Resident Evil

by Jason Ryan Qualls
(Elkhart, Indiana, USA)

It was in the early hours of the morning, and still dark out. Best friends Tom and Dave were wandering through the streets like two sleepwalkers. They had inquired at hotel after hotel. None had vacancies. Now their footsteps echoed eerily through the empty, narrow streets of the city.

"I thought that this place didn't have fog this time of year," Dave grumbled.

During the last hour, a foggy mist had been settling over the city. It was getting difficult for them to see the hotel signs, and harder yet to see the street signs.

"I've got to find some place to lie down," Tom moaned. "I don't care where; I just can't go any farther."

But go on they did, straining their eyes through the fog to find a place to stay. They walked from town to town. As they were walking down a street lined with old four-story buildings, they saw a sign. It was hanging on the black iron fence in front of the building. "For Sale," it read.

"Listen, I've got an idea," Tom said. "This place is probably vacant. What do you say we break in here and sleep for the night?"

"I'm ready to try anything." Dave answered. The iron fence had sharp spikes on the top. The two climbed over the fence carefully, putting their feet on the iron crossbars and then leaping over the spiked points. It was a tricky thing to do, tired as they were.

Once over the fence, they tiptoed up to the front of the building. Through one of the windows, they could see that the rooms were being remodeled.

"It's empty, just as I thought," Tom whispered.

"Yeah, but how are we going to get in?" Dave asked. Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out his Swiss Army knife. He wedged the knife between the top and bottom window and turned the old brass lock. Then he pushed the bottom section open.

Tom looked at Dave with a smug grin of satisfaction. The two boys hoisted themselves up onto the window ledge and then climbed into the room.

"I don't want to sleep here." Dave said, looking around the room. "Too many nails and tools lying around."

"OK, we'll check out the other rooms," Tom said.

They went out into the hallway of the old house.
The cramped stair twisted upwards like the stairs in an old Amsterdam canal house. Tom started up and Dave followed. On the second floor, they tried the doors on all of the rooms. Everything was bolted. They climbed up to the third floor.

Again, all the rooms were bolted shut. "Looks like there is one more floor," Tom said, looking up the staircase.

"Let's go," They trudged up the final flight of stairs wearily. Dave was starting to complain again about being tired.

On the top landing there was only one door. The roof slanted steeply in on all sides. Tom tried the door knob.

To his relief, it opened. The two boys entered the small room. In it were two single beds and a dresser. A window overlooked the street below.

"Not bad,' Tom said. He walked over to a stand and lit the candle that stood on it. Dave fell down on one of the old beds in exhaustion.

Just then, a loud bang echoed up the staircase from below them. Dave jumped up. "What was that?" Tom crept out into the hallway and stood there for a minute. Then he came back into the room.

"I think it was just the window we came in. It fell shut. We forgot to close it, didn't we?"

"Oh, yeah," Dave said, sitting down on one of the beds again. "This place gives me the creeps, though."

"Come on," Tom said. "It's a free place to sleep, isn't it?" They both lay down on the beds. Tom lit a cigarette and then reached over and blew out the candle. As the light was extinguished, a weird crackle, almost like a laugh, seemed to come from the ceiling.

"Was that you, Tom?" Dave asked, sitting up in his bed.

"No," Tom said, his voice uneasy. "I think it was just something on the roof."

"Maybe we should get out of here, don't you think?' Dave asked. Tom leaned back down in his bed.

"And go where?" They both were quiet for awhile.

"I mean, maybe this place is haunted or something," Dave said in the darkness.

"Be quiet and go to sleep." Dave stopped talking, but then something else broke the silence. It was the sound of feet, moving up and down the staircase. But the feet were moving faster than any human feet ever could. The footsteps seemed to slide, to slither, to glide, up and down the stairs.

"I want to get out of here," Dave insisted in a panicked voice.

"OK, let's go." Tom jumped out of bed and lit the candle again. Just then, doors started slamming downstairs, the doors that had been locked before. And that weird cackle came again, this time from the hallway.

"I'm afraid to go out there, now," Dave said to Tom. He looked scared.

"Yeah, maybe we better stay in here." Tom walked over to the door. There was an iron bolt on it. He slid the bolt across the door frame.

"Nobody's going to get in through here." Tom went back and sat down on his bed. He tried to avoid Dave's eyes. He could tell that Dave was freaking out. He didn't feel so brave himself.

"Listen, we're OK," he said. There was a rattling sound from the door. The two boys' eyes were fixed on the doorknob. It was moving back and forth.

"No, no, no . . ." Dave was shaking with fright on his bed.

"At least the bolt is there," Tom said to himself. But then, by its own will, it seemed, the bolt slid back from the door frame. The two boys watched with horror as the door slowly, ever so slowly, moved open.

After a few inches it stopped. There was dead silence. Then the crackle, the weird sick crackle, penetrated the room. And through the narrow opening in the door, a shapeless green blob began to ooze.

Dave was frozen against the wall at the head of his bed. Tom jumped up and stood in a corner. More of the blob oozed in. It was like slimy green jelly. It had a smell of evil. Then, suddenly, a head appeared out of the green ooze. The head had a horrible face, a face covered with knife wounds. The cackle came from the face.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the head disappeared back into the green blob.

On the bed, Dave was making choking sounds in his throat. He was trying to scream but couldn't. The blob oozed through the air toward him. It seemed drawn on by his fear. Standing in the corner, Tom saw his chance to escape. He moved slowly against the wall until he was near the door. Then he ran for it. As he passed near the blob, he felt something cold and slimy swish along his arm. He turned back to see Dave's face staring at him.

It had the look of death on it. Tom ran harder. He almost fell down the steps to the front room. The window there, the window they had climbed in, was still open. He jumped out of it. Then he hurtled himself across the spiked fence. On the street, he looked up at the attic room. He couldn't see anything, but the weird cackle floated down to him.

Tom didn't know what to do. He ran out into the foggy street. He stopped for a moment. Then, behind him, he heard Dave scream in agony. Tom started running again. He ran until he came to a park. Then he still kept running and running.

Later that same morning, Dave's body was found. The expressions of agony and terror on his face was testament of the horrors he had witness and was victim to.