Free The Vorbing by Stewart Stafford Page A

like a membrane holding some demonic embryo. It kicked and slashed through the walls as Vlad passed. Vlad would have fled as fast as possible if he had enjoyed freedom of movement. Instead, Vlad inched past the trickling wall and felt the creature’s claws as it pummelled his body and face. He braced himself for every blow, but it never prepared him for the shocking force of each strike as it landed.
    To divert his mind from his agony, Vlad concentrated on the screams coming from the other rooms. It was the sound of souls in torment and people being tortured. A swarm of flies covered Vlad’s eyes and face. They invaded his mouth and ears. The derisory buzzing became a mocking chant that reverberated in his mind. The evil was everywhere now. He did not have to look, listen, smell, or even think to detect it. It touched him and sang to him. Vlad felt his mind collapsing. Water streamed from his eyes. He was not weeping, as that would suggest emotion. It was just the overflow, like a river bursting its banks. It was his only way of unburdening himself and releasing some of the fear, hate, sadness, and rage that flowed through him. The room revolved with increasing speed. Vlad spun out of control. He was unsure whether it was real or just another hallucination. Whatever Vlad thought, he continued to twist around and around. He only saw blurred images through the cocoon the flies had spun across his face. A cascade of sweat poured down his face. His head throbbed, his mind raced, his heart pounded, and his breathing quickened beyond his control. Down and down he fell into the abyss of evil. When he reached what he thought was the bottom, he saw a door in front of him.
    He opened the door with trepidation and saw a man and woman crouching over a crib. The woman was young, with a veil covering her head. The man had a beard and wore robes. They stood back to allow Vlad to see their child. Vlad strode over to the crib. He smiled with anticipation at the thought of the cherubic face that lay within. The infant lay with its back to Vlad, and when it turned, Vlad got a start. The child had no eyes. Vlad screamed out in terror, but found himself almost magnetically pulled towards the newborn child. It pointed an accusatory finger at Vlad as he drifted into the child’s eyes. The young man roared and covered his eyes.
    When he opened them, another door confronted him. Vlad did not want to go through, but he was in a corridor with only one exit. He had to enter the room. Taking a deep breath, Vlad burst through the door. He wanted to run from the sight that greeted him, but he appeared rooted to the spot by paralysis again. A victim of crucifixion glared at Vlad with the same hollow eyes as the infant. A centurion stabbed the figure in the side with a sharp weapon, and blood dripped onto the floor.
    “No!” Vlad roared.
    The soldier slowly turned his head and sneered. “You think you can save your saviour?’ the soldier asked contemptuously. He then raised his sword and beheaded the man on the cross.
    “No!” Vlad screamed as the neck stem gushed like a blood fountain and coated everything in the room.
    The head rolled along the ground and came to rest at Vlad’s feet. Vlad tried to move again, but was unable. The head opened its feeble eyes and stared at the young man. “Help me,” it whispered before the eyes blinked shut.
                  Within the blinking of those eyes, Vlad found a vast corridor of doors goading him to open them. He found fresh horrors waiting for him behind each one: a goat with its stomach slit lurched towards him on its hind legs, serpents infested the branches of an apple tree, and a well where Vlad sought to drink only yielded up shivering entrails, blood, and handfuls of locusts instead of water. As Vlad roared and roared, he feared for his sanity. As soon as it had come, the swirling chaos swiftly departed and disappeared into the distance. Silence soon followed, and Vlad slumped in the