The Nutcracker Bleeds (PUBLISHED 2017)

Chapter Eight - To Each, His Own

                                                        The Nutcracker Bleeds 

                                                               Chapter Eight:

                                                             To Each, His Own 

                                                                            1 

                The rest of the trek was silent for Anne and the soldier who followed her.  She thought only of the directions, and he had nothing else to say to her.  She took one wrong turn through the dark passages, but realized it early enough to turn back.  The shaft had been getting warmer, moving closer to a fire.  They should have been moving into the colder stretches. 

                 Further on in the cold, still shafts, their feet began to crunch over termites that had lost their wings and died.  Anne didn’t care much for that, but at least she was on top this time.  Eventually she got them back on the correct path that took them straight to the place where she’d entered into the enemy realm… 

                …only, the stinking, cavernous opening was no longer there. 

                The place where the entrance had been was walled up with mud and leaves and doll stuffing.  The entire square-foot of open space was gone. 

                “That…was terribly fast,” she uttered in confusion as she stared at it.  

                It should have taken ages for mice to do such a job, yet it had only taken these a matter of minutes?  Come to think of it, how long had it been since she’d been here with the jester and returned with the nutcracker? 

                “Are you certain this is it?” he asked, stepping forward to examine the wall. 

                “…yes,” she replied, still dumbfounded. 

                He moved to the wall, putting his hands on it to test how well it was packed.  She stood back and watched him, confused but quite relieved.  The only entrance she knew of was gone.  Now perhaps they could just leave. 

                 As she stood in the chilling cold, growing more impatient by the moment, she had the sudden notion of a presence behind her.  The feeling crept up her spine like spider legs.  Everything was silent, but she sensed something edging close.  She felt a warm breeze that smelled like the putrid breath of one who had devoured his own waste.    

                Anne didn’t want to look. 

                “A-Armand…” she said quietly, worriedly. 

                The nutcracker turned back to her, immediately catching sight of the thing looming behind her with its jaws outstretched. 

                “Verdammt,” he muttered in annoyance. “Get down!” 

                She did as he asked, and even as he was speaking, his fingers had found one of the needles strapped to his leg.  

                Not only had the soldier seen the diseased-looking mouse with the foaming lips, but the rodent had seen him.  The creature’s beady eyes lit with recognition, and it might have turned to run if the needle hadn’t so swiftly found a place through its eye and brain.  The mouse didn’t even have time to screech before blood was seeping through its teeth and it was falling to the ground.