Bogleech.com's 2016 Horror Write-off:
Mr. Sewers
Submitted by
Paracosmos
SPLISH SPLASH, it thought.
"SPLISH SPLASH SPLISH SPLASH!"
The thing was once human, possibly. Its head was like a deformed egg, one with boils and scars. One eye was completely covered, a large, yellowy boil hanging over its left eye. One arm was shorter than the other. The creator hadn't bothered to check lengths. This thing was rushed. So now it guarded the sewers, giving it a huge sense of authority and importance. It's skin was an appropriate alligator green.
The thing chased the young boy, seven years old. The boy was sent in on a dare. And may not come out alive. His eyes were filled with terror.
The boy was now panting in quick, deep breaths.
"STOP... RUNNING! JUST... WAIT!"
The thing enjoyed this chase like a dog after a rabbit. It was a rare occasion, as sewer maintenance men weren't... Fresh, and tasted kind of funny.
The boy made a scrambling turn right, at a fork, splashing him with sewage. And now saw light. If he had gone left, he would've gone deeper, and his small chance of survival would be gone.
The boy's blood may as well be pure adrenaline now. His joints would be sore and knotted tomorrow. Well, if he made it.
His heart dropped.
The sewage was swirling down a hole about a foot in diameter. He could get around that easy but, just past it, there was a wall. The same wall he had seen when entering. But he forgot. The wall went halfway up the sewer. And the boy was only a foot above it.
The thing smelled a wave of fear. A sense that he wasn't given at his very strange birth, but rather developed over time. Similar to his mental map of the sewers. It grinned at this new smell, opening a stitched wound. Its mouth wasn't built for grinning. It was barely built. It was a shoggoth of flesh and teeth, two purple lips desperately trying to outline the thing, giving up about halfway.
"SO CLOSE! SO SO CLOSE! Come BACK now!"
The grin twisted into a snarl, further mangling his sloppy face and dropping out a few maggots. He was stubborn. The boy was CAUGHT. UNDERSTAND.
The boy was approaching the wall quickly. He leapt. His chest smashed into the wall, winding him. He pulled with all his strength, heaving himself over the wall. He didn't consider how he landed, just to get over the wall.
He managed, but his right foot had hooked over the wall. The thing latched on with its smaller arm.
Now I use the good arm, strong arm, I can... PULL him back. PULL him in.
But the small arm was too fragile. And despite the good arms claws now dug an inch deep in the boys calf, the boy tugged hard. It felt like every muscle in his leg had pulled. Every ligament felt snapped.
The thing let out a scream that nearly gave a picture of the twisted rotten vocal cords that rested inside it. His small arm flopped. Black goopy blood trickled out of the stump which replaced his hand. The thing was in shock.
"GIVE IT BACK!!!"
"COME... BACK!"
The boy had three wounds on his leg. Each was an inch deep.
But as the boy checked his injuries, idly limping away from the wall, he saw a green disfigured hand clenched around his ankle.
He began screaming, shaking his injured leg. It flew off his ankle and glided limply through the air, over the wall. It made a wet thud and slid down the curved wall.
The thing didn't want to lose his hand. His poor hand who he loved with all three hearts. And now he couldn't reach the boy, now there was anger. It all filled him. Every half dead cell and every tiny parasite and even the tape worm who survived on a miniscule diet, they all sympathised with the monster, they wanted revenge they wanted to riot and protest.
The monster felt organs and things twitching and living inside him. They all felt the rage, they understood. They scared him when he first discovered them, like kimbs that he couldn't move, but they made for good company after some time. The boils on his body began churning, deflating and inflating like lungs. And the leeches tasted rage in the blood, filling quicker than ever.
It limped over, grieving for the hand. But the hand twitched and squirmed. Surely feeling the anger, surely still connected in some odd way.
And the monster remembered, remembered what could help.
As the boy's friends swarmed him, pelting him with questions before realising the severity of the situation, the thing hurried down the sewers. He would see the doctor, his creator. For the first time in seven years. And he would tell the doctor about the boy and the doctor would tell the king and they would sort things out.