THE UNSPEAKABLE HORROR!

A Trapped by Monsters story

With art by David Melling

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

“No way!” I breathed in amazement.

This was getting weird.  Ten minutes ago, I was teetering on the brink of certain death and now, here I was, face to face with three new authors.

“Russian Hopscotch?” demanded Chae Strathie.  “What’s that?”

I gasped.  This new bloke could read my mind!  How could he possibly know that my jailer – Spengler the Jaded – forced me to play what could only be described as one of the most dangerous games the monsters had ever invented at this time every week?  Perhaps he’d heard my screams as the dice rolled and I was given no choice but to hop from square to square?  Perhaps he’d peeked into my cell as I prayed not to land on the patch of quicksand hidden beneath one of the numbers?

Or perhaps he wasn’t really an author at all… Perhaps he was one of the monsters in disguise, luring us into a false sense of security as we dared to believe that we could finally escape from this madness.  Yes, that was it!  Chae Strathie was definitely a shape-shifting beastie, here to taunt us with thoughts of freedom while he sharpened his vile-

“Your t-shirt says ‘Russian Hopscotch’,” continued Chae.  “What is that?”

I glanced down at the ceremonial costume I was made to wear for each round of the deadly game and smoothed down the frills of my potato sack skirt.  “Oh,” I croaked.  “It’s, er… just something my jailer likes to play from time to time…”

Sam glanced furtively up and down the tunnel.  “That’s a point,” he said.  “Where is Spengler?  How did you get out?”

I shuddered as I thought back to the moment my captor had landed on what looked like an ordinary cracked paving slap with the number 5 chalked on – only to discover it was a patch of pungent, lethal quicksand.  The monster had screamed as he was dragged beneath the ground, the gloopy mud that was to become his tomb racing to plug every orifice of his pock-marked body.

He’d gurgled a cry for help as the wet, sucking earth flooded his lungs and – for a moment – I’d considered trying to help him.  But I was too scared of being sucked beneath the floor of the damp cell myself – and there was no point creasing up my Hopscotch costume now I’d ironed it.

Eventually, Spengler had fallen silent, his wide, staring eyes the only part of his body that remained visible.  I knew this was my chance to escape. I just had to get the keys I knew my jailer kept clipped to what I had originally thought was his belt, but eventually turned out to be an external lower intestine wrapped around his waist.

Lying flat on the ground, I’d plunged my fist into the quicksand that surrounded my now dead guard.  Trying not to look into his lifeless face, I’d fumbled around in the gloop for the keys, first pulling free a spare eyeball before finally finding what I was after.  I had unlocked the cell door with trembling fingers and then, checking the corridor was clear, I’d run as fast as my ceremonial Hopscotch flip flops would let me.

“We found Tommy racing for the exit to the caves,” Andy explained to the new authors.

“I was not!” I scoffed.  “I was, er… coming to free you guys!”

“But our cells are in the opposite direction,” said Ali.

“Are… are they really?” I squeaked, scuffing the toe of my right flip flop back and forth in the dirt.

“You know they are,” replied Mark.  “You made us all tattoo a map of the caves on the back of our hands not long after we were captured.  You were definitely heading for the-”

“That’s not important now!” I interrupted quickly.  “Never mind who was coming to rescue who!

“Who wasn’t coming to rescue who, more like,” muttered Barry.

“You can keep quiet, marmite breath!” I scolded.  “What is important is that we’ve made three new friends…”

“Six new friends!” announced an Irish accent from the shadows at the back of the cave.  We spun round in surprise.

“I’m Niamh Sharkey,” said the tear-streaked author, stepping out of the darkness.

“Jon Mayhew,” added one of the two figures behind her.

“David Gatward,” announced the third.  “And we want to know what’s going on, right now!”

Click here for Episode Seven, by A Monster

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