Corpse Among The Dead

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Withdrawals can be hell. Literally.

Submitted: January 07, 2009

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Submitted: January 07, 2009

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When going "cold turkey", as it were, one thing you will need in abundance is water. Knowing this, I placed three large containers (the five-gallon sort) near the bed upon which I would soon be convulsing in agony. There were also several one-gallon containers and water bottles. There was even a bottle of apple juice mixed in. A slight distance away from this was a vast array of bowls and buckets of various shapes, sizes, and colors. These were here, of course, for the explicit purpose of vomiting up all the fluids.

My withdrawals set in painfully, to say the least. I began flailing about uncontrollably, and created quite a horrendous scene. Reaching for the nearest form of hydration, I was able to grasp easiest the neck of one of the five-gallon containers. Very foolishly I attempted lying on my back and, with one arm, lifting the five-gallon container to drink from it. I cannot say why I thought at the time that this was physically possible. My mind was simply not functioning properly, probably due to the pain.

With my greatest effort, I managed only to succeed in tipping the other two large containers as I dropped the one I had grasped. Still lying on my back, I heard the sound of the large containers spilling and crushing several of the smaller containers as they crashed. The sound of water flooding onto my hard wood floor coalesced with the black cloud that flooded my vision as I lost consciousness. What I awoke to was my bed floating in a dark ocean. I looked up to find that the ceiling was melting, dripping down onto me and my bed.

"It must have been the dripping that's responsible for all this wetness," I said aloud. I had no particular reason to speak aloud, but it seemed like such a clever discovery that it warranted proclamation. However, in the midst of said proclamation, I lost my balance. It was then that I realized my bed was moving of its own volition. I inspected it curiously. As soon as I tried to focus on the appearance of my bed, the bedposts morphed and split into misshaped spiders’ legs, upon which it moved in violent jolts that caused me to fall to my back. Now the dripping ceiling morphed into storm clouds that rumbled with thunder. I knew that those clouds and the waters contained monsters far more terrible than the drowning spider that I lay atop.

Looking to the water, I couldn't believe that I hadn't noticed earlier. Those strange floating objects were corpses. They looked swelled-up and soggy, the way that drowned bodies really look. Somehow, the sight of them floating in those dark waters was so captivatingly macabre, that I found myself (for a moment) unable to look away. In that moment, the chests of six corpses burst open. Six nightmarish jack-in-the-box dolls, with nails in their eyes and their mouths stitched shut, sprung up on rusty coils and bobbled menacingly for a few moments before their heads began to twist. One by one their heads popped off, squirting six fountains of blood that stained the sky, and revealing a series of blades protruding horizontally from the neck of each head.

They hung in the air, blood-stained and spinning like saucers, cackling hideously through their stitches. As they all came slicing toward my head, the dying spider released something like a death rattle that shook the corpse which served as my flotation device. If this hadn't knocked me to my back, I may have found myself joining the decapitated ranks or the death-dolls. But it wasn't over, they were circling back again. With nothing else to defend myself, I grabbed hold of a spider leg and began to kick at the base while twisting the top. The leg snapped with a bone-splintering sound and gushed a substantial amount of spider-blood while I twisted it free and brandished it like a baseball bat.

As the homicidal dolls made their second raid, I swung the severed leg while screaming like a banshee, and connected with the very first of the doll heads. It collided with the two behind, and all three went sinking like stones into the water. The remaining trio of death-dolls withdrew their attack, seemingly content to hover above my head. I was no longer concerned with them, I now had a bigger problem. My body was saturated with blood.... spider's blood. And it burned like acid!

It felt as if it were burning through my skin and settling in my bloodstream. There was something like an itching under my skin, and then I began to see them. Hundreds of tiny spiders, crawling out of my arms and neck. I tried to claw at my face, but my hands had been reduced to bloody paws; mangled by my efforts to snap the spider leg. Desperate and helpless, I fell to my knees and stared at the water. I knew what kind of terror waited in that water, but you must understand that there were spiders crawling through my skin! I thought that if I could just splash my face...

I reached both hands down to the water. Before my hands had even touched the surface, something grabbed me and pulled me in. Gasping for breath, I felt the hands of strangers tearing at my flesh as I tried to fight to the surface. I realized then, or perhaps I had know all along; that there was no escaping from these waters. There can be no hope in the sea of the damned, the river Styx. I was dragged down to hell, another corpse among the dead.

I opened my eyes to find my room destroyed. What had been going on here? And why was I so thirsty? Then I realized all the water was on the floor, it was less than an inch thick. My bed was in shambles, and one of the bedposts had been broken off, and was lying on the ground next to me. My hands were hurt, but only one fingernail had been torn off and it was on the left hand anyways. All in all, I'd say the damage was minimal, all thanks to proper preparations.


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