Suckers - Jack Kilborn [56]
But before I could make the funniest pit-related comment yet (which I’ve since forgotten) they pushed me into the inappropriately named Pit and slammed the door behind me.
I stood there in the darkness, wondering if I should shout the comment through the closed door. I decided against it.
A few seconds passed. I continued standing there. Really, this wasn’t so bad. If nothing else, it was better than rolling around on a corpse. A lot better.
What was that?
I wasn’t sure what I’d heard. It sort of sounded like a very quiet giggle.
A very quiet giggle was not something I wanted to hear when I was locked in a dark room.
Was I even locked in here?
I turned around and twisted the doorknob. Yep, it was locked. That’s what I figured, but I would’ve felt like quite the dullard if I’d been torn to shreds by the quiet giggler without ever bothering to check the door.
More giggling, not so quiet.
Crap.
I had visions of a little angel-faced girl with golden curls hiding a bloody meat cleaver behind her back.
“Is anybody in here?” I asked, using my “I’m extremely brave” voice.
“Yes,” somebody replied. My heart gave such a jolt that for a second I thought it had popped free of its tubing and rolled down next to my stomach.
It was a woman’s voice. She sounded like a grandmother.
“I’m here, too,” said another elderly-sounding woman, her voice coming from the other side of the room.
Both women giggled.
I heard something that sounded like chains rattling. I stayed put, hoping that my eyes would quickly adjust to the dark. C’mon, eyes, let’s get a move on. Let me see the freaky grandmothers. Let’s go. Aw, man, this sucks.
“Who are you?” I asked.
More giggling. More chains rattling.
“Who are you?” asked the woman to my left. She sounded like she was maybe five or six feet away. Not nearly far enough.
“I’m Andrew Mayhem,” I said. “I mean you no harm.”
The giggling turned into outright laughter. I figured I deserved it. I wiped some sweat off my forehead and continued to stay where I was.
“We mean you lots of harm,” said the woman to my right.
“Lots and lots and lots,” her companion added.
“I bet your blood tastes gooooooooood.”
“Real, real good.”
As I looked from side to side, I could now vaguely see the two figures. They seemed to be chained to the wall. I slowly backed up against the door, hoping that their chains were sufficiently short to keep them from tasting my blood.
I knew they weren’t vampires. I didn’t believe in vampires. I did, however, believe in crazy old ladies with a blood fetish, and I found them rather unnerving.
“Should we bite him?” asked the woman to my left.
“Bite him and drink him all up?”
“Yes, indeedy.”
“Mmmmmmmmmm.”
I clenched my fists. “I don’t want to have to hurt you,” I announced. “But I will. I’ll do it.”
The women began to slowly walk toward me, chains dragging on the floor behind them. I was terrified, but at the same time I tried to convince myself that they weren’t exactly unbeatable opponents. A halfway decent kick should take care of the problem, right?
“Tasty, salty blood…”
“Warm, sticky blood…”
“So, uh, do either of you ladies know why they call this room the Pit? Seems kind of silly to me, don’t you think?”
The old women were now only a couple of feet away. I still couldn’t see well enough in the darkness to be sure, but it looked like both of them had really long fingernails, almost claws.
I tried to kick the woman on my left and missed. Not because it was a lame kick, but because the woman moved with unexpected agility.
“Gooey, slimy blood…”
“Spraying, showery blood…”
“Spurty, sticky blood…”
They’d already said “sticky” but I didn’t mention it. I threw a punch at the woman on the right that also missed. Both women let out a delighted squeal and pounced at the same time,