It was just a baby gate. The kind that prevents babies from climbing up the stairs, or
keeps dogs out of the kitchen. That’s what we thought anyway. Maybe we were just too stoned, but I don’t think so. I swear it was real. The hazy memories of two stoners might not be reliable proof, but the marks on my stomach say otherwise.
My great uncle had died a few weeks ago, and his house was willed to me. It was one of
those big farmhouse-style homes with three levels, the top floor being the attic.
One rainy afternoon, a friend and I got the big idea to finally explore the attic after
getting high. I’d been putting it off because I hated attics. This one did nothing to change that.
There was no door at the top of the stairs leading up there. There had been at one time
though, I could see the marks under the paint where the hinges used to be. I ran my finger along the chisel marks and the white paint came off on my finger tip. We should have been scared, or at least concerned (that paint had been dry for longer than I’ve been alive), but instead we laughed our asses off.
Then we saw it. It was standing in the middle of the room. Unaided.
“Whoa, dude, look!” said Lowell, my friend.
I blinked and walked over to it. I wanted to laugh, but somewhere in a non-drugged part
of my mind (was that possible?), I knew it wasn’t funny.
“Dude, that’s not possible.”
“Huh?” Had he read my mind?
“That!” He pointed at the gate.
It wobbled, like it was going to come at me. I jumped back.
“Dude, what’s it want?”
“Stop saying ‘dude’.” I don’t know why, but the word was annoying me.
Then the gate walked toward me. I swear it did!
I only meant to get out of its way. I jumped over it.
I was no longer in the attic.
The room I was in was made entirely of a silvery substance. I don’t know what it was.
Everything looked like those thick plastic cards that have holograms on them. The walls kept wavering and the floor was blurry. I closed my eyes. Rubbed them. But nothing helped. Had something stronger been slipped into my weed?
I looked around for Lowell and found him behind me – still in the attic. I could tell
because the walls behind him were wooden. Not this silver crap.
His mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. He kept looking around like he’d
lost something. “Hey,” I yelled. “What are you looking for?”
He didn’t respond. I tried again before realizing he couldn’t hear me. But what was he
looking for?
Oh yeah, right. Me!
Before I could figure out how to get back, the smell of marijuana grew stronger. Was it
coming from me?
White ghostly hands reached out from the walls and grabbed me. They were freezing.
Goosebumps rose on my arms, my legs. I gasped, inhaling hot vapour, as if I’d took a drag on a pipe. The hands pulled me down to the floor, held me spreadeagled, and as I stared at the ceiling, an image began to form.
Neon green eyes appeared first. They stared at me, flashing, but in anger or amusement?
Maybe both? I considered trying to get away, but I wasn’t being hurt. Except for the cold. I was still shivering. Two horns sprouted from above the eyes. Long, black and pointed, curved towards each other. There was only a hole for the nose, but inside it maggots squirmed. Some of them slipped out and fell on my legs. I could feel them crawling on my skin, pulling leg hair and biting. Now it did hurt, and I tried to get away then, but more hands slid out to hold me down.
A mouth formed on the face. No, more like a maw. A round, empty hole surrounded by
fleshy lips, and it had teeth. Dozens of yellow broken teeth. The whole face kept wavering as though it were underwater.
Then it stretched towards me, like an effect from a 3D movie. I realized I could see
through it, but when those lips reached me and nudged aside my shirt, I could feel warm, rough skin as it nuzzled my belly. A tongue, warm, wet, and rough like a cat’s scraped across my torso.
It hurt. It tickled. I wanted to cry and scream. I wanted to laugh.
Then it bit me. Jagged, cracked teeth slashed into my belly, ripping, tearing. Warm blood splattered onto my skin. I heard Lowell’s words in my head, “Dude, that’s not possible.” It wasn’t. I could see my own legs through this thing’s head, how was it hurting me? I opened my mouth to scream, but before any sound came out, maggots from the nose hole slid down, falling against my tongue, my teeth. I swear, somehow my stomach clenched.
The face stopped biting. It looked at me in surprise. Blood and bits of gore it had torn
from me hung from its teeth and lips.
Then it burped. Flesh and blood, muscle and fat spewed all over me. I gagged as vomit
rose into my throat. Panic set in as I tried unsuccessfully to roll over. My last thought before everything went black was: how had my uncle really died?
# # #
“Ricky! Hey, Rick, wake up!”
I opened my eyes. Lowell stood over me as I lay in my bed. The smell of marijuana
permeated the room.
“What happened?” I asked groggily.
Lowell sat on the bed beside me, a consternated look on his face. “I, um . . . you were
dreaming.” He grinned as if he’d come up with the best idea ever.
“Dreaming?” I licked my lips. They tasted like. . . blood and vomit. My stomach churned.
I ran my tongue around my teeth, seeking any remaining little white worms.
He held out a pipe. “Want a hit?”
I shivered and reached for it. A dream? With my other hand I pulled up my shirt.
Although my abdomen was intact, there were definite red scratches clawed across my belly. My tongue met a small fleshy lump tucked in a hole where I’d had a tooth removed. I spat, then took a long drag.
Lowell stared at the mess on the floor. “Whoa, dude!”
My brain started to ask what the hell had happened to me, so I took another hit. I didn’t
want to know. Tomorrow the house was going up for sale.
“Oh, by the way,” Lowell said without looking at me, “I folded up that baby gate and
threw it in the trash. I didn’t think you’d need it.”
He turned then, looking at my stomach. He reached out and laid his fingers against the
scratches. They matched. He looked up at me.
I returned his gaze. He knew what had happened. Or did he? What would have happened had he not taken care of the baby gate? How did I even get here? I decided I didn’t want to know any of it.
I took another hit.
