Days without food. Occasional mouthfuls of rusty water... And the dark. The worst is the dark. An itch runs down his spine. What is it, an insect?... a finger tip?... sweat?... a nerve? In the dark you never know. He waited near the window, the one with the loose metal cover. Was it day? Was it night? He didn't know, but the light never leaked through again. But was he alone? When the light did leak through he saw it. He saw the eye and a tiny, narrow sliver of the face. Brown, he thought it was. or perhaps amber, or maybe hazel? It was hard to tell. It happened so fast. Sometimes he thought it was still there. That's how he imagined it..... an 'it.'.... And other times he was sure it was gone.
Then he smelled it, a sticky, milky smell and he knew the thing was back. He heard noises like children make when they click their tongue against the roof of their mouth to make like a horse. And it went on and on and on and never stopped. First to the left. Then to the right. It came in close and faded back. But no footsteps...none.
He started to click back and it answered. It came close. First he heard the fart. Then he smelled it. Guess it was the milk... MILK! There must be some kind of food in here. And that thing knew where it was. Not a ghost. It couldn't be a ghost. It had to be alive. So on the next milk-click adagio, he reached out... into the dark.... his hand out there before him, invisible in the void. A mind shark could 'swim' by at any moment and take the whole arm... shoulder too. Once saw a guy on Prospekt Street, in Moscow, a veteran from some military thing in Chechnia and he didn't have an arm and he didn't have a shoulder. Not a good look for a guy in a wife-beater. On top of being mutilated, he obviously lacked any discernible fashion sense too. Maybe they hit him in the head? who knows?
But he made contact. There wasn't any mind shark and he felt something. He touched it... a rubbery face.... a little one... a little rubbery face.... Like the troll doll his cousin Misha glued to the dash of the new Peugot. Except the part where the hair was wasn't hollow. It was round... a little round head .... a 'pin head'. He didn't know the term 'micro-cephalic' and he wouldn't have used it if he did. Then it smiled (he could feel it. ewww, he touched some teeth) and made more clicking sounds....
Who are you? - he said...... No answer. Just clicks. Then the milk stink... a belch... more milk stink. But the sound was a little too low. Like ,maybe, just above his belt buckle. He crouched down and reached out again. No legs! It had no legs! The milk drinker shrieked and bit his hand, right between the thumb and forefinger. Then it sped away, using its arms like crutches.
The thing ( who knew the gender?) raced down an unseen passage. He heard the pelvis thud against the floor. And the prisoner from Moscow stumbled after. Milk... Maybe he'd get some milk?..... Warm milk.... tepid milk..... That's how hungry he was. He didn't care.
Then the lights momentarily flickered. He heard a noise. In a cluttered storage room room off to the side sat a being. Not human. Not ape... A being. quietly stripping the meat from a dead, little rhesus monkey and shoving it into it's mouth. The poor, little monkey looked so pathetic... He gasped. The being dropped the half eaten monkey and gave chase
Please let it just be a ghost. Please let it just be a ghost.
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