FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #6

Almost everyone thought the man and the boy were father and son. And they were to a point, but not in any way that the casual observer would know.

They dressed in similar fashion, both in brown trenchcoats--buttoned up tight against the winter cold--and black leather gloves. But whereas the boy was more open-faced with a black scarf around his throat and no hat to protect his ears and face from the chill, the old man was concealed in cloth and shadow.

As they made their way through the streets, the boy pushing the man's wheelchair over the crunching bits of salt and snow compacted into ice, the passers-by would point and whisper.

"How responsible, that boy," they'd say. "Such a nice young man to be pushing his father around." But they didn't know and they never would. 

The doorman of the Oxford Hotel bowed respectfully and held the door for them, but neither turned to acknowledge his manner. A pause at the elevator to await it's car, and then they were alone. 

The man grumbled softly to himself and the boy placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Soon," the boy promised. "Soon."

Waiting in silence for the car to ascend, they arrived at their destination on the fourteenth floor. Down the hall and around the corner, they came to rest at room 1405. The door was locked, but even without the key, the knob turned easily in the boys hand. Silence greeted the pair. 

"We must be early," the boy murmured. "Should we wait inside?"

The old man made three short wheezing pants as if chuckling. The boy wheeled him into the room, situating himself around the corner near the bed. Dispite ample seating, he remained behind the old man's chair. 

Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Still another twenty-five minutes gone before they heard a keycard. The door beeped and then opened. 

The man who entered didn't look like a doctor. He wore an Armani suit, expensively cut and tailored in blue-black with a burgandy tie and crisp white shirt. His coat was draped over his arm and he hung it in the little closet along with his scarf and hat. 

"Good Afternoon, Doctor," The boy said when the man had finished and entered the room enough to see he had visitors. The boy kept his voice polite and respectful, no hint of anything unpleasant, but still the doctor jumped back, slamming hard against the little desk that the hotel provided its guests. His eyes widened- pupils contracting almost to pin pricks as he took in his visitors, and the doctor clutched his chest in terror. 

"B-B-Benjamin!" The doctor stammered over his words. His voice, normally so well modulated and cultured, hitched up two octaves. "You're alive! I mean, you're here!" 

Benjamin smiled politely and gestured towards the old man in the chair. "I wanted you to be the first to know, Doctor. The first to meet Mr. Black."

The doctor's face drained of color, turning white then ashen gray. "Mr. Black?"

Benjamin's eyes narrows, and his head canted down, the new angle twisting his face into a mocking parody of the sweet facade he'd exhibited only a moment ago. "I created him. Just like you created me."

The doctor was practically climbing the walls now, frantic to get as much space between himself and the old man in the chair. "No! Benjamin! Please! We didn't... It was just an experiment!"

The boy shrugged. "So was this. A test to see what I could do with what you made me. His next incarnation will be better I think."

The was no signal. There was no phrase. There didn't need to be one. 

The twisted creature exploded from the old man's body, lunging for it's prey. Black and glossy with a horned skull for a head and a body made of tentacle-like bands of ooze, it reached across the room like a spider web of tar, wrapping it's victim in a stifling maw. The doctor could find his voice only for the barest wail of terror before it was choked back into a gurgle of agony.

Bones snapped like so many twigs in a bunch and blood sprayed across the wall where the doctor once stood.

Through it all, Benjamin watched, a look of professional interest his only expression. This was only the second time Mr.Black had been permitted to fullfill his function. Benjamin wanted to make sure the process was going the way he'd cultivated his pet to preform. 

Crushed and mangled, into an ooze of it's own, what remained of the good doctor expanded over Mr.Black, seemingly whole once more. Painting a realistic shell to hide the nightmare within. 

Benjamin waited patiently while the new Mr. Black brushed off his Armani suit and gathered his hat and coat from the closet. 

Holding his hand like a good little boy, they slipped quietly from room 1405. Someone else could deal with the eviscerated corpse of the old man and the blood of the dear doctor. Benjamin and Mr. Black had places to be. Other doctors to meet. 

As they moved easily through the lobby, almost everyone thought the man and the boy were father and son. And they were to a point, but not in any way that the casual observer would know.

back to Contest #6