The scraping and bumping along the vent came faster. Whatever was in there was scrambling towards the light. Jadine debated if she should fire off the flash again. Which was worse, seeing it or not knowing? Jadine hit the app again. The flash popped. The room lit up and then went dark. It was enough to see that the vent cover was still in place. Disturbingly, though no one was in sight, red droplets leaked through the vent slats and fell to the floor.
“We need to find a weapon,” she said as she fired off the flash again.
In the picture she’d taken, fingers were pressed against the slats of the cover. Blood oozed from the tips where the metal cut into the flesh.
“Oh, God,” Stacy gasped. “Where are those chairs?”
Jadine turned in the direction she thought the chairs should be and fired off a succession of pictures, searching for them in the photos.
A crash echoed through the room.
“What was that?” Stacy squeaked.
“The vent cover, I believe,” Jadine answered, hitting the camera button once again. The flash bounced of the metal legs of the chairs sending a flare of light back to her.
“There! The left corner,” she said triumphantly.
Both Stacy and Trevin stumbled forward, arms outstretched, searching. Jadine sent out one more bust of light for their benefit before spinning back around. Aiming the camera where she remembered the vent being, she fired off another shot. The vent in the picture was off center, but close enough. A bloody hand gripped the edge of the vent, its glove shredded to the wrist. Both the ring finger and the pinky finger were missing.
Behind her rose a clamor as one or both of her co-workers tipped over the stack of chairs sending them bouncing and skidding across the floor. Ignoring the ruckus, she focused on the vent and pushed the button again. The hand was now a bloody battered arm up to the elbow. Blood flowed freely over the lip of the opening and pattered to the floor.
“Found them!” Trevin called out, as if the crash hadn’t alerted her to that fact.
The chairs scraped and clanged as the two blindly wrangled them apart. Jadine wasn’t sure how well the chairs would work as weapons, but at least it’d give them a fighting chance. Steeling herself, she pushed the button again. An involuntary scream burst from her lips. A garishly painted face peered out at her from the vent opening, its mouth wide, teeth bared. The figure barely fit, explaining the blood that continued to dribble to the floor below.
“What?” Stacy said loudly. “What did you see?”
“It’s almost out,” Jadine answered through gritted teeth. Every instinct she had demanded that she run. It took all her will power to remain in her spot. A chill shook her body even though sweat trickled along her hairline and down her back. The room was becoming unbearably hot.
Jadine pressed the camera button again. The clown pressed forward, one arm outstretched, the other seemingly caught behind the opening. He grunted and pushed, his right arm groping for the ground. Long after the light had faded, he could be heard slamming against the sides of the vent again and again.
“Get ready,” Jadine said, steeling her resolve. Stacy and Trevin, each with a chair in tow, moved to her side by the light of the flash.
“Here goes …” she murmured and pushed the button.
The clown’s jeering face hung halfway to the floor; his eyes focused on the trio across the room. One arm was missing. Blood trickled from the empty shoulder socket. The other arm reached for the floor. It was his buttocks that held him up, keeping him stuck firmly inside the vent. In the second that the flash held him captive, the edge of the vent shaved along his spine, dropping him two inches. Blood spurted from the wound. The clown made no sound. Jadine gagged.
“Oh. My. God!” Stacy cried out. “I think I’m going to hurl.
Jadine felt the same way, though she kept silent about it. Instead, she forced her finger down once again. She’d barely touched the spot when she heard a thunk. She stumbled backward as the light flashed. Nothing but blood showed in the vent.
“Hit it again! Hit it again!” Trevin shouted, panic riding along on his words.
Jadine complied, aiming lower this time. The flash caught the clown crawling along the floor. With bloodied fingertips pressed hard against the floor, he dragged himself forward on his stomach. The pom-poms on his costume sopped up the blood as he slithered on. The toes of his boots scrambled for purchase in the blood that remained. A crimson trail streaked along beside him where the shoulder gaped. Chunks of flesh littered the floor behind him. The ghastly image remained burned behind Jadine’s eyelids long after the light died away. The sound of the clown clamoring over a line of chairs pressed snug between the wall and the door assaulted her ears.