MicroHorror

The crack along the wall appeared to be getting bigger and Gerald thought that he could see eyes, blinking eyes somewhere deep in the darkness. He looked at his feet and they kept moving, slipping in and out of his line of vision. The skin on the back of his hands had turned very grey and had begun to crumble, dust puffing away in to the air. Ice had formed on his hair and his breath ran out in a painful frozen mist, his throat burning.

On the floor next to his left foot an upturned bottle of red wine dripped the last of its contents on to the wooden floor. Gerald’s dog lay, paws on ears under the kitchen table, his big eyes darting back and forth, too afraid to sleep.

The crack wrenched and ground, each sound scratching at Gerald’s head, the inside of his skull, thin pins scraping at bone. He felt hot wax drops on the back of his eyes and his nose began to stream, viscous snot burning like ammonia. He raked his tongue across the roof of his mouth, flicking off the small polyps that had grown there. He wanted to scream but his throat had constricted, an almost airless rasp, a weak whistle.

“Hello, Gerald.”

The white pain in his brain eased for a second and he stared at the crack in the wall as the thing within began to push rubbery, slick hands out of the thin hole. It grabbed the edges and began to pull. Its bald slimy head was next, just muscle and sinew and blood vessels over a stark hard skull. In a few moments it stood before him, naked and dripping blood on the black rug.

Gerald tried to speak but nothing happened, the pain was severe and now more of him began to peel and dust, his nose slipping away in clumps, like wet sand. His tongue began to swell, bloody gums leaking pus filling his mouth with stench.

The dog padded over to the man and began to lick his feet, wet bloody licks. The man crouched down and clasped the dog, ruffling the fur on either side of its head.

“Hey, Steve, how are you doing, boy? You’re such a good and loyal dog.”

Steve showed his appreciation by nuzzling the man and letting the man tickle his tummy.

“Now, Gerald, don’t fight it. Relax.”

The man smiled gently at Gerald and bent down so his eyes were inches away from Gerald’s rolling yellow sickened eyes. Gerald’s face had begun to melt, dollops of blood and skin pit-patting on the wood floor below.

“It’s okay, Gerald, not long now.”

The man picked up Gerald’s watch from the small pool of body fluids and slipped it over his own wrist; he rubbed the new formed red raw skin that had begun to grow on his arms and smiled again.

Gerald had become a lifeless mass oozing off the chair, his face barely recognizable. His dog, Steve, sat still, waiting on the man’s command, barely noticing Gerald.

The man began to get dressed, one of Gerald’s old suits, charcoal grey, an austere touch he thought for an important occasion. He slipped on a pair of Gerald’s worn brogues and flexed his toes, perfect. Finally, he slipped Gerald’s wallet into the inside breast pocket of his suit and patted his leg. Steve came bounding over to him, tongue lolling and tail flapping furiously.

“Goodbye, Gerald. Thanks for everything.”

The crack in the wall had closed almost perfectly now and the rest of the room just looked bare and very normal. The puddle that had been Gerald was beginning to disappear, seeping into the floorboards.

The man took a last look around the room and flicked the light switch off. He began to whistle, flashing his newly minted pearly white teeth and then shut the door behind him as he left. Steve walked along beside him, always happy to be at his master’s side.