Roughly an hour later the pair once more stood at the precipice of the mystery-hole. Malcolm’s disbelief had had time to give way to an odd mixture of fear and curiosity. Staring into the void, he couldn’t help but think how alien the whole situation felt…There was no precedent for handling something so odd.
Jericho, who was now holding a large bucket, took a step closer.
“Should I try dumping them all in at once?”
“One at a time.” Malcolm said, still staring into the depths with a nearly unbreakable stupor. The warm and moist air continued to blow gently upward.
Jericho reached into the bucket and took out a rather large toad, then chucked it unceremoniously into the pit. The creature sprawled angel-like as it plummeted through the air and out of sight into the darkness below.
They waited for several long seconds. Yet again, there was no sound.
“It must’ve landed by now, right?” Malcolm asked.
“Don’t know.” Jericho said, reaching into the bucket and pulling out a second toad. This time he put a bit of force behind his throw, but even though it hurtled through the darkness far faster than the first, neither of the boys heard it land.
“You think they’re okay?” Malcolm asked.
Jericho shrugged. “Who cares.” He said before tipping the entire bucket into the pit. Dozens of toads and a couple tree frogs disappeared just as the first two test subjects had, and as before, none made a sound indicating they’d landed.
“I mean, we’d certainly be able to hear them, right?”
“Unless the ground’s soft.” Jericho said, prodding some of the pink flesh with the toe of his shoe. “Maybe this thing’s a mouth and it’s eating them.
That made Malcolm feel far more concerned than the clone-idea. “You don’t think that’s what it is, do you?” His friend, peddler of conspiracy theories though he was, had certainly been right about something weird happening in his house. As a result, Malcolm felt compelled to give far more weight to anything he said.
Jericho shrugged. “There’s got to be a reason that the clone came up here. Maybe he’s supposed to be bait. Maybe he’ll lure us to the closet and push us in and feed us to it. Maybe he’s like that little light on those weird deep-sea fish. Or…” He paused briefly. “Or maybe he’ll lure us in and then we’ll be replaced by clones as well.”
Malcolm was about to interject, but a grumbling sound from the depths of the pit made his words freeze in his throat.
It started deep and low, barely on the precipice of audibility, then grew steadily higher in pitch. It sounded wet and sloppy, like a backed-up pipe filling with water, yet it was heavier, more solid, and the sound resonated deep within their bones.
The pitch continued growing higher and higher, faster and faster.
Both boys stared at one another, then came to the same realization at the same time.
Something big and something wet was quickly rocketing out of the tunnel.
They turned to run, but before they could take even a single step the hole gave a surprisingly quiet burp and a thick globule of slime arced out of the closet and over their heads before landing in the middle of the bedroom.
The pair exchanged worried glances, then slowly approached the blob.
Like the fleshy walls, it was a pale pink.
Unlike the fleshy walls, it was somewhat transparent with many small, dark forms writhing around inside it.
Jericho stuck a cautious hand out toward the slime.
“Don’t!” Malcolm warned.
Jericho ignored him. He touched the slick substance, which all at once began to melt and dissolve into the floor. As more and more of the mucus-like gunk disappeared, the forms within became livelier.
Jericho was the first to recognize them. “Clones.” He said in a serious voice.
Malcolm wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but as he studied the writhing creatures, he could see certain details emerging…Legs. Bodies. Eyes.
Toads. Dozens of them.
And a few tree frogs.
They looked just like the creatures the boys had caught earlier, but Malcolm felt that the clones looked better somehow. Perhaps it was the slime still clinging to many of them, but he swore they looked shinier and more fit than before they’d been dumped into the void. He knew one of the toads they’d captured had been missing a front leg, but he couldn’t see that affliction on any of the newly arrived specimens.
“We need to see what’s down there.” Jericho said.
Malcolm shook his head. “I’m not going down there.”
“Of course not, but we can put a flashlight on a string and lower it in.”
“Oh…Right.” He still wasn’t sure it was a good idea to perturb whatever mechanisms were at play within the pit, but felt it was probably best to gather as much data as possible.
The boys quickly rounded up the clones, then Jericho disappeared to release them back outside. Malcolm, meanwhile, was left alone to stare into the inky depths of the pulsating pink tunnel.
The air wafting up from it was warm and comfortable; humid, but not overbearingly so. Something about the hole seemed so inviting.
He gently prodded the flesh. It also felt warm.
He squeezed it. It was so soft.
Perhaps he could just stick his head inside…
“What are you doing?” Jericho asked.
Malcolm snapped himself back to reality and found he was leaning precariously over the darkness.
“I was just looking.” He said quickly, pulling himself back to surer ground. A small upsurging panic began to fill his stomach. Did the hole somehow hypnotize him!?
Jericho eyed him suspiciously but didn’t argue. “Here.” he said, handing Malcolm a thick ball of twine. “You can lower it.”
“And what are you going to do?” Malcolm asked, not wanting to get too close to the hole again.
Jericho finished tying a flashlight securely to the end. “I’m gonna watch.” He sidled over to the edge, dropped to his stomach and dangled the flashlight into the hole before poking his head over the side.
Malcolm shuddered. “You’re pretty close to it, don’t you think?”
“One of us needs to watch the flashlight to see how deep this thing is.” He repositioned himself so he was more comfortable, then said “Okay…Start lowering.”
Malcolm did as instructed while standing well away from the closet. Truthfully, he didn’t want to even be in James’s room. He wanted to run…Run from the basement, run from the house, run from the neighborhood…
“Careful you don’t fall in.” Malcolm warned.
“Eh.” Jericho responded. “Just keep letting out more slack. Slowly…Slowly! …Slowly…”
But after a few minutes there was no more twine.
“That’s it.” Malcolm said.
“That’s it?”
Malcolm nodded. “That’s it.” He repeated.
“That’s fine. I can’t see much anyway. Let’s pull it back up.”
Jericho began pulling up the twine and Malcolm wound the slack back into a spool.
“You feel that?” Jericho asked.
“The slime?” Malcolm asked, his hands suddenly coated with the wet substance.
Jericho nodded.
“Yeah.” Malcolm confirmed.
A thick, wet, translucent film was coating the twine, and as he coiled it back up the strange goo began running down his hands and onto the floor.
“It’s not toxic, is it?” Malcolm asked.
“Eh, probably not. The clones eat our food and breathe our air. If there were dangerous chemicals down there it’d probably kill them as well as us. I expect this stuff is fine.”
Malcolm wasn’t sure his friend’s logic made sense but didn’t argue. He obediently wound the twine back into a ball until the flashlight had been recovered. As expected, it was coated in the same gleaming slime that the twine and their hands were.
With the flashlight retrieved, the boys rushed to the bathroom to wash their hands…
…That is to say, Malcolm rushed.
“Dude, scrub that shit off. It could be poisonous.” He hissed at Jericho.
But Jericho simply stared in awe at the unknown substance dripping from his fingers.
“You think it’s toxic? I don’t think it’s toxic.” He said, holding his hand just a couple inches from his face. He stuck out his tongue.
“You’re not planning on eating it, are you!?” Malcolm gasped.
“What? No, not me, I…It was just a thought.” He said, quickly retracting his tongue and lowering his hands to the sink.
The boys cleaned themselves as best they could before returning to James’s room.
They weren’t sure what else to do. Neither of them had a camera.
“We need to find a way to get photos of what’s down there.” Malcolm said.
“Or we could climb down there in person.” Jericho suggested gravely.
“Dude, don’t even joke about that.”
“Who’s joking?”
Malcolm eyed him up and down, searching for any sign the statement had been made in jest. Jericho looked completely serious.
“I’m not climbing down there.” Malcolm said at last, somewhat shocked that such an obvious statement needed saying in the first place.
Jericho shrugged. “Eventually our curiosity will get the better of us.”
“We don’t have a way to get down there, or back up for that matter.”
“We don’t need one. The frogs made it down there and back out safely. I’ll bet we could too.”
“But you said it was their clones that came back out. We can’t be sure any of the originals made it back up here, or if they even made it down there safely. For all we know they might’ve been killed when they hit the bottom.”
The pit seemed to take on more gravity with those words. Malcolm could’ve sworn he felt it breathing with excitement.
Jericho was about to say something more when the pair heard footsteps descending the basement stairs. They turned to one another, shared a moment of horror, then bolted from the room as quickly as possible. They had just managed to throw themselves onto the living room couch when they saw James turn the corner.
He paused at the foot of the stairs, sniffed, blinked, shook his head, then entered his room and closed the door.
“That was close.” Malcolm said.
“Did you close the closet door?” Jericho asked.
Malcolm’s blood froze. “No…Why?”
“Shit.”
“Did you?”
“Shit!”
“Do you think he’ll realize?”
“Of course he will!” Jericho hissed. “He’s been replaced with a super-motivated, super-smart clone!”
Malcolm felt bad, but they’d both vacated the room so quickly that he knew they hadn’t had time to tidy up.
“I think I’m going to head home.” Malcolm said in a stony voice.
“You’re just going to abandon me?” Jericho hissed.
“There’s not much we can do with your brother here.”
“Brother’s clone”
“Right…Your brother’s clone.”
But truthfully, Malcolm just wanted to go home, wanted to put as much distance between himself and the closet as possible, wanted to forget the afternoon had ever happened.
Jericho escorted Malcolm back upstairs and onto the front lawn.
Malcolm still felt shaken by what he’d seen.
Jericho was still cussing.
“What am I going to do? He’s going to know!” He exclaimed. “He’ll know we were in there! There was slime all over the floor, and the door was open, and he knows I’ve been suspicious of him ever since I cut his finger off!”
“If things get heated here, you’re always welcome to stay at my place.” Malcolm offered. It was a lie, of course, as his parents were staunchly against the two of them hanging out, but he felt too flabbergasted to critically analyze what he was saying.
“Thanks man.” Jericho smiled. “You’re a real pal.”
…
“Where were you?”
The words accosted Malcolm even before he shut the front door.
“Just taking a walk.” He lied.
His mom eyed him critically.
“Your sister’s going to be here within the hour. You should’ve been home much earlier.”
“I know…I’m sorry.”
“I had to clean the den by myself. You know how hard it is for me to do all that work at my age? Do you want me to die early?”
“Of course not.” He answered automatically. He didn’t want to give himself time to ruminate on that question.
“At the very least you can go get changed and spend a little time studying!”
He ran upstairs and obeyed, but as before, as soon as the books were opened, he couldn’t seem to focus on scholastics. How could he? The analysis of Robert Frost poems and advanced trigonometry seemed so superfluous when he knew a giant alien flesh-pit was growing beneath his best friend’s house.
His phone buzzed with a text.
‘Slime’s not poisonous.’
‘You ate some!?’
A photo of Jericho’s dad holding a bottle of whiskey answered the question.
‘Dude…He could’ve died.’
‘Yeah. I’m thinking the alcohol might’ve nullified it. Gonna try lacing something he eats next.’
Malcolm wanted to argue, but he lacked the energy, so instead he simply justified his friend’s actions to himself.
“It’s important we learn as much about this pit as possible and his dad is an abusive asshole. If anything happens to him, it’ll be all the better for Jericho. We might need to fight the clones. Any information could prove vital…”
He heard commotion from downstairs…A knock on the door…His mom squealing with joy…His dad booming in delight…His sister’s excited voice.
It was time to face the personification of all his inadequacies. He sighed and headed downstairs.
…
Malcolm knew Lori’s visits from college were both good and bad.
When she visited his parents’ attention was directed away from him and toward her and, at least temporarily, he could almost get away with slouching at the dinner table or neglecting his studies for a night.
The bad parts were everything else.
Unlike him, Lori succeeded at everything she tried. Less than two years after picking up a violin for the first time she’d become the high school’s first-chair. She’d set several school records in track and field that no one had come close to beating. Thanks to her AP classes she had a 5.0 GPA her senior year. Several of her paintings still adorned the school’s hallways.
When she had graduated and moved away for college he had hoped that would alleviate some of the pressure he felt in trying to live up to her reputation, but if anything it only made his life worse.
Now she was succeeding in a far more difficult academic setting.
Scholarships? She had them.
Honors Society? As a sophomore she was already leading the organization.
She was on half a dozen different committees for half a dozen different clubs, was double majoring in molecular science and pre-med, and several of her research proposals had already helped her school net hundreds of thousands of dollars in grant money. She was perfect beyond measure.
Malcolm, meanwhile, scraped by with sixty-twos on his science tests.
He half listened to the dinner conversation, which consisted of his sister bragging of her achievements and his parents fawning over what an amazing child she was.
“What about you? What’s my little brother been up to?” Lori asked.
Upon hearing his name, Malcolm automatically sat bolt upright. He stared straight ahead. He could feel the attention pressing in upon him.
“Your shirt’s untucked.” He heard his mom say.
He began fixing the errant piece of clothing. “Not much.” He said. “Studying. Just a lot of studying.”
He knew the question had been an innocent one, but to him it felt accusatory, as if she were reminding him that he’d always fall short of her.
“Oh? What’s your favorite subject?”
More thumbscrews. Why didn’t she just come right out and tell him he was a loser? Everyone else did.
“Math.” He mumbled, then turning to his dad, “May I be excused?”
“Ask your mom.”
“Of course not.” She tutted. “Your sister rarely visits, so the least you can do is stay until we’re all finished.”
“Actually mom, dad, if it’s alright I’ve been kinda wanting to take a bit of a walk.” Lori said. “It was a long drive down, and I need to stretch my legs.”
Their mom’s demeanor changed instantly. “Of course, dear! We can all come if you want.”
“Oh no, that’s alright, I won’t be long.” She smiled. “But is it alright if Malcolm comes with me?”
Of course it was alright. Anything the star-child asked for was granted.
In less than a minute Lori had her purse and the pair of them were walking out the front door.
They said nothing as they walked down the block. What was there to say? What could a lowly mortal like Malcolm possibly say to an Olympian goddess?
They turned a corner.
“Can you keep a secret?” Lori asked.
Before he could answer she’d taken a pack of cigarettes from her purse, pulled one out, stuck it in her mouth, lit it, and was taking a deep draw from it.
Malcolm stared at her in awe. Seeing his perfect sister smoking was more shocking that the flesh-pit in his friend’s basement. It was a sign of weakness and vulnerability in an otherwise perfect being.
“Mom and dad sure do drive us hard, huh?” She exhaled a wisp of smoke from a mouth that had formed a pained smile. “Pretty stressful.”
“How long have-”
“-How long have I smoked?” She asked, taking another deep draw. “About six years now.”
Malcolm let out a couple small laughing barks. So, the goddess wasn’t perfect after all.
“Wanna talk about it?” She asked.
“About what?”
“About anything.” She responded. “Your grades, how you’re feeling. Christ, I know how I’d feel if I were you. If I had to live here any longer I’d be doing far harder shit than this.” She flicked the cigarette butt toward a culvert and pulled out another. “Anything you tell me, I promise, I’ll keep between us.”
What to talk about?
“Well my grades…They’re not the best.” He started.
“Go on.”
But he didn’t know how to go on.
“Errrr, my friend Jericho…But mom doesn’t really want us being friends-”
“-Make up your own mind about how you want to live. If you let mom do it, you’ll be a subservient automaton forever.”
Malcolm instantly thought of the clones…Maybe they’d make his mom happy. Maybe he should get her one of them.
“Well my friend’s basement has this weird hole in it. We only discovered it today, and it looked like it was lined with flesh.”
“Probably a sinkhole.” Lori nodded. “They’re common enough around here.”
“I don’t think so.” He said, shaking his head. “I’ve seen sinkholes, but this was different. It looked like it was made of flesh.”
“Mycelium, probably…A fungus.” She added, seeing the confused look on her brother’s face. “Loads of fungi look like human skin. The sinkhole was probably warm, wet, and dark enough to allow fungus that looks like skin to grow around it.”
Malcolm was half-tempted to believe her…He desperately wanted to believe her. A simple, normal explanation!
But somehow he doubted a normal sinkhole would be capable of expelling frogs back out of it.
“Yeah, that’s probably it.” He hesitantly agreed.
He didn’t feel like continuing the conversation, so he let silence take over.
They spent another few minutes saying nothing, walking the streets in a giant loop and heading back toward the house. Lori finished her final cigarette as they approached their block, then took out a bottle of perfume and liberally sprayed herself to mask the scent.
“If you ever need to talk, you’ll call me, yeah?” She asked.
“Sure.” He said. He doubted she’d understand half his struggles. Even with her secret habit, she was still a creative, athletic, scholarly genius who set standards he’d never be able to meet.
“Seriously.” She continued. “I know it might be hard to believe, but I know how you’re feeling, and I know if you don’t find a way to escape their pressures, you can fall into some dangerous habits.”
“Like smoking.” He said half-sarcastically.
“Or cutting.” She said, lifting the skirt of her dress slightly and revealing a thigh cross-marked with numerous faded scars.
His mouth fell open.
She released the hem of her clothing and the horrible evidence was concealed once more.
“And remember, we’re not telling mom and dad.” She smiled.
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