Chapter 5: The Unholy Bargain

Chapter 5: The Unholy Bargain

The word "fresh" hung in the freezing air, a death sentence delivered in a stolen voice. The thing wearing Ricky’s skin took another lurching step, its backward-facing head swiveling with a sound like tearing cartilage. Primal terror, raw and absolute, threatened to root Leo to the spot, to turn him into another frozen statue for the macabre gallery behind him.

But then, the image of his mother’s face, pale and worried, flashed through his mind. The weight of the rent money, the price of his silence, was still in his pocket. He wasn’t just fighting for himself. He was fighting for her, for the life he was so desperately trying to build. The fear didn't vanish, but a hot, defiant rage ignited beneath it.

As the Ricky-thing lunged, its unnaturally long arms reaching, Leo reacted. He dove sideways, his sneakers slipping on a slick patch of bloody concrete. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his teeth, but the clumsy fall saved him. The creature’s waxy, cold fingers scraped across his back, tearing his uniform and sending a shock of icy pain through him.

It stumbled past him, its movements a grotesque parody of a human running. Leo scrambled back to his feet, his eyes darting around the chamber, searching for a weapon, for anything. His gaze landed on a length of rusted rebar leaning against a concrete pillar, likely left over from the building's construction.

“You cannot run,” the voice rasped, a layered sound of Ricky’s reedy tenor and the dry, whispering chorus of the pit. “We are Harmony Creek. We are its peace. Its prosperity.”

The creature turned, its body contorting in that same stomach-churning, unnatural pivot. Leo seized his chance. He lunged for the rebar, his fingers closing around the cold, rough metal. It was heavy, unwieldy, but it was better than his bare hands.

“This town… so happy,” the monster continued, its red eyes glowing brighter in the flickering gloom. It took a step closer, seeming to enjoy the chase, to savor the fear wafting off Leo like steam. “They love our… Special Blend. It makes them calm. Compliant. A small price to pay, isn’t it? A few… ingredients… to ensure the happiness of so many.”

It was the bargain. The unholy contract at the heart of this town. This creature, this ancient parasite, fed the town a poison that kept them placid and addicted, and in return, it was given sacrifices. Ricky. Chrissy. Mark. How many others were hanging in these freezers?

“You’re a monster!” Leo yelled, his voice cracking as he swung the heavy rebar in a desperate arc.

The creature didn't even try to dodge. It raised an arm, and the rebar connected with its forearm with a sickening, wet thwack. But there was no cry of pain. Only the sound of bone, brittle and dry, snapping. The limb bent at a horrifying new angle, but the thing didn’t even seem to register the injury. Its head tilted.

“Pain is a memory,” it whispered, its voice losing more of Ricky’s tone and becoming a deeper, more resonant chorus. “We are so much older than pain.”

It lunged again, faster this time. Leo tried to swing the rebar, but the creature was on him. An icy hand, fingers like frozen steel, clamped around the metal bar and ripped it from his grasp with effortless strength, sending it clattering into the darkness. The other hand shot out and seized him by the throat.

The grip was absolute. It wasn't just strong; it was supernaturally cold, a grave-chill that leached the warmth from his skin and seemed to freeze the blood in his veins. He was lifted off his feet, his legs kicking uselessly. The creature's face—Ricky's inverted, dead face—was inches from his own. The smell of rot and freezer burn was suffocating.

“Your fear…” the chorus of voices hissed from Ricky’s throat, a sound of pure, malevolent glee. “It is the best seasoning.”

Leo’s vision began to tunnel. Black spots danced before his eyes. Through the narrowing pinprick of light, he could see the glass doors of the freezers, the silent, screaming faces of the victims within. He was going to die here. He was going to be hung on a hook and become a secret ingredient in a Happy Meal. His last thought was a bitter one: his mother would never even know what happened to him.

CRASH!

The sound was an explosion from above. Not the slam of the door closing, but the violent, splintering crack of it being forced open. Light—brilliant, pure, hallway light—flooded the top of the staircase, a stark contrast to the flickering nightmare below.

A silhouette stood framed in the doorway, a dark shape against the sudden brightness.

For one insane, delirious moment, Leo felt a surge of hope so powerful it almost made him weep. Help. Someone had heard. Someone had come.

The figure descended the stairs, and the hope in Leo’s chest curdled and died.

It was Mr. Abernathy.

His perfectly starched uniform was rumpled. His slicked-back hair was disheveled. And the thin, perpetual smile was gone, replaced by a mask of incandescent fury. His cold, calculating eyes were wide with a frantic, cornered rage. He wasn't a savior. He was a warden discovering a prison riot.

In his right hand, he held not a gun, not a flashlight, but a heavy-duty cattle prod. A low, menacing hum emanated from it, and a blue spark danced between its metal tips.

The creature holding Leo paused, its head tilting slightly, as if acknowledging its master. It seemed to expect new orders, a new direction. Abernathy’s eyes, however, weren't on the monster. They weren't even on Leo’s terrified face. They were sweeping across the scene—the body of Chrissy at the bottom of the stairs, the discarded rebar, the faint handprint Leo had left on the glass door of the freezer. He saw the disruption. The chaos. The truth, laid bare.

His gaze finally locked on Leo, and the hatred in them was more terrifying than the vacant red glow in the creature’s eyes. This wasn't the fury of a man discovering a monster; it was the fury of a zookeeper whose prize exhibit had been disturbed by a trespasser.

“You’ve upset the balance!” Abernathy shrieked, his voice raw and unhinged, tearing through the cold air.

The creature’s grip on Leo’s throat loosened slightly in surprise. In that moment, Abernathy raised the sparking cattle prod, his knuckles white.

And he charged down the last few steps, not at the shambling, head-twisted horror from the dawn of time, but directly at Leo.