James A. Hunter
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Backrooms: Delvers and Dwellers - Chapter 21
🕑 Added 2023-07-28 17:00:04 +0000 UTCTwenty-One – MediocreMart
“I say this in love and with absolutely no disrespect, Dan,” Croc whispered as we stood outside the sliding glass doors that let into the MediocreMart, “but this is not quite as glamorous as you made it sound.”
Through the glass it was easy to see the rows of ruler-straight aisles that stretched out of sight, all loaded down with a bizarre mishmash of off-brand products. The walls were painted a faded salmon color, and they seemed to pulsate with an uneasy internal glow. The glaring fluorescents overhead added to the eerie effect, bouncing off the white linoleum floors and casting a sickly pallor over the entire space. The cash registers near the front stood empty and there was no sign of whatever horrors called the store home, but this place gave me an uneasy feeling.
I mean, everything about the Backrooms gave me an uneasy feeling, but this was different somehow, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“I mean, you’re the human,” Croc continued, googly eyes squinted as the dog studied the space, “so far be it from me to tell you what to enjoy, but I find it extremely hard to believe this place could possibly rival a water park.”
“For the record,” I replied absently, “I never said this was better than a waterpark—it's more practical than a waterpark. Those are two very different things.” I faltered and grimaced. “But there’s also something wrong with it,” I added after a few seconds. I felt like my Spelunker’s Sixth Sense should’ve been screaming a warning at me, but it was oddly silent.
“That’s probably the Blight,” Croc said solemnly. “I told you, it’s an infection. Comes from one of the floors far, far below.”
I frowned, thinking. “Maybe we should pick a different location,” I finally said after a minute. “I’m not afraid, but I’m also not sure I want to spend my limited resources on a location that’s infected with magical herpes. Seems like a bad investment.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Croc said dismissively. “The Blight can spill over into individual locations, but the Dwellers are the disease carriers. If we wipe them out, the store will heal itself in no time at all. Plus, we’ll get loads of extra benefits from the Researcher. It’s a win, win if you ask me. Which you didn’t. But I’m very helpful, which is why you should’ve asked me.”
Despite Croc’s reassurances, I hesitated. “Is there any risk that you’ll catch the Blight if we go in here?”
“Aww…” Croc looked at me with tears welling in its eyes. “You really do care about me. No one has ever asked about my well-being before. Usually, it's ‘get away from me you hideous freak or I’ll set you on fire,’ or ‘can I use you as a meat shield?’ or ‘why don’t you step on the pressure plate and see what happens?’ But no one has ever asked if I would be okay.”
“Well, we're friends, aren’t we?” I replied, shifting uncomfortably.
“Yeah, yeah we are,” Croc agreed heartily and happily.
“What about me? Is there any I’ll catch it?” I asked. “Because earning some extra experience and loot is awesome, but it ain’t worth it if I’m gonna have to chop off my hand because it gets infected with Backrooms rabies.”
“I mean, the Blight is a disease,” the mimic dog said almost apologetically, “so of course it’s possible to contract it, but it’s pretty unlikely. I’ve seen loads of Delvers die—most of them in ways so horrific that it haunts the very recesses of my mind—but I’ve never lost one to the Blight. Instead of thinking about the Blight like a plague, maybe think about it like cancer. There are floors that are overrun with these self-aware tumors. Even spending a few minutes in those places can be deadly. But this high up, where the cancer hasn’t had a chance to metastasize, we’d have to be exposed for days or even weeks before seeing any signs of Blight infection.”
That made me feel better, but only a little. I was glad to hear that the Blight wasn’t Super Gonorrhea, but Super Cancer wasn’t much more comforting.
I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. “Alright,” I finally said, enchanted hammer in one hand, my demolition screwdriver in the other. I had a Healing Elixir and a Mana Elixir ready to go and the Slammer of Shielding in my pocket in case things went south. I was never gonna be more ready than this. “Stay close. Stay quiet. Let’s see if we can get the jump on whatever’s inside.”
I padded forward and the doors slid open with a soft whoosh, followed by an automated chime that rang through the store, instantly altering anything lurking within to our presence.
So much for the stealthy approach…
Immediately, I caught a rustle of fabric and a flash of movement down one of the aisles, but when I turned to get a proper look, the Dweller was already gone. As Croc crossed the threshold behind me, the glass doors slid shut again and my Sixth Sense screamed a warning at me.
“Get down!” I bellowed, throwing myself flat against the linoleum floor as something sliced through where I’d been standing a moment before. Croc followed suit, moving just a split second behind me. I glanced up over one shoulder and saw a gleaming saw blade protruding from the wall behind the checkout counter. The disk, as big as a truck tire, still quivered and vibrated. I scrambled to my knees, searching for the source of the blade, but didn’t see anything.
I was sure it was a trap and not an attack, otherwise my Spelunker’s Sixth Sense wouldn’t have given me a heads up at all. I’d tested that out extensively during our grind through the mall, and it seemed that the preternatural sense—as glorious as it was—had a few hard and fast limitations. Given the sheer variety of skills and abilities I’d seen so far, I had no doubt that a skill similar to Spelunker’s Sixth Sense, but designed specifically for battle, probably existed.
The two skills might even have a certain degree of Synergy, though combining them would be impossible, given that my ability had already been Fully Tempered—meaning it could be advanced no further.
Dismissing the thought, I pulled myself from the floor and looked toward Croc.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Never felt better,” the mimic replied chipperly. I glanced to the floor and saw that the blade had sheared cleanly through its rubber tail. Golden ichor leaked from the stump and the tail quickly reverted to pale blue flesh.
I cocked an eyebrow and pointed at the missing limb.
“No worries, it’s just a flesh wound,” the dog said, shrugging rubbery shoulders. Without missing a beat, Croc turned around and huge fleshy tentacles exploded from its maw, quickly consuming the missing piece of meat. Before long, the tail sprouted from the bloody stump and no sign of injury remained. Gross, but I couldn’t argue with the results.
“Keep close,” I said, deciding not to comment on the disturbing display of self-cannibalism. “If there was one trap, there’s bound to be others.”
Turning away from Croc, I scanned the area behind the checkout counters, making sure there was nothing lying in wait. I didn’t want something coming at me from behind if it could be helped. The space was clear, but for some reason that only ratcheted up the tension building inside my chest.
Everything about the Backrooms was disturbing, but something about this place in particular seemed to get under my skin, sending jolts of fear and uncertainty creeping through my mind. I tried, unsuccessfully, to shake the feeling off as I headed deeper into the store. Instead of picking any individual aisle at random, I moved across the front of the store, staring down each aisle in turn, assessing the situation and searching for any obvious threats.
As I got further and further away from the doors, the lights overhead began to flicker and strobe, as though angry about our intrusion, and a low, inhuman moan sounded over the internal PA system. Undercutting the moan was the rough growl of static and the labored, wet sound of heavy breathing. Then the PA cut off with a clatter, banishing the sound, though that was cold comfort.
I finally made it to the photo development counter.
It sat in the corner next to the rows of refrigerated coolers, which took up the wall furthest from the entry. The interior fridge lights sporadically flashed on and off, but it was the deep pool of inky darkness behind the photo counter that left my skin crawling. That darkness seemed to stretch on forever and though I couldn’t see anyone, my gut told me there was something in there, watching us. Or maybe it was photos hanging above the counters that set my teeth on edge.
A variety of framed pictures showcased happy, smiling families. Except someone had methodically gone through and gouged out the eyes of every single person in each one of the photos. Something clicked deep within the gloom and the sound of a movie reel kicked up as a rectangular cube of light bloomed within the dark. It was a movie screen, and I figured the click had been someone turning on one of those ol’ timey home movie reels—the kind they might’ve had back in the late 70s or early-80s.
I watched, entranced, as the grainy movie played out and a family of four—a husband and wife along with their two children—enthusiastically ripped open a pile of presents gathered around the base of a brightly lit Christmas tree. There was no sound to the movie, other than the steady flick-flick-flick of the movie reel itself, but if I strained my ears, I could almost hear distant laughter and the sound of tearing wrapping paper.
A gentle numbness crept through my body as I watched, swaying slightly on my feet, but I couldn’t seem to muster the will to care. I felt sleepy. Happy. Warm. Like it was me sitting cross-legged by the tree, soaking up the heat emanating from the fireplace. In fact, I could feel that heat against my back—so comforting and inviting.
On the screen, the reel skipped, and for a second the images changed, but I couldn’t quite make out what had happened.
But it didn’t matter.
The movie quickly resumed and now the kids were ripping at the presents with an almost inhuman fervor. Bright red pieces of paper sprayed up into the air and the parents laughed wildly, but there was a manic look in their eyes now and it seemed more and more like they weren’t laughing but screaming. Still, I watched, unmoving. The heat from the fire and the icy numbness of detachment warred for superiority inside my body.
I heard a clatter that might’ve been broken glass, but the sounds seemed so distant and unimportant. Now the blaring sound of the silent movie filled my head completely. The frantic, desperate, ravenous tearing thundered in my ears like a beating heart, but it didn’t sound like paper ripping. The noise had morphed, and now it sounded wet and meaty somehow. The image flickered out of focus again, and pale white static momentarily took its place. Those ghostly flashes of black and white seemed to draw me in, deeper, and deeper.
Without a thought in my head, I found my feet shuffling forward, toward the photo counter.
The movie reappeared as I slipped past the swinging gate and behind the service counter. Except now the movie was no longer a projected rectangle of light at all. I was inside the living room. I could see the tree. The fireplace. The people. It was so real, I felt like I could walk right up and join them. A sleepy smile spread across my face, until I turned my eyes back to the little boy, frantically shredding his presents. The red-wrapped package was gone and the little boy had changed in the space of seconds.
He had deathly pale skin, faded black hair, and long spidery fingers that ripped through the guts of his screaming sister. The bits of wrapping paper fluttering up were actual thick droplets of blood and pieces of creamy skin. The ripping stopped abruptly, and the boy’s eyes shot up, locking onto me as a thin grin stretched across his narrow face.
Something clicked inside my head and a notification fluttered in the air above the boy.
Dweller 0.375B – Photophage (Blighted) [Level 7]
Prepare to have your grit tested 'cause these monstrosities have a taste for the stupid and weak-willed. FYI, if you’re seeing this, that probably means you.
The Photophage is a grotesque abomination spawned from the crushing loneliness of human memories. They take up residence in those treasured family photos and old home movies, turning your nostalgic mementos into a twisted nightmare game. One minute you're reminiscing, and the next you’re paralyzed in terror as a long-legged horror descends on you like an avalanche of tearing teeth and shredding claws.
Maybe this is a metaphor for why it’s important to live in the present.
Or maybe it’s just literally a bloodthirsty monster that is going to rip your face off.
Either way, you’re fucked.
With lightning-fast speed and freakish dexterity, the Photophage disembowels their paralyzed victims, reveling in sadistic glee as it crunches through bones and feasts on fleshy morsels. Although not particularly strong, Photophages have a host of illusionary tricks and psychic attacks capable of deceiving your senses and distorting the world around you. If you get snared in their hypnotic spell, pray for a quick death, but know that you probably won’t get one. These things really like to draw it out…
Revulsion and horror washed through me as the prompt disappeared. Thanks to Researcher’s Codex, I now knew what I was up against and how to stop it. But it didn’t really matter because, try as I might, I couldn’t break through whatever hypnotic spell had been cast over me.
The boy, who now had impossibly long arms and legs, straddled his dying sister and started slowly advancing on me. I tried to cast Bleach Bolt, but the numbness invading my body kept the limb firmly at my side.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…
I was going to die, I realized like a punch to the stomach—
Then something painful latched onto my calf like the jagged, iron teeth of a beartrap snapping closed. Pain, sharp and clear, flooded through me and I blinked several times, as though waking up from a particularly terrible dream. I shook my head and glanced down. A tubular tentacle was attached to my leg, sawing through the thick denim of my pants.
The tube protruded from Croc’s canine mouth.
When the mimic saw that I’d finally come to my senses, the tentacle withdrew, revealing a circular maw that reminded me of a lamprey. Sound crashed over me next. Screams echoed in the air accompanied by the crackle of flames as one section of shelving burned like a bonfire. My bathrobe was singed and one of the sleeves was charred, as though it had been on fire not long before. Was that the heat I’d been feeling? Had some asshole set me on fire?
“Psychic attack!” Croc growled, spinning away from me to deal with some other, unseen threat.
The store had gone completely dark, except for the light cast by the blaze. There were flashes of movement in the shadows beyond the furthest edge of the flames. Dwellers. Lots of ’em from the look of things, though I couldn’t get a clear look at what we were up against.
But I didn’t have time to deal with that.
The pale-skinned boy with the ghoulishly long limbs from the movie was almost on top of me. His dark hair hung limply across a gaunt skull-like head, and his lower jaw had unhinged, revealing a fang-filled mouth large enough to devour my entire upper body.
The kid let out an undulating screech and leapt at me, clawed fingers ready to tear out my throat.
