The Caretaker - 5. Chapter 5

I opened my eyes, but all I could see was a haze of gray.

My right arm burned, as if it was stabbed by a billion pins and needles. It took me a moment to realize I had a metal cuff around my wrist, which was connected by a heavy linked chain to a plate in the concrete floor.

I was laying on said floor, which was freezing cold. I could feel the dampness of the concrete had saturated my clothing, and I shivered violently.

The smell of mildew permeated the air, along with something that was familiar. It reminded me of the smell of the ground after a hard rain.

Sliding the metal cuff a bit, I rubbed at my wrist. That only made the pain worse. I felt blood trickle down my arm as I reopened a wound. That fucking old man pierced my skin with his thumbnail.

Gross.

I blinked a few times, and scrubbed my fist across my eyes. I was in a basement—maybe not a basement, but definitely underground. On the opposite wall was a workbench with a small desk lamp that didn’t do much to illuminate the place. I could make out shelves filled with jars, bottles, and vials of various sizes.

Something moved. It slinked closer and closer until it broke the haze.

Chris.

I pulled against the chain, trying to get closer to the big man. His handsome face, with a strong, stubbled jaw, and piercing eyes was just inches from me. But… weren’t Chris’s eyes green?

“Get me out of here,” I whispered. “Before he comes back.”

Chris leaned his head in closer and sniffed me. His lips curled in a snarl as a growl built in his chest.

Instinctively, I pulled away.

A quiet cackle emerged from the dark.

“Young, feeble minds… so easily fooled,” the old man said as he walked to his bench. He flipped a switch, turning on a series of wall-mounted sconces. He didn’t even bother to turn around or look at me as he began fiddling with a clay pot of dirt.

It was the old man who’d asked me for money. I’d fallen for his stupid trick, and now I was the caretaker’s prisoner.

I turned back to Chris, only it wasn’t Chris.

It was the lupoid.

Screaming, I jerked away from the black furred beast. It pounced on top of me, covering me with its massive body. Its fetid breath was hot in my face as it used its muscled thighs to pry my legs apart. I kicked and yelled, hitting it with fists and knees, making contact anywhere I could.

“Pet!” the old man shouted. “Not yet. Once we have dealt with the order, then you can have him.”

Reluctantly, the lupoid backed away. Its dead eyes never left me as it skulked back to the corner, where a mound of black dirt sat inside an iron barred cell.

The caretaker squatted down and pulled a small metal cage from under the work bench. I watched with revulsion as he freed a giant sewer rat from the cage. It protested violently as it was held upside down by a rear leg and examined.

The lupoid moved from his cell. Drool spilled from its mouth as he swiped his tongue across his jowls.

The old man glanced back at the lupoid. “This is not for you, pet.”

Growling, the mindless animal disregarded the warning, and advanced anyway. The caretaker flicked his wrist and the beast tumbled backward as if struck by an invisible force. With a whine, it slinked back to its cell, burrowing until it was covered by the dirt, only its head visible.

The caretaker waved his hand and the cell door slammed shut.

He returned to his clay pot, and grabbed the squealing rat with both hands. With a quick wringing motion, the rat was silenced. Holding the rat above the pot, he bled every drop of blood into the pot, before finally burying the rat in the dirt.

Holding both hands on the side of the pot, the caretaker began to chant. His head fell back as his words grew louder. I had no idea what he was saying, but something in my gut told me it was wrong. Tainted.

The chanting stopped. Exhausted, the old man slumped forward. His chest heaved as he struggled to pull air into his lungs. His body trembled and shook, and he used the edges of the bench to slowly move to the shelf. In the center of the shelf was a box. The man opened it and pulled something out. It looked like a large root bulb of some kind, covered with dirt, dark and gnarled. I could smell its foul stench clear from the other side of the room.

The caretaker scraped at it with his thumbnail, then began rubbing the root up and down his throat and chest. As he took deep breaths, the trembling gradually subsided.

I had no idea what that crazy old fucker was doing, but I couldn’t look away. As he kept rubbing, a deep purple aura began to form around him.

What the fuck?

The caretaker placed the root back into the box. He stopped at the bench and stroked the side of the pot. “See you soon, pet.”

Oh shit.

Turning off the light, the caretaker left the room. A door slammed shut behind him and his footsteps faded away.

The room was silent, but there was an odd sound coming from across the room. Crackling. Slithering. Snapping. I didn’t want to think about what was making it.

I wasn’t sure how long I laid there on the floor, in the dark, but it had grown colder. My body shivered and my teeth chattered. Thank god the lupoid was still locked in its cage, snoring like it had the worst head cold in the history of… well, abominations grown in clay pots with tainted magic.

A tiny click startled me awake.

Laying perfectly still, I searched the darkness with my eyes. I could still hear the lupoid snoring, so it wasn’t him.

The door slowly creaked open, and a figure slipped through.

“Hudson?” it whispered.

Chris.

I wasn’t going to be fooled so easily this time. But then again, there was no aura around him, so maybe it wasn’t the caretaker.

Taking a chance, I whispered back, “Chris? Between you and me, I think this is a trap.”

“We gotta get you out of here.”

The light clicked on.

“Well, isn’t this touching?” the caretaker mocked with a cackle.