Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie

RUN

CYRUS DASHED DOWN the stairway, nearly breaking his ankles. The stairs twisted like a corkscrew, ending in a long, torch-lit corridor. The air was cool; the torches few and far between. Cyrus squinted, adjusting his eyes.

“Edward, you see anything?”

“It looks like the passage leads left,” Edward said, clutching Cyrus’ shoulder.

Cyrus moved quickly and quietly along the stone flags, doing his best to avoid the thick trail of blood. He reached the brick bend and peeked around the corner. In the torchlight, he made out two klappen crouched over a still shape on the ground. The creatures hissed and clicked. Had the rodent spoken before it had died? Could it speak?

“Edward,” Cyrus whispered, “What if you crawl over there and bite them?”

“I- I can’t,” Edward replied.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t just ignite it like a match,” Edward stammered, “It’s not something I control. It’s a reflex. Something’s trying to kill us, and it just happens.”

One of the klappen rose and turned in their direction. It wore a wolf’s head on its crown. The remainder of the pelt draped its shoulders like a cape. The second creature hissed and bared its broken teeth.

Willing himself to stay calm, Cyrus crouched to one knee, drew an arrow and charged his bow. He steadied his shaking hands and aimed for the center of the one on the left. It moved. Cyrus fired. The klappen yelped, then dropped. The other fiend shrieked. His heart pumping, Cyrus pulled another arrow. The creature charged.

“Hurry!” Edward shouted.

Cyrus raised his bow. The creature struck him to the ground. Edward cried and the bow split. Cyrus tried to scramble away. His back hit something solid. The klappen barged forward and clutched Cyrus’ throat, lifting him up the wall. It was grey and gaunt and covered in coarse, dark hair. It bared its black fangs and glared at him through pale orbs. Its breath reeked like compost. With a machine-like grip, it began to crush Cyrus’ neck. Cyrus felt his eyes bulging, and his vision began to fade. Fibian’s lessons flashed through his mind. With precious seconds left, he drew his knife and stabbed it into the creature’s armpit. The klappen gasped and flinched, its knees buckling, but still, it squeezed. Cyrus again punched the blade into the reeking pit. The villain screamed, its fingers biting into Cyrus’ neck. Cyrus slashed the inside of the fiend’s exposed forearm, severing tendons and veins. The grasp broke, and the monster fell against the wall, shuddering. It clutched its wounded arm and slid down the brickwork wheezing. A smear of brown blood illustrated its descent. Then its head lolled and it moved no more.

“You okay?” Edward asked.

The spider’s voice seemed to come from somewhere ahead in the darkness.

“Yes,” Cyrus said, catching his breath, “where are you?”

“I got knocked to the ground. I’m at your feet.”

Cyrus felt along the cold stone. He found Edward. The tiny spider’s usually soft fur bristled. Cyrus collected him up and then reached for his shattered bow. It was irreparable. He discovered his fleece cap lying at his feet. He brushed back his greasy hair and replaced the hat. Another of Fibian’s cries echoed down the corridor.

“We have to hurry,” Edward said.

Cyrus gritted his teeth and continued on. He passed the klappen with the shaft through its chest. It still wore the wolf pelt.

“A disguise,” he said.

He removed the headdress and placed it over his cap.

“It stinks like a rotting corpse,” Edward said, fleeing into Cyrus’ shirt pocket.

They sped down the passage and descended several stairs that opened into an even larger hallway. Pillars lined the corridor and rubble littered the floor. The ceiling above had partially collapsed exposing a darkened chamber. Cyrus stepped into the corridor. He felt as if the hallway behind him was closing in. There was no turning back…

A silver chandelier loomed overhead, glowing with candlelight. Cyrus spied a large golden picture frame on the wall. The canvas had been torn out.

“I hear whispers,” Edward said, in a hushed voice.

Cyrus drew his knife and stepped forward. He caught the whiff of dung and wondered if it was the pelt. Then he noticed a dark, mud-like substance staining the floor. Ahead and to the left, a rat skittered out of a darkened passageway. It vanished under a tattered red rug. A klappen followed close behind, scrabbling in the wreckage. It looked up and sensed Cyrus. Cyrus felt exposed. He kept his face low, hidden under the wolf’s muzzle. The monster took no notice and continued its hunt. Cyrus pressed forward, his blade ready. Another of Fibian’s shrieks rang out. It seemed to come from the next room. Cyrus flinched. The klappen peered up, roused by the reaction. Cyrus felt his breath quicken. After several burning moments, it returned to its search, but it now watched the intruder from the corner of its eye.

“Walk like it does,” Edward whispered.

Cyrus hunched low and bent like an old man. If this thing exposed them, there would be no escape. He continued in the direction of the screams, trying to avoid the creature without appearing conspicuous. The klappen’s path began to meander closer. It started to sniff the air and seemed to scrutinize Cyrus’ trousers and boots. It walked so close that Cyrus could have kissed it. It passed on in search of its tiny prey.

Cyrus continued along the hallway, picking up his pace and looking over his shoulder.

“No,” Edward hissed.

Cyrus bumped into something bony and sour. His headdress fell as he spun forward. A klappen two feet taller than himself shrieked in rage. It must have followed its kin through the left, side passage. It snapped at Cyrus’ face. Cyrus ducked low and to the side, slashing at the creature’s throat. He cut it across the nose. It squealed and clutched at its eyes. The first klappen abandoned its hunt and whirled to attack. Cyrus dove through the passageway. To his relief, he found the threshold defended by double doors. He slammed the doors tight, securing them with a bar of timber.

“What now?” Edward said, panicking.

The doors began to shake and shudder like mad drums. Cyrus spun about looking for an escape. A single wall torch illuminated the chamber and the air stank like a well-used outhouse. In the center of the room, a stairway descended to another pair of doors. Something warm and heavy slopped onto Cyrus’ shoulder. A half-eaten rat fell at his feet.

“Cyrus,” Edward whispered, desperation in his voice.

Wood beams creaked overhead. Cyrus looked up. At first, he thought he saw a ceiling of golden stars. Then he realized that the wavering points of lights were reflections off of many, many pairs of eyes. One of the klappen bared its teeth and shrieked like a demon. Cyrus staggered back, then sprinted down the stairs. He barged his way into the cell beyond. He turned and bolted the cold, steel lock. He pressed his shoulder to the doors and waited for the inevitable battering to begin. No attempt to breach the room came. Cyrus placed an ear to the wood. Silence. Then something spoke.

“Run…”