Chapter 4: The Butcher's Freezer

Chapter 4: The Butcher's Freezer

The word "More" was not a sound; it was a physical force. It slithered up from the Stygian blackness at the bottom of the stairs, a chorus of decay and ancient hunger that vibrated through the soles of Leo's worn sneakers and into his very bones. It was the sound of a gaping maw, a patient predator that had just finished its appetizer and was ready for the main course.

Leo’s body reacted before his mind could. A strangled gasp tore from his throat as he stumbled backward, his hands flying up as if to ward off the soul-shredding sound. He turned, his only thought to flee, to get back into the brightly lit, sane world of the kitchen. His heel hit the doorframe.

WHAM!

The heavy steel door slammed shut with the force of a guillotine. The sound was a physical blow, a deafening explosion of metal on metal that echoed in the confined space of the hallway. It was followed by the loud, final CLANG of the iron crossbar dropping back into its cradle. A puff of stale, dusty air washed over him.

He was locked in.

Panic, cold and absolute, clawed at his throat. He threw himself at the door, his palms slapping uselessly against the cold, unyielding steel. "No! No, no, no!" he screamed, his voice raw with terror. He beat his fists against it, the impacts jarring his bones but doing nothing to the door. It was as solid as a bank vault. The spiraling symbol, now inches from his face, seemed to mock him in the gloom.

He was trapped. Trapped in the dark with the broken body of his co-worker and the thing that had demanded more.

A soft sound drifted up from the bottom of the stairs. A wet, dragging scrape. Thump-squelch...

It was coming for him.

Leo scrambled away from the door, his back hitting the opposite wall of the narrow landing. He couldn't go back up. His only choice was to go down, deeper into the monster’s lair. He stared at Chrissy’s crumpled form. To go further, he would have to step over her. The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, took a shuddering breath that was thick with the coppery smell of blood, and forced himself to move. He descended the steps one at a time, his hand trailing against the damp, gritty concrete wall, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond her body. He couldn't look down. He couldn't. He took the final, terrible step over her, his foot landing inches from the spreading, dark pool.

He was in. The air was colder here, heavy with the hum of industrial refrigeration and a new, sharp scent of freezer burn layered over the rot. A single, long fluorescent bulb flickered erratically on the low ceiling further down the corridor, casting the basement in a nauseating strobe of light and shadow.

He crept forward, drawn towards the weak light like a moth to a bug zapper. The concrete floor was uneven and slick in places. The basement opened into a larger chamber, a cavern of concrete and exposed pipes. And lining the far wall was a sight so bizarre it took his panicked mind a moment to process it.

It was a row of commercial walk-in freezers. Not one or two, like in the kitchen upstairs, but five of them, side-by-side. Their doors weren't solid metal; they were thick, triple-paned glass, like the display cases in a high-end butcher shop. The glass was frosted over, obscuring whatever was inside.

Chrissy’s words from what felt like a lifetime ago echoed in his head. The 'Special Blend' burger meat, the stuff Abernathy keeps in a separate freezer.

This had to be it. This was the source of Harmony Creek’s fanatical devotion. Driven by a morbid, desperate need to understand, Leo approached the nearest freezer. The hum was louder here, a deep thrum that vibrated in his teeth. He reached out a trembling hand and wiped a clear patch on the frosted glass.

He expected to see sides of beef. Racks of ribs. Boxes of frozen patties.

He saw a human hand, fingers curled slightly, pressed against the inside of the glass.

Leo snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned, a strangled cry catching in his throat. His heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. It had to be a trick of the light, a hallucination brought on by terror. He forced himself to look again, pressing his face close to the cold glass, his breath fogging a small circle.

The flickering light illuminated the horror within. It was a macabre gallery of human butchery. Hanging from thick, stainless-steel hooks were not carcasses of livestock, but the flash-frozen, dismembered bodies of people. A human torso, neatly bisected from sternum to pelvis. A pair of legs, severed at the hip. And faces. He saw faces, their eyes wide with the frozen, final terror of their last moments on earth. One of them, a young man with a familiar haircut, could have been Mark, the boy Chrissy had told him about.

This was the Special Blend.

The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. The secret ingredient wasn't a spice. It was people. The whole town, happy and docile, lining up day after day to consume the victims of the thing that lived in this basement. They were all cannibals, and they didn't even know it.

A sound from the deepest shadows at the end of the chamber broke through his horrified trance.

Thump-squelch... thump-squelch...

It was the same wet, dragging sound he had heard in the vents. The sound of something heavy and sodden being pulled across the floor.

A figure emerged from the oppressive darkness, shambling into the flickering strobe of the dying light. It wore the tattered, blood-and-grime-caked remains of a McDonald's uniform. Its skin was a pale, waxy white, stretched taut over an emaciated frame. Its limbs were too long, its joints moving with an unnatural, disjointed gait.

It was Ricky.

But it was a horrifying, nightmarish perversion of him. The worst part, the detail that shattered the last vestiges of Leo’s sanity, was his head. It was twisted around a full 180 degrees on his neck. His chin rested on his spine, his tangled, greasy hair hanging down over his chest. He was shambling forward, but his face was looking directly backward at his own retreating shoulders.

The thing stopped. For a moment, it stood perfectly still under the flickering light. Then, with a series of wet, cracking pops that echoed horribly in the silent chamber, its body slowly pivoted. Its feet remained planted, but its torso twisted around, its backward-facing head now swiveling to stare directly at Leo.

In the vacillating light, Leo could see its eyes. They weren't Ricky's hollow, frightened eyes anymore. They were voids, dark pits that seemed to hold a faint, malevolent red glow, like the embers of a dying fire. A voice slithered from its throat, a grotesque mimicry of Ricky’s raspy tone, layered with the same dry, whispering chorus Leo had heard from the stairs.

"Fresh," the Ricky-thing rasped, taking a shuffling, dragging step forward. "Abernathy promised us... fresh." It tilted its head, an inquisitive, bird-like motion that stretched the skin of its ruined neck. "Time to make you... the newest addition to the menu."