Tentacle University pt. 20

The announcement that the school would be closing came that night.  The students would be given three days to arrange new living accommodations, and for those that couldn’t, they would be moved into a single dorm until the campus’s killer could be caught. 

Charlotte wasn’t happen about closing the school.  In fact, she was pissed off.  She and Whitley should have had this situation under control, but instead Whitley was bruised, broken and hobbling around and Charlotte was stuck with her thumb up her ass, unable to actively pursue the Mythos loose on her campus out of fear of being spotted by one of the students. 

After the brief press conference held in the school’s quad, Charlotte made her way back to her house.  Even though Whitley was more than equipped to handle himself, even in his wounded state, she wasn’t comfortable leaving him alone.  He wasn’t use to being the target of a Mythos.  None of the male Hen warriors were.  Charlotte, on the other hand, was well aware of what those attacks could do to a person. 

As she turned her car onto her street she recalled the first mission she had ever gone on.  The Mythos had been a particularly lecherous creature, and apparently she had been just his type.  Before her mother had killed the monster it had managed to trap her, nearly undress her, and had just begun the process of assaulting her when it had had its massive head lopped off at the shoulders. 

She had stayed in her room for two weeks after that first mission.  Every time she had looked in the mirror she could see the spots where his massive, snake like tongue had touched her body.  She could recall the scent of his musk, and the rough texture of his tongue.  Most of all, she could remember the look in the Mythos’s eyes as it pinned her down. 

He had looked at her with a hunger she had never seen before.  It wasn’t just a hunger to satiated whatever dietary needs he had required, but a hunger to watch her suffer.  He wanted to steal away every ounce of her strength and confidence.  He wanted to break her.

He almost had. 

Luckily her mother had been there.  It was after that mission that Charlotte had started to fully understand the woman who had raised her.  Her mother, Victoria, was not a warm woman.  She was never physically affectionate, and most of the time Charlotte had felt like she was being treated not as a daughter, but as a soldier. 

How many times had her mother been in the same situation she had?  How many times had she looked into an Mythos’s eyes and saw that same hunger?  Being a Hen warrior meant being dropped into situations where not only your body could be broken, but your mind as well.  At some point, after who knows how many attacks, a part of her mother had broken.  How long, Charlotte wondered, would it be before the same thing happened to her?  How long would it be when she could no longer endure a person touching her, or even looking at her?  How long would it be before she physically shut out the world?

Her mother had died a very unhappy woman.  She had cursed anyone who had tried to comfort her with a gentle touch on the arm, or a kiss to the forehead.  She had, at that point in her life, taken on the mentality of an old, sick dog.  She just wanted to be left alone, to die alone.

Charlotte slowed down as she approached a stop sign.  She could feel tears welling up in her eyes.  The sadness wasn’t unexpected.  It had come every time she had thought about her mother, which, she was sad to admit, had become more and more infrequent. 

She wiped her eyes, and prepared to drive on when she spotted someone shambling down the sidewalks.  The street was dark, but she could catch glimpses of the figure when they passed through the dim, orange glow of the street lamps.  The person appeared to be male.  His clothes were ripped, and he was half shuffling, half jogging.  Occasionally he would glance over his shoulder. 

“Oh God,” she muttered to herself, and threw the car in park. 

Getting out, she rushed towards the man. 

“Are you okay?” She called out. 

“Help me!” He yelled back. “He’s… he’s…”

His voice sounded familiar. As Charlotte got closer she was able to see his face more clearly.  He was from the school.  She was sure of it.  His name was on the tip of her tongue.

“Please, he’s after me!” The man picked up his pace.  So did Charlotte.

He was about six feet from her when his name came to her.  It was Sam Lexmore.  He worked in the records office.  She rushed to him, grabbing him just as his knees gave out.  She caught him, lowering him gently towards the sidewalk, her arms wrapped around him, supporting him. 

“It’s okay.  I got you.” She whispered to him. 

“No.” He looked up at her.  A smile slowly spread across his pale, sweaty face.  “I got you.” 

She felt a hard, sharp pain in her stomach.  Sam began to laugh.  When she glanced down she could see the handle of a kitchen knife jutting out of her stomach.  Crimson blood seemed to pour from the wound as Sam gave the blade a hard twist. 

“I got you real good, Hen Warrior.” He seemed to spit the words at her. 

That was when the street started to go dark around the edges.  Her vision was fading fast.  She felt him yank the knife from her gut, then plunge it back in again, pushing so hard that the blade sunk up to the hilt.

She let out a gasp.  So, this was how she was going to die.