Alicia Goon 035: Jellies

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Descriptions of violence, injuries

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Without the distractions of knowing where she was or how to get back, Alicia took the opportunity to fully appreciate her surroundings. Wherever she was now, it felt noticeably colder than where she had entered. She didn't know what to do with that information.

Bee-doop.

Alicia bumped her head against a PVC pipe about as big around as a coffee can as an unprompted beep from her mobile phone jolted her nerves. She turned the phone around and checked the screen, expecting to see a third text message from Party Girl before realizing her tag partner was probably asleep. Robert, maybe? No. She noticed the empty red battery icon had started blinking. It looked like she wasn't getting any cellular reception, either. Her heart finally hit bottom. She took note of the time and powered the phone off. 2:57 AM. Total darkness.

As if to prove the point to herself, Alicia held her hand three inches from her face. Nothing. Nobody knew where she was. She didn’t know where she was. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Alicia's heartbeat jackhammered against her chest and pounded in her ears. She felt herself starting to hyperventilate and losing sensation in her shaky, tingling hands. Sit up. Alicia took another whack to the head as she pushed herself into a sitting position and tried to straighten her back as much as the cramped space would allow. 

Breathe slow. Breathe. How did it go? Breathe in. One, tw- “No no no,” she said, slamming the back of her head against what felt like a bundle of electrical cords with each "no." "Okay. Okay." Breathe in. One, two, three, four. No one will find me. I’m going to die here. I’m going to die here. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

If I don’t do something, I’m going to die.

Alicia closed her eyes. Two more slams of the head and then a slap on the cheek. Then another, harder. Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Breathe out through the mouth. One, two, three, four. Breathe in. One, two, three, four. I’m goin- NO. Don't talk like a quitter. You're not. Breathe out through the mouth. One, two, three, four. Breathe in…

Minutes or hours passed in the cold, relentless dark. The painful beating in her chest slowed, her breathing normalized, and the sheen of nervous sweat cooled in the chilly air. If she couldn't find her way out, maybe she could find somewhere comfortable--or at least not cold. Alicia painstakingly turned around in the cramped crawlspace, trying not to bump her head this time. If I lived here in the winter, I’d find the warmest place and sleep there. She exchanged the cellular phone in her hand for the cigarette lighter in her pocket and gave it a flick. It wasn't much. She slid the end of her hockey stick out in front of her as far as she could reach and watched in horror as the blackness swallowed the lower half.

After what felt like several minutes of crawling, it was no longer just her thumb getting warmer; the ambient temperature had climbed several degrees. The eight-legged wildlife had grown thicker, as well. Alicia pulled her hood over her head and tugged the drawstrings tight, narrowing the opening as much as possible to avoid any surprise visitors. There was another fork. She shuffled a dozen or so feet into the right path, took note of the ambient temperature, and then backed up and took the left. Both felt about the same. Left, it was.

Left it wasn't.

She noticed the tip of the hockey stick blade catch against a densely knit patch of spiderweb inches from her face, upsetting the disgusting, godless creature luxuriating at its center. The size and complexity of the web made Alicia doubt it was recent. Black Violet hadn’t come this way. Alicia doubled back and took the right turn instead. Wherever the crawlspace led, she could tell it was definitely somewhere warmer. A larger network of webs and occupants warded Alicia away from the next turn-off.

Every diverging path now had been walled off by a thick weave of spider silk. Most of the tenants weren't moving. Most. One or two fed in macabre silence. Jet-black. Spacious. About the size of half-dollar. An even bigger one crawled onto her arm. Please die without a crunch.

splut.

That was worse. That was so much worse. So much goop, and so muddy brown. Once again, she was glad she hadn't eaten since breakfast as her stomach revolted at the sight of the congealing tangle of flattened, hairy legs. She wiped the remaining spider goo off her wrist onto the ground before realizing she'd have to crawl over it, smearing what had already optimistically been a closed-casket funeral.

The path hadn’t diverged for nearly 100 feet, she estimated. Sweat ran down Alicia’s forehead and arms beneath her jet-black hoodie as the temperature continued to climb. Though the crawlspace remained the same size, the crawlable space shrank further still. She had been able to brush away any stray webbing and flatten the occasional eight-legged passerby with the tip of her stick, but now she had arrived at the city limits of Spiderton, IL. This was their turf.

The temperature grew warmer still as the one path narrowed. In the span of another 100 feet, the webbing and population above her grew denser and had knit itself into a low ceiling she could no longer crawl under on her hands and knees. She lowered herself onto her belly. At the lowest, she estimated less than half an inch of clearance from her head, shoulders, and rear end from the beating heart of an arachnid metropolis.

In the lighter’s pale flicker, the webbed cavern looked endless. Alicia reached into her pocket for her mobile phone and tore off a strip of duct tape from the roll around her wrist. She flipped the phone open, turned it on, and duct taped it to the end of her hockey stick. As soon as the screen lit up, Alicia slid the end of the stick into the narrow passage, displacing a few of the residents.

Bee-doop.

It went back. Far back. And then a turn. The webbing didn't seem to get any less dense up ahead. There would be barely enough space for Alicia to contort through the gap if she left her stick behind. She resisted the urge to try and solve the problem with fire; the last thing she wanted to do was cause a stampede. Alicia backed up into neutral territory, peeled the phone off the end of her stick, powered it off, and pocketed the pink device.

She tucked her pant legs into her socks and her sweatshirt into her pants, then tore off several strips of duct tape to tape her pants and hoodie pockets shut. She pulled the drawstring on her hoodie as tight as she could, shrinking the opening of her hood to the size of a toilet paper tube. Finally, Alicia tucked the sleeve of her right hand as best she could into the roll of duct tape and balled the elastic of her left sleeve up in her hand to close off the entrance. She again lowered herself into a commando-crawl and clutched the cigarette lighter tight in her trembling, sore right hand.

Inhale. One, two, three, four. Exhale through the mouth. One, two, three, four. Inhale. One, two, three, four. Exhale through the mouth. One, two, three, four...

Gently, carefully, deferentially, Alicia narrowed her body as much as possible to slither through the tortuously small gap. She could feel something crawling on the hood of her sweatshirt--something big enough to have noticeable weight. There was the turn. It was going to be tight. Please don't be mad if I bump your house, she thought as a similar weight crawled up her ankle.

The heat had grown oppressive. Sweat dribbled from her underarms and forehtingletingletingleTINGLETINGLETINGLE and here came this big sucker skittering up her calf, across her leg, and up her back like it had an appointment. At the edge of her lighter's dim flicker, Alicia saw a spider-free three-by-three steel panel, just like the others, except built into the wall instead of the floor. If she could just open it up and wriggle through the last few feet, she could breathe. At least, she hoped.

When Alicia tried to push the door open, she realized why the panel wasn't coveted real estate. It wasn't just warm to the touch–it felt like a plate straight out of an industrial dishwasher. She used the sweatshirt around her left hand like an oven mitt to push the heavy panel open. Past the flame’s meager glow, Alicia thought she detected another source of light. The creak of rust teased her frayed nerves as she pushed harder, revealing a platform with an unpainted steel guardrail. 

Her hands and elbows were through. Now she felt a set of legs working its way up her elbow to her wrist. Crown of the head through, and then the rest as eight legs raced up the back of her hood all the way to the top and heading for the viewport. TINGLETINGLETINGLETINGLETINGLETINGLE One leg. Two. Three. Three and some mandibles. PUSHPUSHPUSHPUSHPUSHPUSHI'm through, free ride's over! Alicia rolled onto her back, sat up, and ripped her legs through the tunnel as she reached down and peeled the sweatshirt off of her, turning it inside-out. She hurled the garment to the floor and pounded the molasses out of everyone trapped inside. She swept her hands down her arms and legs and cast off the rest of the stowaways before turning the shirt back out to survey the aftermath. "Molasses" was a fitting term.

Alicia looked herself over. She looked like she worked in an arachnid slaughterhouse. That's ridiculous. I am an arachnid slaughterhouse. She killed the lighter, clutched it in her teeth, and crawled to the edge of the catwalk. The plumbing seemed to converge here, and the heat was smothering. She didn't know what a boiler room looked like or was, but probably this. To the right and left, the catwalk continued around the entire perimeter of the probable boiler room. The ladder in front of her descended all the way down to the ground level of the big tank area, as Alicia assumed they called it.  

An exit sign hung above a heavy-looking brown metal door at the far end of the room at ground level, bathing the immediate surroundings in a dim, red glow. There was something much brighter under the catwalk that she couldn't see just by peeking over the edge. Alicia scooched to the precipice and leaned her body over. About two-and-a-half feet down, she saw a gap in the wall under the catwalk. Gurgled snoring. There was the TV title. Gurgled snoring. Greasy, matted black hair. Frayed straitjacket. Gurgled snoring. I don't have a plan. 

Alicia found the source of the light: a pile of six or so discarded flashlights decorated the living space. One of the flashlights had been left on and pointed at the wall to serve as a makeshift night light. Even Black Violet hates waking up in the dark. See, Party Girl? It's not weird. 

The arena spelunker scooted back a couple feet, quietly peeled the duct tape off her pockets, and pulled out her cellular phone. Please turn on, please turn on. She held down the power button and covered the light as best she could with her free hand. 3:33 AM, blinking, empty red battery, 2 new text messages.

Bee-doop.

I KNOW!! shouted Alicia's brain. Gurgled stirring. Frantic tapping. Barely one ring. 

"Hello?" Robert whispered. 

Alicia held her breath. She didn't hear any stirring, but she didn't hear snoring, either. Robert, I just gained the power of telepathy. Please, send the army and an exterminator to the Plunj Drain Cleaner Arena boiler room ASAP.

"Hello? Are you there?" whispered Robert again. Drat. "If you can hear me, I'm at the place we said we'd meet and ready to go. Good luck. Please come back safe, okay? I'd rather be in danger than without you." 

Alicia hung up. Power off, back in the pocket.

Breathe in, breathe out. Out came the bottle of 93% alcohol. She twisted off the cap and shuffled to the ladder. With a tentative peek over the edge, she confirmed Black Violet still appeared to be sleeping. Alicia swung one leg over, then the other, and inched down the ladder in terrified silence. She descended a few rungs, held the ladder tight, and swung around to the other side. She was now perched between the ladder and the wall, no more than three feet from the Mother of Nightmares. Smoke her out, beat the tar out of her, and skedaddle. All opposed? Unfortunately, no one spoke up. 

Alicia wrapped her left arm around the ladder and stretched her trembling right arm across the gap, clutching the bottle in her injured hand. She had poured about half the bottle onto Black Violet's secret bedroom platform when something caught her eye. A spindly mass of shadow peeled itself from the wall just in front of her. Bulbous, round, hairy, and black as night. Eight legs with what looked like a six-inch wingspan, and swollen thorax to end them all.

"AAAAAAAAAAA!!" Alicia screamed without sound. Then, ever so slightly, with.

The blur of a silhouette stole back her attention. She looked up into the inescapable, bloodshot void and sucked in a loud, sudden gasp. Alicia froze in place, one guilty arm still outstretched mid-pour across the gap. Alicia shrieked. It seemed better than not doing it. Black Violet shrieked back. Every muscle seized, and Alicia felt her grip involuntarily loosen as Black Violet shrieked again.

Alicia grasped for the ladder with her fingertips but couldn't hang on. She threw a hand out to grab the alcohol-soaked corrugated steel of Black Violet's platform as she slipped, knocking the fuzzy spectator off the wall and sending it tumbling to the floor alongside her. 

skpplorcchhh.

She had a flashback to getting front-row seats for the killer whale show at the aquarium. No way could anything contain that much glop. It felt like she crushed a seedless avocado with roots growing out of it, and maybe some veins. Alicia looked at her shoulder and sleeve, drenched in ichor the very same color she never wanted to see again. Oh, and her shoulder hurt. Somehow, neither that nor drying off her face were priority one. Those abyssal eyes peered over the ledge and into Alicia's heart.

Black Violet's face twisted in a mask of pure hate. "No Alicia! NO ALICIA WINTHROP!" The shrieking, jaundiced shadow emerged from her hiding place and slithered onto the ladder. 

Alicia either shrieked or yelped and turned herself over, grabbed the leaking plastic bottle and lighter, and scrambled for the exit as her feet only barely kept up with the rest of her. Slightly more than an arm's length behind her, Alicia heard Black Violet land and take off at a sprint. The dim, red glow of an exit sign urged her aching, pain-wracked body forward. Please be unlocked. Please, please let this door be unlocked.

Ka-WHAM!

She exploded through the door, sending it crashing into the wall. The dim, barely there auxiliary lighting stung Alicia's starved eyes as she tore full-speed through the winding maintenance corridor. The pounding of footsteps behind her grew louder, and now she could hear the growling, heaving breaths in close pursuit belonging to an unstoppable lunatic who knew the taste of her blood.

The former hockey player suddenly recalled an old favorite technique and planted her feet, brought her profile low to the ground, and braced for impact. Black Violet struck the human obstacle at full speed, sending her toppling awkwardly over Alicia and face-first to the floor. The trembling, spider-caked wrestler took a quick step and punted Black Violet in the back of the head, affording her a window to dump the bottle of 93% alcohol onto the ghostly, howling mass of teeth and claws.

Alicia reached for the lighter in her pocket when a pale, scarred hand clamped an iron grip around her ankle and yanked her balance out from under her. Warped, jagged human talons pierced her flesh through the fabric of Alicia's clothes as Black Violet climbed up her prey's legs and torso. A gurgling, snapping maw of twisted yellow spikes and wet, ragged breaths drew neare. One last splash of alcohol left in the bottle. She aimed for the eyes.

 For the first time, she heard Black Violet scream not in rage, but in pain. For a moment, the monster looked mortal. Alicia struggled against her captor's shocking strength and threw the back of her head into Black Violet's chin, finally breaking free and scurrying to her feet through the maintenance hallway. Alicia tore past the first turn onto a side-path. At least she hoped it was a side-path.  

The screams hadn't stopped, but the pain within them had tempered. The footfalls behind Alicia weren't yet back to a full run, but they weren't fading into the distance. Another side-path to the left. She took it. Another turn. Another. Locked door. Mistake. 

"ALICIA! NO ALICIA WINTHROP!" echoed a wet, guttural shriek that made Alicia's hair stand on end. 

Her mind raced. Wait here and hopes she runs past or double back? Precious seconds burned away as she tried to work out the right answer. If she comes this way, I'm trapped. Alicia tiptoe-ran back around the corner and stopped just short of the intersection. The footfalls were close; Black Violet would see her. For a split-second, Alicia hesitated. Silence. Go.

She hurled herself around the corner and into two sets of jagged claws that dug bloody furrows into the back of her neck but failed to secure a grip. Another turn in the hall. There was a door. Just one more unlocked door. Please. Please let this one more door be unlocked. She slammed into the door at top speed with a crash and pushed. 

Wham!

"NO!" Alicia threw her shoulder into it. Nothing. Wait, it's a pull do-"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" Alicia shrieked as a mouthful of railroad spikes sunk into the left side of her neck. 

This time, Black Violet didn't let go. The Mother of Nightmares had her bloody, wrecked victim pinned against the door as she wrenched away at her captive's neck. Alicia reached into her pocket for the lighter. Flick. Out came the teeth. Alicia could hear and feel the frenzied, uneven breaths as she struggled, trying to delay Black Violet from taking another bite. Flick flick. Alicia reached behind her and brought the lighter to Black Violet's hair. Flick. 

Alicia expected more of a woosh. Instead, there was just fire and heat and suddenly a lot more light. After a brief, quizzical pause came another shriek of pain and shock. Alicia pushed off the door and shoved Black Violet backwards, throwing her to the ground. She watched her stalker squirm and thrash on the floor, slapping at her hair and face with both hands. Alicia pulled off her sweatshirt and threw the mucky garment at Black Violet within arm's reach to smother the flames.

Alicia pulled the door open and nearly cried when she saw the star dressing rooms. There was the trainer’s room, and there was the sign that read "Trainer's Room." Renewed strength flooded Alicia's aching muscles as she ran through the corridor, threw the talent entrance door open and bolted out and up the ramp into the parking lot. She relished the freezing night air on her sweat-slick bare arms. There was the car. Lights on, engine running, door unlocked. Friendly face.

A friendly face full of panic. "Alicia! Oh my God. Oh my God. Are you-"

"Please drive. Please drive! Please drive!" Alicia shouted at her mortified accomplice as he U-turned and floored the gas. She shook her head violently from side to side, answering in a half-scream, half-sob, "No, I'm not. I'm not. Please, please just drive."