry. Muffled synthesized beats were barely contained within the vehicle, it's very frame shaking at the heavy percussions within. Giving the vehicle a glance, Terry made notice of the tinted black windows. He hurried his pace, feeling a bit of anxiety that his cigarettes could not assuage. The vehicle quickly proceeded ahead of him, parking nearby. All four doors slowly clicked open, releasing a flood of noise  into an otherwise dead neighborhood.
         Four men exited the vehicle, three dark skinned looking thugs accompanied by a rather stocky white boy with a red doo rag. They appeared liquored up, as they moved it was apparent they didn't have complete control of their own bodies.  The driver, a moon faced large man with corn rows hung on to his open door, giving Terry a rather sheepish looking grin. The other three moved towards Terry, calling out to him, the stocky man in a doo rag shouting, "Yo, homie. Come here, I gotta bet with my boy over there, we need somebody to help out.."
         Terry paused, panic coursed through his body, he wasn't sure what to make of the men. A part of him begged him to flee, to just pivot on his heels and race back down town, maybe even call a taxi. Another part of him resented the filth that cluttered the streets, anger causing him to ball his hand into a fist, clenching until it went pale. He wanted to teach these punks a lesson, but that would be a fool hardy endeavor that could lead him to the hospital. Surrounded on all sides by the three men, the large one spoke, his voice a thick bass. "What's your name homie?"
         "Look guys, it's a late night and.." Terry began, the stench of liquor causing his nostrils to flare.
         "Bitch, the man asked you your name. You gunna be polite?" One of the men to his side barked. Terry felt his heart skip a beat. He hated people like this, he hated people who had to find entertainment in tormenting others. He wanted to be free of these people.
         "T-Terry." He found himself stuttering, wishing to avoid further confrontation he decided to play ball. "I just went out to do a little shopping.."
         "What you got there homie? Tampons? You know it's my boy's birthday." The stocky thug said, pointing over to the driver at the vehicle. "You going to wish him a happy birthday?"
         "Happy Birthday..." Terry said meekly.
         "Say it louder bitch, he can't hear you."
         "Happy Birthday!" Terry yelled, stress and anxiety gripping at his pride. He just wanted to be home, to be with his wife, it was stupid of him to go out. Was his life really worth a pack of cigarettes? No, it wasn't. He was a slave to his addiction and look where it got him.
         "That's better." The stocky man remarked casually with a pleased grin."Now, I bet my friend over there that we could find a kind soul in this city to gift us with a little extra spending cash for my buddy's birthday."
         Terry immediately reached for his wallet, retrieving it from his back pocket and opening it up revealing a couple of twenty dollar bills. Slipping the bills out from their leather container, he handed a few wrinkled twenties to the large man in front of him."It's all I got."
         Quite pleased, the stocky thug gripped the money, and providing another beaming smile. "You aint half bad Terry, but we'd like a little more. What you got on you? Ah, the ring. Give us the ring, it'll probably fetch a hundred."
         "My wedding ring?" Terry asked unsure, his voice quivering a bit. The stocky thug merely nodded his head, giving a smug smile to the two men who flanked Terry's sides. For a moment, Terry was half compelled to give it to him, but his pride was a starved caged lion just begging to be freed. This was more than a ring, it was the symbol of union between he and the love of his life, and no third grade educated thug was going to take that from him. Over his dead body.
         "Fuck you!" Terry exclaimed, his disgust manifested into a surprising smashing impact  from a balled fist that collided into the stocky man's nose. He could feel the bridge snap under the force of the blow with the stocky thug staggering backwards in a daze. Blood poured from out his nasal cavities, cascading against his upper lip and his eyes glassed over. With a brief opening revealed, Terry was quick to act and sprung from the trap. Moving past the injury burdened thug, Terry realized the presence of the two others not far behind him.
         "Get back here bitch! We're going to fuck you up!" Terry heard one of them scream.  Terry's heart was pounding, he didn't want to think about what would happen to him if he were caught. Terry reprimanded himself, cursing his foolishness. He wasn't a fighter, all he did was exacerbate things. Still, thinking of that thug with his wedding ring made Terry's blood boil and in the long run, he was glad he gave the insignificant jerk something to cry over.
         Terry could hear the roar of an engine coming to life. Spinning tires pushed off against cracked asphalt,  propelling the car as the thuggish driver stepped on the gas. It would be impossible to out run a car, so Terry knew what he had to do. He'd cut through some property, and lose his vehicular pursuer.
         Over grown blades of grass were crushed under the galloping heels of the speeding trio. Terry rushed across a wild lawn,  twisting his route into an arc that followed the graveled path drive way and into the resident's back yard. A chain link fence that was only four feet high separated the two under cared properties, it was a barrier Terry easily vaulted. Unfortunately, the two thugs on his tail met the obstacle with the same amount of ease. Maneuvering around a parked car Terry sprinted out into an empty street. Terry's arms swayed with purpose, his body ignited by the fires of his own willpower.
         As Terry ran, he began to realize he was further increasing the gap between himself and his house. It didn't matter anymore that the environment was foreign to him or that he was experiencing the burning ache of fatigue in his legs, Terry couldn't afford to slow down. His surroundings gradually changed, going from bad to horrible and the further he fled the deeper he stabbed into a realm of greater dereliction. With a grim resolve, Terry continued regardless. The hoot and hollers of angry pursuers slowly began to fade until they were nothing more than distant voices in the back of Terry's mind. Out of the residents, Terry had plunged himself deep into the industrial refuse left in the wake of corporate failings. Large ominous structures of steel and concrete sat still, dead inside, it's material having suffered from water damage from the flood way back and it's entrails no doubt harvested from the desperate folk who frequent venues like this.
         He had lost the thugs that were on his tail, but a nagging part of him him tugged at his sense of self security. He felt as though he was being watched, an unnerving feeling that twisted his insides anxiously. Releasing a soft cough, Terry's attention shifted towards finding an avenue of escape from the long dead construction yard. In his periphery, figures manifested from the shadows, dark beings conjured by the darkness. With a pounding heart Terry quickly jerked to faced the forming entities only to find nothing but lakes of shadow. Breathing a sigh of relief, Terry's momentary respite was short lived as the crunch of gravel was heard at his back. Swinging around Terry put up his guard, hoping that the thugs from before hadn't found him. To his surprise, he played witness to a being at his flank. It was a creature less than two feet off the ground, four legged, and of possessing of a long furry tail that just couldn't stop wagging. A dark brown coat of matted fur clung from it's emaciated figure, it's ribs highlighted in the white fur that composed his under coat.  The mangy collarless border collie sat within the shade cast by Terry, releasing a heavy bark into the night. Once again a gratifying sense of relief massaged Terry's confidence.
         "Hey boy!" Terry began excitedly, his voice limited to a hushed whisper. "What are you doing here all by your lonesome?"
         The beast just wagged it's tail happily, it's eyes casting an eerie glow in the night. It released a second bark before scampering off, kicking up a trail of gravel in it's wake.  Rushing into the light of the moon it stalled it's tread and looked back at Terry, as if expecting him to follow. Scrupulous stare aside, Terry fulfilled the mongrel's wishes and proceeded in the beast's wake. It's stride was enthusiastic, as if it's dim lonely life had brightened up at the prospect of a playmate. Terry increased his pace to keep up with the canine, it's quick trot leading them both to a vacant forlorn street between a collection of charred buildings.
         Terry knew where he was. This was no man's land, a benign bloated tumor that festered with pariah occupants. Anyone looking for solace and seclusion from the rest of the city came here, this sentiment was cemented with the complete lack of police activity within the area. Luckily for Terry, he hadn't garnered any further attention, and the streets themselves seemed pretty desolate. He knew the general direction he had to go, it was only a matter of time before he was back with his family. 
           “Where are you going boy!?” Terry gasped between pants. Darting into an alley, Terry slowed his travel and peered into the narrow corridor. Stopping as well, the border collie perked up it's ears and craned it's head so that it's luminous eyes were staring at Terry. Proceeding with slow steps, Terry slowly began to venture further into the alley, his eyes picking up details left undiscovered due to shadow's intervention. Deep black blotches of pavement remained a few feet away from Terry's new friend. The dog back peddled into the alley, allowing Terry room to recognize the blotches. Jutting from what appeared an indiscernible mess of filth was a partially gnawed severed hand.
         “What the fuck?” The words came out in a soft cry, each syllable fueled by his own anxiety and fear. With his stomach twisting in turmoil, Terry staggered backwards, making distance between himself and the newly discovered appendage. Coated in a deathly pallor, bluish white flesh sagged loosely from the hand's exposed tissue. On each of the five extremities pouted lumps of flesh jutted out where finger nails should have been. Terry's terrified gaze fearfully centered over the lump of human remains, only breaking the visual lock to give a wary glance towards the dog. The beast was vacant from his spot, missing from the alley and leaving Terry alone in an alley way.
         “Help!” Was the only word that could puncture the seizing fear in Terry's mind. There was no response to his plea, no gratifying reaction to his voice's cracking yelp. The only response was the slow shifting of malformed shadows around him. Then the voices came. Only one person spoke, but Terry could make out multiple overlapping chants from the same deep voice.  Loud, heavy, and monotonous, the chants came like the grating of heavy steel. Powerful pulsating headaches commanded Terry to grip onto his temples, his eyes blurring red as scarlet streams flowed out the canals of his eyes. It was then from a crimson film he noticed the severed hand shift.
         The lump of decayed flesh softly vibrated, and then stopped. Terry then watched on in  mind numbing terror as small spindly legs ripped out from the palm of the hand. Vertical lines slit across the finger tips, making way for tiny yawning mouths to be revealed. It was then the hand started to shuffle towards Terry.
         Nightmarish grunts and hisses reverberated further down the alley, followed only by a galloping thump of bare feet on pavement. Gripped with absolute horror Terry's mind began to snap. Quivering a bottom lip, all of Terry's fear and anxiety made manifest in the form of a throat rupturing scream that vomited out painfully from his mouth. With his nightmares moving closer to him, Terry fled.
           Bursting out from the shadows of the alley way, Terry drove his legs painfully down the dead streets. Over ridden by his instinct for survival, Terry felt his grip on his plastic bag falter as it and all it's products fell to the cement. In a vain attempt to catch it, Terry reached out wildly, losing balance and sending himself skidding across the pavement. The rough hard floor scrapped minor wounds across the clothed flesh of his knee, and loosened from the fall, his cigarettes flung from his pocket. Brief flashes of pain interrupted the chanting in his head, but not long enough for any satisfying respite. Lying on the floor, Terry saw the plastic bag with his son's formula, not far from it he spotted his pack of cigarettes. With the sounds of maddening cackles emitting from his pursuers, he realized they were not far behind, Terry realized if he dallied long he would be meeting his nightmare. Instinctively crawling towards his cigarettes, Terry was immediately assailed with the memory of his son in his crib. It was a quintessential memory of love and pride that mitigated the dire compilation of tension brought on by his own helplessness. With renewed vigor Terry turned away from his petty addiction and clutched on tightly to his son's formula. He wasn't going to fuck this up.
         Springing from a prone position, Terry forced himself into a gallop, steeling his mind from the terrible tearing pain that nagged from the deep scrape of his knee. The sounds at his back came out deeper and throatier then the hiss of a tire with it's air let out. Whatever was chasing him, Terry could make out rhythmic wet smacks that followed in his aftermath. The fetid stench of spoiled milk accompanied by rotted beef painfully stung Terry's nose.  Terry's own unsatisfied curiosity could not temper the total amount of revulsion to venture a look backwards. If he was to make that gamble, Terry knew he'd only plunge his fragile mental state into a deep recession, which would dull his minor comprehensions into a realm of darkness. To regress from the comfort of predictable reality and to gaze upon something so unreal would sanction the further departure of his own sanity. The chanting alone plunged his mind into conjuring dreadful images like the one he had seen before. It had to have been a mistake. Terry kept trying to negotiate with his better sense of judgment, simplifying his situation as nothing more than a bad dream. It was a placid notion, but if it were true, then the pain in his leg wouldn't be as intense.
         A series of piercing barks broke and fractured the chanting and registered on Terry's dulling senses. The sounds emanated near the direction he was running. Could it of been the border collie? His attitude on the capricious creature was constantly shifting, unsure if it were the dog's intentions to lead him to his current fate. As the dog ended it's explosive yelps, Terry found himself left in complete silence. The chanting had ceased and the persistent audible percussions of pursuit stopped. This minor reassurance did not halt his kicking feet. He kept running only slowing down to brave a glance backwards. Distant distorted profiles of shadow clad forms stood with perfect stillness down the road. Bipedal, they stood as strait and facially featureless as a collection of department store mannequins. They didn't move, just observed.
         Sweat beaded along the edges of Terry's brow and trickled down his flustered face. His shriveled lungs painfully commanded a series of laborious inhalations in exchange for continued consciousness. After a brief moment of silence, the barking continued, alerting Terry towards a darkened structure in the distance. Moving closer Terry could make out the stone composition puckered around the glass mosaic window, the moonlight seeming to gleam of it's fragmented reflective surfaces. The barking was coming from a church. Terry's body quivered violently.
         Collapsed ruined heaps of rubble and cement seemed to encircle the holy structure. At a closer vantage revealed a lengthy courtyard surrounded by a seven foot tall black iron fence. Heading in from the rear of the building presented hedge rows of granite symbols of rest, these cracked and tempered markers left carelessly around stone graves.  Terry passed through the ajar gate, crushing malnourished blades of yellow grass. A soft hum caught Terry's attention, leading him along a path flanked by hills of recently disturbed soil. A monolithic stone angel loomed over the site, it's fractured wings resting at the base of the statue. It's face seemingly smashed in with a hammer, chiseled on it's chest the declaration. "I am not divine."
         Using a measure of stealth, Terry closed in on the humming and crouched behind a grave.          Observing over the edge Terry caught a glimpse of a withered old man stabbing his shovel into a vulnerable layer of earth, a flickering light from a waxed candle illuminating the scene within a glass case.  His eyes were milky white and his face sagged downward like a wrinkled bag, displaying a surprising amount of vigor, the old man yanked large clots of dirt from the soil. Chucking it over his shoulder caused a shower of dirt to spill from the spade, blanketing his tangled strands of ivory white hair with humus.
         "Good harvest this year, Skip." The ragged old grave robber murmured to the border collie at his side, breaking his tune to give the canine a toothless smile. With blood red gums glistening in the light of his lantern the old man craned his decrepit head in Terry's direction, his gnarled fingers tightening around the splintered shaft of his shovel. Ducking low Terry hoped to avoid detection, but his desires were left without appeal as the old man's gasping voice called out to him. "I can hear ya young man. Ya might as well come out then."
         "Who are you? What's going on around here?" Terry snapped, standing out from behind his granite cover. The old man looked unnatural, his haggard form skeletal in appearance, but holding himself up as if he were in younger man's shoes.
         "You're not homeless, that's why I immediately took to you. It's been so difficult to sustain myself on the old and dying dregs of this city, but you, you're youthful." A momentary flicker in the lantern's flame granted Terry a glimpse of the man's malformed visage, all the exuberance of life swapped with deteriorated flesh. "You understand, in order for me to continue my work, I need you. A young man with a fledgling family, has so much hope for the future. It's delicious."
         "This is crazy, you're fucking crazy! I'm ready for this nightmare to end, tell me how to get home! Now!" Terry tried to roar, but he found his voice cracking. His head was pounding with a pulsating ache that made cognition difficult. What was supposed to be a few menacing steps forward turned into a sluggish stagger that left Terry's resolve waning. With warm tears pooling with sweat, Terry cried out "What are you doing to me?"
         "Rituals and incantations, my dear boy." The old man gleefully chuckled. Lifting his shovel from the ground, the old man clutched onto the shaft of the tool and swung with unnatural might. Terry felt as if he had been yanked to the ground, his nose breaking at the impact of steel from the flat side of the shovel. Dizziness and disorientation took Terry into a heavy unforgiving embrace. Lying face up on a bed of dead grass, Terry looked up weakly, fighting the effects of a concussion. "I'm sorry son, but I need your vitality to continue my work. It's very important."
         "Please, you don't have to do this. I have a wife and kid." Terry pleaded weakly, the pain of the shovels impact less severe than the prospect of leaving his family behind.
         "From death comes rebirth. Your child will see this some day, and your sacrifice to aid my mortification will make all difference for him in the future. Worry not, your family will be cared for" The wizened figure murmured, looming over Terry's fallen form. Holding out a putrid rotting hand, the necrotic being began to chant.
         "Please." Terry tried one more before his body was overcome with pain, the figure's thunderous voice pounding into his head and coursing through his body like a river of discontent. With his vision blurring, Terry could barely make out the distorted monstrosities he was surrounded by. Too horrible for words, the deformed abominations tore into Terry, fiendishly rending his flesh from his body. As the pain continued, Terry clenched onto his son's bottle of formula, tightly clinging to the final memories of his son.
***
         A gentle pawing scrapped against the door followed by a volley of playful yips. Sarah, with her son cradled in her embrace, peered out through the peephole into the desolate world outside. When she recognized it was a happy looking border collie at the stoop of her house, she creaked the door open.
         "What's that you got in your mouth boy? Is that, uh, infant formula?"