Here’s another installment of my book-in-progress, Grandmas Masks. If you missed the previous installment on March 13th, click here to read it. Or click the Serial Fiction tab to read all the previous posts of Grandma’s Masks.
So down she went into the darkness, with Flea’s glowing body the only light. The steps were not only slimy, they were twisty and crooked, spiraling round and round as they descended into the hole. The walls, black stone hung with wet black moss, got closer and closer. It got darker and darker, colder and colder, damper and damper.
Finally the stairs stopped before a large iron door, which hung partially ajar. The girl heard a low murmuring coming from whatever was behind the door.
“Are the people who look like me in there?” whispered the girl to Flea.
“Well, it sounds like someone is,” said Flea in his normal voice. “You could go in and see.”
“I wish you’d give me a straight answer sometimes,” said the girl.
“No such thing,” said Flea. “But I’m good at making you itch.” And he bit her again, just to prove it.
“Are we just going to stand here arguing, or are we going in?” he asked.
“Okay, okay, we’re going in.” She pushed the door open wide.
The minute she did so, the murmuring stopped and bursts of screeching and bellowing took its place. The girl clapped her hands over her ears, for it sounded as if a thousand giant birds were squawking inside a closet.
The sounds were coming from a row of cages that lined the black stone walls on either side of a large hallway. The hallway led past the cages and ended at another iron door, this one shut. By the door hung a key ring from which one big key dangled.
Inside the cages were people. At least the girl assumed they were people – they had two legs and two arms, which they were flailing about. Some of them were dressed in filthy rags that reeked of garbage and slime, but most were dressed in nothing at all except their brown freckled skin and dirty tangled burnt-orange curls. They flung their skeletal bodies against the bars, and rattled their cages with their long thin fingers and toes. Their eyes were black pus-filled pits glaring at her with hatred; their crooked noses were so crooked they nearly hooked into their mouths — open mouths that were gibbering nonsense and screeching obscenities.
“Kill her!” screamed one of the prisoners. “Whip her! Chain her! Chop off her arms! Skin her alive! Slit her throat!”
Another prisoner joined in. “Kill her! Kill her! Kiiiiiillllll her!”
“Kill her kill her kill her kill her …” All the prisoners screamed and bellowed and roared and squealed while clanking their claw-like fingers and toe nails against the bars in rhythm. “Killkillkilllkilllkillkillkill…”
Be sure to catch the next installment of Grandma’s Masks, coming next Wednesday March 27th. And please leave comments and tell me what you think so far! Now what is she going to do?