The door banged against the corner wall with the distinct sound of splintering wood. The crack in the wood deepened, then the door slammed back shut in Mickey's face, catching on the frame in which it no longer fit. It had only been open for a second, but it had been enough to send tremors through Mickey's bowels. His stomach turned and he could feel the acids churning.
On the other side of that door had been a slick of blood, drag marks stretched across the Berber carpet. At the end of the trail had been a body, What's-his-name (possibly Jerry) Weber, former running yuppie, now worm-food corpse, with his head twisted nearly 180 degrees. Blood pulsed through his hair, and fragments of bone showed through the red rivulets gushing into the carpet. Worse, his eyes stared at Mickey, open and glazed and all life gone, yet pleading nonetheless. Mickey could hear him passing in the hall with a hushed, barely audible, 'hi,' only now that voice was silenced.
And that head was moving, bobbing from side to side upon its shattered neck like some deranged pigeon as the body slid across the carpet. More accurately, something dragged Mr. Weber of 314 across the carpet; some hulking dark form of which Mickey had only caught the briefest glimpse. The smell, however, had been overpowering. The thing reeked of shit and piss, but mingled with a distinct musk, as if mold gathering too long in a full garbage bin. Or was it eggs, eggs left to rot in a clogged sink?
As the door banged shut, the smell retreated, ever so little. While it choked his nostrils, Mickey could not place it, and yet it sank deep, and suddenly he was fighting the urge to vomit. He heaved and tasted that burning liquid bile rising in his throat, then swallowed it back down. That form dragging What's-his-name was not Abbie. She was still in there, and Mickey had nothing to lose but a life of scorn that didn't seem worth living to begin with.
He kicked the door for a second time with another accompanied crack of splintering wood. This time, however, he took a step in and as the door came crashing back towards the frame it hit with a thud and a jolt of mild pain against his shoulder, but stayed open.
YOU ARE READING
The Violation in 314 ✔️
HorrorMickey Vartabetian works as the night security guard at The Villa apartments. Estranged from the tenants, he has come to view himself as less than human - but all of that must come into question when he meets something even darker than himself.
