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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, it felt noticeably colder than the part of the catwalk she had entered through. 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 the mobile phone’s unprompted beep jolted her nerves. She flipped the phone back open, expecting to see a third text message from Party Girl before recalling her tag partner was probably on an airplane now. Robert, maybe? No. She noticed the blinking red battery icon had no bars left. 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, she 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 commanded herself and 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." I’m so sorry, doc. It’s been years. It used to be second nature. Breathe in. One, two, three, four. No one will find me. I’m going to die here. I’m going to die. 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 a slap on the cheek. 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 before 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 at least find somewhere comfortable - or at least not cold. The shivering wrestler painstakingly turned around in the cramped crawlspace, trying not to bump her head. 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. Alicia 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 tip of the blade.
After what felt like several minutes of crawling in near-total darkness, it was no longer just her thumb getting warmer. Alicia pulled her hood over her head and drew the drawstring tight, narrowing the opening as much as possible to avoid any surprise passengers. There was another fork. A dozen or so feet into each, and both seemed about the same in temperature. Left, it was.
Left it wasn't.
She felt the tip of the hockey stick blade catch against a densely knit spiderweb, upsetting the disgusting, godless creature luxuriating at its center. The size and complexity of the web made Alicia doubt it was recent--that meant Black Violet hadn’t come this way. Alicia doubled back and took the right turn instead. Just before the path jogged around another turn, Alicia noticed the remaining wisps of what seemed to have been another bit of silken architecture. Wherever the crawlspace led, it was definitely somewhere warmer. A larger thatch of webs and occupants warded Alicia away from the next turn-off from the path right at the gate.
Warmer still. The one path shrank. Every diverging path now had a thick weave of webs and arachnids walling off deeper sections of the catwalk. Most of the tenants weren't moving. Most. One or two fed in macabre silence. Jet-black. Spindly. About the size of half-dollar. An even bigger one near 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 stray remains of spider pudding 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 a hundred feet, she estimated. Sweat ran down Alicia’s forehead and arms beneath her jet-black hoodie as the temperature continued to climb. The crawlable space shrank further still, though the crawlspace remained the same size. She had been able to brush away 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 now. In the span of about 20 feet, the webbing and population above her grew thicker and knit itself into a low ceiling she could no longer crawl under.
Down onto her belly. At the lowest, she estimated less than a half-inch of clearance from her head, shoulders, and rear end from brushing against the beating heart of an arachnid metropolis. In the lighter’s pale flicker, the webbed cavern appeared endless. Alicia reached into her pocket for her mobile phone, then she reached for the roll of duct tape around her wrist and pulled off a strip. 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. She'd have to leave her stick behind. The webbing didn't get any lighter as far back as she could see. She resisted the urge to try and solve the problem with fire. The last thing she wanted to do was cause a stampede. Alica backed up into neutral territory, peeled the phone off the end of the hockey stick, powered it off, and pocketed the pink device. Alicia tucked her pant legs into her socks, tucked her sweatshirt into her pants, and balled the elastic of her left sleeve up in her hands to close off the entrance. She tightened down on her hood even further to just a hole the size of Robert's fist. She tucked the sleeve of her right hand as best she could into the roll of duct tape. She was down to a commando-crawl. Cigarette lighter clutched 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 a tortuously small gap. She could feel something crawling on the hood. 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. Similar weight on her ankle.Underneath her sweatshirt, the heat had become oppressive, and she had started to sweat steatingletingletingleTINGLETINGLETINGLE and here came this sucker on her ankle skittering up her leg and back like it had an appointment. At the edge of her only light source's pitiful flicker she saw a shockingly spider-free three-by-three steel panel, just like all the others, except this one was built into the wall. If she could just open it up and wriggle through the last few feet she could breathe.
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. Alicia used the sweatshirt around her left hand to pushed the heavy panel open, and it teased her nerves with a little creak. It opened up into a platform with an unpainted steel guardrail. Past the flame's meager glow, Alicia thought she detected another source of light.
Her elbows were through. Now she felt a set of legs working its way up her elbow to her wrist. Crown of the head through. Rest of the head, legs racing up the back of her head to the top heading for the viewport. One leg. Two. Three. Three and some mandibles. PUSHPUSHSPUSHPUSHPUSHPUSHI'm through! Free ride's over. Alicia spun to her back, sat up, and ripped her legs through the tunnel as she reached down and peeled the sweatshirt off of her and inside-out. and pounding the molasses out of everyone trapped inside in total darkness, then swept her hands down her legs and cast off the rest of the stowaways. She turned the shirt back out and flicked the lighter on to survey the aftermath. Molasses was a fitting term.
Alicia looked herself over and thought she looked like she worked in an arachnid slaughterhouse. That's ridiculous, she thought. I am an arachnid slaughterhouse. The wrestler breathed heavily as she killed the lighter and pocketed it. She crawled to the edge of the catwalk, The plumbing seemed to converge here, and the temperature had climbed high enough to feel uncomfortable. She didn't know what a boiler room looked like or was, but probably this. In front of her, a ladder descended into the big tank area, she assumed they called it, back at ground-level. To the right and left, the catwalk continued around the entire perimeter of the probable boiler room.
An exit sign hung above a heavy-looking brown metal door, casting a dim, red glow in its vicinity. There was something much brighter down below that she couldn't see just by peeking over the edge. Wait. Alicia peered over the edge of the catwalk, and looked directly behind the ladder. Just beneath the catwalk was yet another, even smaller crawlspace. A pile of six or so discarded flashlights decorated the living space. One flashlight pointed at the wall, serving as what Alicia assumed to be a makeshift night light. Even Black Violet hates waking up in the dark. See, Party Girl? It's not weird. Gurgled snoring. There was the TV title. Gurgled snoring. Greasy tangle of black hair. Frayed straitjacket. Gurgled snoring. Oh, beans. I don't have a plan.
The arena spelunker scooted back a couple feet and reached into a thankfully spider-free pocket and withdrew 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!! Alicia's brain shouted.
Gurgled stirring. Frantic tapping. Barely one ring. "Hello?" whispered her friend. She didn't hear any stirring, but she didn't hear snoring, either. Alicia held her breath. 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 whispered. Drat. "If you can hear me," he continued, "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 ended the call. Power off, back in the pocket.
Breathe in, breathe out. Out came the bottle of 93% alcohol. Out came the lighter. Off came the cap. She brought the lighter to her mouth and clutched it between her teeth as she 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. A few steps down, she clutched tight to the ladder and swung herself around to the other side. She was now perched between the ladder and the wall, no more than three feet from her obsessed malefactor. Smoke her out, beat the tar out of her, and skedaddle. All opposed? Unfortunately, no one spoke up.
A trembling arm stretched across the gap with her right hand clutching the bottle, left hand clutching the ladder. She slowly emptied the lid onto the steel platform that sat about two-and-a-half feet below the catwalk. Her eyes caught on a spindly mass of shadow that seemingly peeled itself from the wall and given itself form. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" cried Alicia in total silence. At chest height on the wall in front of her, she glimpsed the thorax to end them all. Bulbous, round, hairy, and black as night, connecting eight legs with what she estimated to be a six-inch wingspan. "AAAAAAAAAAA!!" Alicia screamed again without sound. Then with.
The blur of a dark silhouette stole back Alicia's attention. She looked up and found herself nose to nose with Black Violet, one guilty arm outstretched across the gap, mid-pour. Alicia's every muscle froze as she plummeted into the inescapable, bloodshot void of Black Violet's eyes staring back at her. With a terrified gasp, Alicia lost her grip and tumbled from the ladder, knocking the fuzzy arachnid from its perch and sending it tumbling down 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. Then she 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 bored into Alicia's heart. Black Violet's face twisted in a mask of pure hate. "Alicia Winthrop! 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, picked up the leaking plastic rubbing alcohol bottle, and scrambled for the exit as her feet only barely kept up with the rest of her. Just over her shoulder, she heard Black Violet land and take off at a sprint. Please be unlocked. Please, please let this door be unlocked.
Ka-WHAM!
Blinding, stinging, precious light flooded Alicia's vision as she exploded through the door, causing it to slam against the wall. Alicia could hear Black Violet gaining on her as the pounding footsteps grew louder. 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 up and over Alicia and face-first to the floor. One shot. The spider-caked wrestler took a couple quick steps and punted her pursuer in the back of the head, briefly stunning her and affording Alicia a momentary window to dump the bottle of 93% alcohol onto the violent tangle of claws and teeth as Black Violet sputtered on the floor. Alicia reached for the lighter in her pocket when a pale, scarred hand clamped an iron grip around the weary wrestler's ankle and yanked her balance out from under her.
Warped, jagged human claws seemed to pierce Alicia's flesh through the fabric of her clothes as the she climbed up Alicia's legs and torso. Gurgling, snapping jaws, and wet, ragged breaths drew nearer. And so did those eyes. And so did those teeth. One last splash of alcohol left in the bottle. This time, Alicia aimed for the eyes. For the first time, she heard Black Violet scream not in rage, but pain. For a moment, the monster looked mortal. The prone wrestler threw the back of her head into Black Violet's chin and struggled against her captor's shocking strength before managing to break free and scurry to her feet through the maintenance hallway. She ignored the first turn onto a side-path. She hoped it was a side-path.
The screaming hadn't stopped, but the pain contained within had tempered. The footfalls behind Alicia weren't yet back to a full run, but they weren't fading into the distance, either. Another side-path to the left, and she took it. Another turn. Another. Locked door. Mistake. "ALICIA! NO ALICIA WINTHROP!" echoed a wet, gutteral shriek that made Alicia's hair stand on end. Wait here or double back? pondered Alicia. If she comes this way, I'm trapped. She tiptoe-ran back around the corner. Those footsteps were close. Black Violet was going to see her. For a split-second she hesitated. Silence. Go.
Alicia hurled herself around the corner as four jagged claws dug 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. She slammed into the door at top speed with a crash and pushed. Nothing. Wait, it's a pull do-"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" shrieked Alicia as those white hot railroad spikes plunged into the left side of her neck. This time, Black Violet didn't let go. The Mother of Nightmares had the bloody, wrecked young wrestler 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. Flick flick. Nothing. The trapped wrestler could hear and feel the frenzied, uneven breaths as she snapped her head back, trying to delay Black Violet from taking another bite. Alicia reached behind her and brought the lighter to Black Violet's hair. Flick. She thought there would be more of a woosh, but instead, there was just fire and suddenly a lot more light. There was a brief, quizzical pause, and then another shriek of pain and shock. She pushed off the door and shoved Black Violet backwards, sending her toppling to the ground. Alicia watched her stalker thrashing on the floor, slapping at her hair and face with both hands. Alicia pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing a black tank beneath, and threw the mucky garment at Black Violet within arm's reach to smother the flames.
She pulled the door open and nearly cried. This time, with tears of joy and relief. Finally, someplace familiar: there were the star dressing rooms, there was the trainer's room, and there was the sign that said "trainer's room." Renewed strength flooded her aching muscles as she threw the door open and bolted out through the talent exit and up the ramp into the parking lot. There was the car. Lights on. Engine running. Door unlocked. Friendly face.
It was a friendly face full of panic. "Alicia! Oh my God. Oh my God. Are-"
"Please drive. Please drive. Please drive!" shouted Alicia at her mortified driver as he U-turned and stepped on the gas. She shook her head violently from side to side, crying out in a half-scream, half-sob, "No, I'm not. I'm not. Please, please just drive."
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