Twisted Psyche (more)

(rest of Chapter 3)
Crass' brows furrowed. "I dunno." He scratched his chin in thought, and glanced around. "I'm still trying to figure that out. Maybe we have actually been asleep, and somehow survived some kind of apocalyptic war?"
Monty gaped at Crass. Crass grinned. "I know, sorry, grasping at straws. It's impossible, I know, but at least it's a guess." He removed his glasses and futilely began to polish them on his shirt. He breathed on them, polished them again, and slid them onto his nose. He didn't seem to mind the large cracks which webbed through both lenses. Apparently, he could still see well enough through them to warrant them useful. He put his hands on his hips, and furrowed his brows. There was a mixture of comfort and sorrow on his face. With each frown, the lines in his cheeks seemed to grow deeper. Monty, however, had no feeling of comfort. If this was home, why did it look so . . . twisted? How did it get this way? Had the crash tossed them through some sort of inter-dimensional rip, and this was actually just an alternate Carlisle? A thousand questions raced through his mind, and he couldn't answer a one of them. After they stood looking around in silence for a while, still pondering this existence, Monty spoke up. "I'm thinking maybe we should start looking for other people. Homes, hotels, things of that nature. I should hope this place doesn't consist entirely of demolished city buildings."
Crass nodded in agreement, still roving his eyes about the old Post Office. "Well," he said with a wheeze, "if this is the North side of town, then we came from the South, obviously. This being the old Post Office means that we're on Silver Street, less than a block from First Avenue." He turned to look behind him. "East should be that way, towards the mountains. I know for a fact that there's a few subdivisions about three blocks that way, on the other side of Grand Boulevard."
"Yeah, I believe there is. But, one question . . . " Monty looked at Crass, then back Eastward. "If this whole place is like this, I'm afraid of what we may find. You also mentioned East is towards the mountains. Well, I know East is over there, because we are on the North side of town . . . but I don't see any mountains. Do you?"
Crass shook his head solemnly. "No, I don't."
"Well, here's to hoping." Monty said, and they started off, heading Eastward in the direction of Grand Boulevard. They crossed through an alleyway that ran between Bradley Gates and Farhouse Road, emptying into another whacked-out area of town. Where once stood rows of bars and nightclubs, now stood gigantic bonfires and twisted metal cages. Sinister music radiated through the air. A few of the cages housed Howler Monkeys, which screeched and screamed in very human voices. Crass and Monty both winced at the disturbing sounds, cautiously staying what they hoped was a safe distance from them. One of the monkeys leapt onto the bars of a cage, wrapping its fingers and toes around them. It stared at the two, an evil grin full of pointed teeth cracked its face.
"Wanna fuck?" it asked, in a very human voice. Monty tried to ignore it by staring at his feet as they walked past. Crass sniffed once, indignantly, staring straight ahead. Another monkey leapt onto the bars, this one with very human, female breasts. "I'll suck your cock for a dollar!" It, too, grinned wide, showing a mouthful of cracked and rotted teeth. They passed on by the cages, and stopped to stare at a gigantic bonfire. It roared with green flames, and crackled with blue and purple sparks. The flames flipped about, and there looked to be a demonic face peering out at them from deep inside the fire. Monty squeezed his eyes shut and kept on walking. They passed Vermont Ave., and Crass leaned against a stop sign at a four-way intersection.
"You have any idea how long we've been walking?" Crass asked. "Feels like forever."
Monty coughed, trying to get the taste of soot out of his throat. "No. And don't bother trying to find a watch or a clock. They don't work here. Before I left mine on the sidewalk where we met, I checked it. The hands where spinning. They didn't tell the time, they just span."
Crass sighed and frowned. "Well, through that small alcove should be Grand Boulevard. Once we get there, we can begin searching houses. No offense, but I really don't want to be one of only two people here." He looked at Monty apologetically.
Monty chuckled. "None taken. I feel the same way."
Monty removed the thin jacket he was wearing and tied it around his waist. Looking at Crass, and giving him one quick nod, they set off across the street, headed through the alcove. The alcove, which had been a small path through a small lining of trees in Normal Carlisle (which is what they had both started referring to their other home as), was now a moss-covered, slimy-looking trail here in Twisted Carlisle. They started their approach through it warily, extremely unnerved. They walked around a very large pile of dung, which was still steaming, and both of them gagged simultaneously at the rotting smell. A few gnarled and splitting branches jutted out over and around the alcove. They had to duck and climb over a few to continue on. As they reached the end, Monty stopped to peer at what looked like a four-foot-high sand pile with a large hole in the center.
"I don't think you should be peeking into holes, what with everything that we've seen around here," Crass cautioned.
"Yeah, maybe you're right." Monty took a step back, shrugged, and started to step out of the alcove with Crass. An soft clicking and whining noise from behind them made them turn. Crawling out of the hole in the center of the sand pile was a very large, ferocious looking fire ant. Not wanting to wait around to see the whole of the ant, they both took off like rockets. Not once looking back until they had reached a small house up the North end of Grand Boulevard. "Did you see what I saw?" Monty asked Crass when they stopped.
"Yup," his voice cracked. "A fire ant with human eyes."
Not wishing to discuss it further, they proceeded to search around the outside of the small house. It was run-down and nearly demolished, just like every other building in Twisted Carlisle. Large holes penetrated the paneling every few feet. As Crass searched around the porch for some sign of life, Monty headed around to the back. As he moved closer to the rear of the house, he noticed that the ground started to slowly sink down, giving way to puddles of water. He tiptoed on the small stone steps which made up the walkway, and hopped onto the back patio. The backyard was a large body of water, instead of an area of grass. He could see small, rippling splashes throughout the surface of the water, and odd not-quite-fish creatures jumped about. He saw several large fins slicing the water silently, and he even thought he saw a tentacle or two snap just under the surface. He shuddered and turned his attention to the sliding patio doors. Amazingly, they were still in tact. Not one crack, not one bend, not even the slightest hint of a scratch. Curious, Monty stepped closer and examined the handle. It was covered with slimy, black moss, but other than that, it seemed whole. He reached for it, then paused, his hand hovering inches in front of it. He wouldn't have been surprised in the least if the moss has turned out to be some kind of flesh-eating slug-type thing. Or, it was possible that it could be some kind of acid, which would burn his hand off, leaving him with a stump instead of a hand. (Then I can go out and buy a nice, shiny, fashionable hook and walk around with the nickname of "Claw" for the rest of my life, he thought with a grin).
Knowing he was in a position where risks weren't just inclined to be taken, they were forced, he grabbed hold of the handle and waited. Nothing happed. His hand didn't become encased in a mouthful of teeth, and it didn't burn away. He jerked on the door. It was locked. Now, that's extremely disturbing. He couldn't help but wonder why the door would be locked. So far, all he and Crass had run into were nasty beasties (don't forget the Cheshire Cat and Psycho Alice, he added as an afterthought). So, why would the patio door be locked? Aside from the strangeness of finding a perfect-looking glass door (anything that seemed "ordinary" to him, seemed entirely out-of-place here), he found one locked. Perplexed, he trotted on the stone pathway back to the front of the house. Crass was on his hands and knees on the front porch, peering under a wooden porch swing.
Monty climbed the three steps and peered down at Crass. "What are you looking at?"
"I dunno just yet," he said. "But, I think I saw something glint under here. Could be a key or something. Sure as hell looked like a key."
Monty dropped to his hands and knees alongside Crass, not exactly sure why he was searching under a place where any number of nasties could be hiding. Then he spotted it. It glimmered, the thing that Crass was searching for. He was right, it looked like a key. Monty reached under the swing, and fumbled for it. Feeling it, he wrapped it fingers around it and jerked it out from under the shadows. It was a key, but it was an odd-looking one. It was shaped like a miniature human femur bone, with a miniature grinning skeleton head at the top. The teeth of the key were literal teeth; jagged and broken. Monty grimaced. "Yuck. This is a key?"
"Looks like it, even though it may not be pretty." He reached his hand out, and Monty gave it to him. He didn't want to hold it any longer. The feeling of it sent chills up his spine. He had been shuddering and shivering more frequently since he had been here, more than he ever had in his whole existence. He watched Crass as he shoved the key into the lock. Crass looked surprised. Apparently, he hadn't expected the key to work. He gave it a small turn, and he heard the tumblers click. The door swung open instantly. They both peered inside. It was dark, but there were candles lit all around. The floor was green shag, the walks were painted a soft blue. Despite the appearance of the home on the outside, and the large holes in the walls, it was fairly nice inside. It was the first nice place that either of them had seen since arriving in Twisted Carlisle. He felt both comfortable and uncomfortable inside the place. Comfortable because it looked like a real home from Normal Carlisle, uncomfortable not only because of where he was, but for another reason he couldn't quite put his finger on just yet. The more they wandered around inside the house, searching, the more the feeling that this place was familiar somehow nagged at the base of his skull. They searched a bedroom, decorated for a child. They looked cautiously under both small beds that were pushed against opposite walls, and were greatly relieved when all they spotted were a few stuffed toys. Crass searched the closet in the room, while Monty went further down the hall and searched what he figured was the parents' bedroom. There was a four-poster bed with a canopy in the middle of the room, a small night table by the side of it, and a television attached to the top corner of the wall, opposite the bed. It, too, was perfectly in tact. In fact, everything inside the house was in tact. The only thing that showed even a trace that they were in Twisted Carlisle, were the big gaping holes in the walls, spread throughout the house.
As he walked over to the night table to check the drawers, he caught something from the corner of his eye on the bed. He snapped his head toward it and frowned. Two very large, still wet puddles of blood lie in the middle of the bed. He swallowed hard, and bent over the bed. He touched a finger to one pool, and pulled it back slick with blood. He gagged a bit and felt bile rise to the top of his throat. Suppressing the urge to vomit, he quickly wiped his finger on the bedspread. He took a step back and surveyed the room. He scratched the back of his neck. This place was becoming increasingly familiar. The nagging feeling getting stronger with each passing second. He walked out of the room, and stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at the pictures that hung on the walls. They showed an adult man, an adult woman, and two children; one female, one male. Some of the pictures were single photos of one person, but most of them showed all four of the family in a group. Hie eyes widened and his jaw dropped as a sudden realization broke through. "Oh my god," he said in a soft whisper.
Hurriedly, he dashed down the hall and almost smacked into Crass as he came out of the room. "Hey, what's up? Where ya goin'?"
Without answering, Monty shot through the front room and bounded through the doorway. He jumped off the porch, and ran to the middle of the front yard. He stared up at the house, his eyes glancing all about its form. He ran from one end of the front lawn back to the other end, never once taking his eyes off of the house in front of him. Crass came bursting through the door, panting, then looked annoyed as he watched Monty. "I thought you were being chased, damn you! You scared the hell out of me! What the hell's going on, what are you doing, Monty," Crass spat out in a gruff tone.
"I know this house," he said, staring Crass right in the eye. "I know exactly whose house this is." Monty's voice was laced with both fear and excitement.
Not quite understanding, Crass shook his head. "What are you babbling about? Out with it."
Regaining his composure, Monty turned his whole body to face Crass. "Okay. I'm pretty sure you've heard about or read about the serial killer that's been terrorizing Carlisle? The Dream Stalker?"
Crass nodded slowly, looking at him sideways.
"This is the home of one of the families that became his victims! I know because I saw fresh bloodstains on the parents' bed. My thought was confirmed when I saw the pictures of the family hanging in the hallway!" Monty was panting, himself.
Crass looked at the house, one hand going to the back of his head. Then, he looked around, looked at his feet, then back up into Monty's eyes. "How can you be sure? I mean, if this is their house, how come it doesn't look like all the others? And, also, how come there was no blood in the kids' room? I mean, this guy doesn't leave anyone behind. He slaughters the whole family in their sleep."
"Yeah, I know. If I can remember the news article correctly, " Monty squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to remember, "then this house belonged to the Farradays. The reason why there was no blood in the kids' beds is because, on the night they were murdered, the children were sleeping with their parents!"
"But, I still don't understand why this house doesn't look like all the others!" Crass said, obviously aggravated that Monty hadn't answered that question.
He shook his head. "I don't know, Crass. I have no idea why this house isn't like every other house on this block, every other building in this city. I'm still trying to figure that out."
They turned back to look at the house once more. They stood, side by side, arms crossed in front of their chests and frowning. Neither one of them had any idea what was going on. If they were to sit and try to figure it out, they'd probably end up with headaches after too long. So, instead of pondering, they decided to search the rest of the block for signs of life. They looked at each other, and started southward, glancing back for one last look at the out-of-place home.

CHAPTER 4

They continued walking south for a couple of blocks. Avoiding the gnarled trees and giant holes under their feet. They searched around every rotted house they came to. They didn't search each house for too long, seeing as how the longer they walked, the darker Twisted Carlisle became. The sky was no longer swirling with blues and purples, instead it was now swirling with shades of black. Monty slid his jacket back on around his torso. He wasn't cold, but he was shivering. He really hadn't stopped shivering from the moment he'd arrived here. He wondered if he'd ever stop, even if they somehow got back to Normal Carlisle.
They walked quickly, their searching of the houses becoming less and less thorough and more and more just the occasional glance. They slowed to a stop, however, in front of another almost perfect-looking home. They glanced at each other and proceeded up onto the porch. This door was wide open. And not one hole penetrated the house. The porch window had been shattered, and the porch itself was cracked, but, other than that, the house seemed fine. They entered slowly, still playing on the side of caution. They searched the front room, which was fairly large for such a moderate home. There was a grand piano in one corner of the room. Crass bent down and looked under it. Monty wandered into the kitchen, and began searching through the cupboards. He was suddenly hungry, his stomach growled softly. He opened the fridge, and saw that it was fully stocked with food. He didn't know if it would be safe to eat anything in this world, no matter how good it may look. But, his stomach override his good sense and he grabbed a can of Pepsi from the top shelf. He also grabbed a chocolate cake from the middle rack, only one slice was gone.
Crass wandered into the kitchen and frowned. "You think that's safe to do," he asked as Monty grabbed a fork and sat down at the kitchen table.
"Probably not, but my stomach is telling me different." He grinned and offered Crass an extra fork. Hesitantly, he took it, then grinned at Monty, nodding, and plopped down in a chair next to him. "Anything to drink?"
Monty thumbed towards the fridge. Crass searched it, grabbed a can of beer, and sat back down. His stomach agreed with Monty's, because he suddenly became very hungry, as if he hadn't eaten for weeks. Without another hesitation, both of them plunged their forks into the cake and shoved huge portions into their mouths. The cake was sweet, smooth, and delicious. It tasted fresh, like it had been made not more than a few hours ago. They continued to shovel in huge mouthfuls, savoring every wonderful bite like a fine wine. Neither one of them would have cared if something was stalking them from behind, for at that very moment, that cake was the best cake they had ever eaten in their lives, and they were lost in the bliss of it.

* * * * *

Having gorged themselves to the point of being sick, they searched the house slowly, each of them rubbing their stomachs. Monty's bowels began to gurgle, so he decided it would be prudent to search the bathroom. He shut the door, locked it, and stood in front of the sink staring at himself in the mirror. He didn't care for what he saw: his brown hair was now scraggly, unkempt, and ratty. It had also began to sprout a lock of grey above his left ear. His normally beautiful, blue eyes were now bloodshot and distant. They looked haunted, glossed over. He was sporting large, dark bags under his eyes. His face seemed thinner; small stress lines had started to develop around the corners of his thin mouth. Monty clenched his jaw and turned away from the almost unrecognizable image staring out at him.
He plopped down on the toilet, without even bothering to think if anything could grab him from underneath, and went about his business. When he finished, he washed his hands at the sink, refusing to look in the mirror again. He dried his hands on a small handtowel that was hanging over a drawer handle, took one last glimpse around the bathroom, and exited. He found Crass staring at some pictures that were hanging in the hallway. Before Monty had a chance to ask him what he was doing, he'd grabbed Monty by the wrist and drug him down the hall and into a small child's bedroom.
Just as Monty opened his mouth to ask another question, he spotted what Crass evidently wanted to show him. In the middle of the child's bed, soaking into the mattress, was a pool of blood. It was fresh, for it gleamed and shimmered. Monty looked at Crass, and he realized Crass looked older than he had before. More lines had appeared on his face, and the ones that were there before had grown deeper. His face looked withered; his hair more grey. If Monty didn't know any better, he'd swear that Crass was a walking dead man. He had no idea he would be proven right.
"Did you check the other rooms?" Monty's voice had dropped to a raspy whisper.
Crass nodded. "The same. Parents' bed looks the same."
Crass tore his eyes away from the blood on the bed and looked at Monty. Monty almost flinched when he saw his eyes. They were dulled, without any sort of glow, and had sunk further into his head. "Another family of victims of the Dream Stalker," Crass finally said. "I know, because I recognized them from the pictures in the hallway." He swallowed.
Monty's mind raced. What exactly was going on, here? Why is it that the victims' homes are in perfect condition? Monty pinched his lip and thought silently for a moment. Crass could see that Monty's mind was working, so he said nothing. Just watched him and waited.
Monty shook a finger absently into the air. "I have a feeling," he said, "that we're gonna find that all the victims' houses are like this." He looked back at Crass. "Don't ask me how I know; it's just a feeling."
As they both stood looking at the bed, their attention was instantly drawn to a very horrible, evil, raspy laugh from out in the street. They rushed out of the room and back down the hall, the laugh getting louder as they neared the front door. Crass reached it first, and he jerked it open. The fact that the door was closed when they had left it open, didn't even cross his mind. They both stumbled onto the front porch and stared at the figure standing in the middle of the street. They couldn't make out who or what it was, save that the shape appeared human.
They watched it as it slowly faded away, completely disappearing before their eyes. Crass pointed to the place where the figure had been. Monty nodded. They both stepped off the porch, out onto the front lawn, and made their way to the middle of the street where the figure had vanished. They turned around and around slowly, dumbfounded and bewildered. Had anyone been watching them right now, they would have appeared drunk to the observer, for they continued to turn in tight circles while scratching their heads.
Crass shook his head for a long time. "What the fuck was that all about?"
"Uh, I . . ." Monty couldn't answer him because he had no idea what to say.


* * * * *



"I saw them go down this way," Rebecca said as she brushed a strand of red hair behind her left ear.
"How in the hell do you know what you saw? Ever since we've been . . . here, we've come across some pretty fucked-up shit!" Stefanie stared at the back of Rebecca's head as they made their way through the alcove where Rebecca had spotted two people earlier. Instead of an answer, she received a shrug.
Rebecca concentrated on locating the two she had seen, thankful that she wasn't alone here. She didn't much care for Stefanie's company, because all the woman did was bitch and moan about how horrible this place was and how she wanted to go home and how she didn't want to die, and a lot of other shit. It was getting on Rebecca's nerves.
At the end of the alcove, where it spilled out onto a street, there was a rather large mound of dirt with a large hole in the center of it. Rebecca walked right passed it, not even curious at what it was. Stefanie, on the other hand, knelt down and peered into the hole. "Hey, check this out!"
Rebecca yanked her backward and jerked her to her feet. "What the hell is wrong with you? This is not the kind of place where you just go peering into holes whenever you feel like it!"
"Hey, fuck you!" Stefanie jerked away from Rebecca, glowering. "I don't need you telling me what to do! I can do whatever the fuck I want! I know what I'm doing!"
"Yeah, sure you do," Rebecca said, smirking. "Sure you do. That's why you're minus an index finger, because you sure knew what you were doing when you decided to poke that large black slug on the last street."
Stefanie looked down at her left hand. The handkerchief which covered the small lump that used to be her index finger, was now soaked through with blood. The wound had stopped bleeding by now, and there was a dull throbbing which she tried to ignore. On the street previous to the one they were now on, there had been a large slug which Stefanie wanted to get a better look at. It had been about eight inches long, black, with dark purple and blue mottled spots. Other than that, it resembled any other slug. She had bent down and poked it in the middle. At that moment, the slug reared up on its end, and opened a round mouth full of small, silver, pointed teeth. It lunged at her hand, its mouth engulfing her finger down to the base. She screamed and yanked her hand away, only to find that her finger was no longer there.
Stefanie frowned and looked back up at Rebecca, who was shaking her head.
"Fuck you," she said, but without conviction or force.
Rebecca shook her head one last time and turned away from Stefanie. She made her way out into the street and looked around. The houses which lined each side of the street were falling apart, every one of them filled with gaping holes. She let out a groan and sighed. She could feel her stomach churn. She hadn't cared for the appearance of the other streets she had been on; this, she cared for less.
Stefanie stood beside her and roamed her eyes about. "Oh man. This sucks. I wish I was back home."
Rebecca closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and silently counted to ten. She knew she'd lose her temper with Stefanie before long, and probably knock her cold. But, for now, her major concern was finding the people (she hoped they were people) she had spotted earlier. She walked across the street quickly, continuing to look around for anything dangerous. This whole damned place is dangerous, she thought. I'll be lucky to make it home alive.
She stood on the sidewalk out in front of a home where the front wall no longer existed. It had been blown away, or ripped off, leaving the inside exposed. Again, she felt her stomach churn. She licked her lips and started walking Southward, Stefanie trailing close behind. Everywhere they looked it was the same: demolished houses with gaping holes, gnarled trees, cracked sidewalks. Rebecca wondered if there was anything around this place that even resembled "normal". The longer she wandered around this hell, the more despaired she became. She gently fingered the small, silver cross which hung from her neck and moved on.
Behind her, she heard a small yelp. She whirled around to find Stefanie face down on the sidewalk, one hand holding her ankle. Jesus Christ, she thought, with a silent apology afterward. She took a step toward Stefanie and knelt down to help her up.
"Stupid fucking hole!" Stefanie cursed through gritted teeth.
Blame it on the hole, of course. A small smile played on her thin lips.
"What the fuck are you smiling at," said Stefanie, her cheeks flushed red from anger and pain.
"Nothing." Rebecca grabbed a hold of Stefanie's arm, and began to help her up. They both fell back to the pavement, however, when the front window of a house beside them exploded outward. A decaying and rotting Doberman Pinscher landed on the sidewalk in front of then. It growled, its teeth bared in a ferocious snarl.
"Oh my God!" Stefanie's eyes widened in horror. "That looks like a dog from–"
"–‘Silent Hill'," Rebecca said.
"–‘Resident Evil'," is what Stefanie finished with.
They glanced at each other, then Rebecca yanked Stefanie to her feet. "Run!" she yelled.
"My ankle–" Stefanie was cut off with a hard smack across her face.
"I said run, damn you!" Rebecca had already started. Stefanie, despite the pain in her ankle, trailed less than a foot behind her. Furious at being smacked, but more in fear for her life, she ran just as fast as Rebecca, coming up alongside her.
"You bitch! I can't believe you fucking –"
"I refuse to carry your ass, so I suggest you shut the hell up and run faster!" Rebecca didn't bother to look behind her to see how close the dog was, she could hear its claws clicking against the pavement just a few feet behind them. It barked and growled loudly, sounding even closer. Rebecca ran faster than she ever had in her life, praying to God to make her feet just a little more swift. I'm so glad I wore tennis shoes instead of heels tonight.
When she had boarded the bus that evening (her car having been in the auto shop awaiting new brake pads), she had been on her way to have coffee with a friend, so there was no need to dress up. On the bus, she figured on catching a little bit of a nap before arriving at the coffee house. Of course, she never made it to the coffee house to have coffee with her friend; instead, she had been involved in a rather terrible crash. When she awoke, she had found herself here, somehow; waking up to find her hometown of Carlisle gone and this in its place. She woke up on the third floor of Carlisle Memorial Hospital, only it wasn't the Carlisle Memorial Hospital she knew. The twisted version of the original hospital was full of holes with blood and bodily fluids smeared on the walls. The lights which lined the hallway were either shattered, or gave off sickly glow. Tables, chairs, desks; all of them were either shattered or burned. Terrible, vulgar writing had been written in blood on the floors and walls. As she explored the hospital, trying to get a bearing on where she was, she had stumbled into the autopsy room – screamed and had nearly passed out at what she saw.
On one of the dissection tables lay a man with his chest cut open and his intestines falling out. Sitting in the open chest cavity was an abomination of a cat. It was at least four times the size of a normal one. It was hairless and had odd, tattoo-like symbols all over its body. In the tip of its left ear hung an earring. The end of its tail was wrapped around a straight razor, which was covered in blood. It turned and looked at her, its black eyes seemed to stare right through her. It grinned, baring a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth, and spoke. "Well, hello beautiful. Come to play with us, have you?"
It was only then that Rebecca had noticed the girl standing at the head of the cadaver, cutting open its skull with a butcher knife. She was wearing a blue dress with a white apron that was covered in bloody splotches, and her hair was black. Rebecca turned and ran, stumbled, tripped, and ran again. She burst through the door to the stairwell and nearly killed herself running down them, tripping and falling several flights. She burst through the door that led to the basement floor and ran blindly down the hallway, stumbling through a door at the end of the hall. Instantly, she knew she had made a mistake. She was in the morgue. A scream froze in her throat when she looked around and saw hundreds of giant bats hanging from the ceiling, crawling on the floor. Each of them had a human face.
She ran from the room in a blind panic. Then next thing she knew, she was outside, puking behind a bush. After regaining her composure, she explored around the block, taking in everything around her and getting a feel for her surroundings. After wandering around for what seemed like hours, she knew she was in Carlisle, but she couldn't figure out what had happened to it. Nothing about this twisted place was right. Everything was wrong. Everything was evil. Just as she had began to think she was alone, that no one else had survived the crash or had made it here, she found the woman with the shaved head – Stefanie – cowering in a Dumpster in an alleyway on another block.
Now, she found herself running from a dog straight out of a horror video game; Stefanie running right along beside her. Grabbing Stefanie's arm, she pulled her toward the space between two houses. They ran through the gap and ducked behind one house, flattening themselves against the back wall. They were both out of breath and breathing heavily. Rebecca tried to quiet her own breathing as best as possible, and clapped a hand over Stefanie's mouth to quiet hers. Stefanie made no objection.
Rebecca listened for a few moments, hearing no sign of the dog. She removed her hand from Stefanie's mouth, closed her eyes, and slowly slid down the wall. She buried her head in her hands and breathed deeply. "Thank you, God," she said.