Winter Doldrums

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George S. Larson

 

       The air was foggy, so much so I was barely able to see my hand before my eyes. The mist surrounding me was dense and the heat added to my pleasurable experience. I took the highest seat, my favorite and I was alone. The solitude was thoroughly enjoyable, something I truly craved. I could let my imagination wander and reign freely. The only sounds I heard were the occasional chatterings of the overhead pipes. And the faint, slow dripping of water. The experience was sheer bliss.

       I have come here about twice a week for the past couple of years. More so, if I could get away with it, especially in winter. Winter was always dark, gloomy, and cold, nothing unusual for Chicago weather this time of the year. The darkness in the city was depressing, and I suffered seasonal affective disorder like other Chicagoans. Sad to say, but my visits helped me through the long spate of dismal days. They kept me balanced so I would not fall into a deep depression I could not easily climb out of. The steam bath was my salvation, my way of dealing with things outside my control. God, how much longer to Spring? I knew the answer since it was only December, with more months of snow, sleet and rain until the season turned for the better.

***

       The ice and sleet caught up with me as I walked up the steps of the CTA station. It happened quickly as I slipped on a sheet of black ice. I fell hard, breaking my fall but still hitting my head on a stairstep. I was woozy, trying to maintain consciousness. Fortunately, a transit authority worker noticed my mishap and dialed 911. My two-day stay in the hospital consisted of tests, poking and prodding, trying my best to get a little sleep amid the chaos. I could not get a decent night’s sleep to save my soul. Afterward, I was discharged with a diagnosis of having sustained a concussion. Moreover, the docs claimed I exhibited signs of neuropathy, a condition which caused me to lose my balance. It was post-accident, so it would help with the slip and fall case I was going to file against the CTA. I would need a savvy lawyer, one who was able to bend the law in my favor. Luckily, there was no dearth of them in this city.

       I was now having periodic migraine headaches, something I had never experienced before. Moreover, I would black out for short periods of time, two other points for my lawyer to argue for a big payout. I had an MRI to determine whether the cause of my neurological issues could be found. Nope, no signs of malignancy or other diseases known to man. According to the flippant technician, the test did confirm I had a brain. That was at least something, I guess.

       With the two weeks’ sick leave from my employer, I frequented the steam bath for a couple of hours every day. The steam seemed to help with my headaches, and it certainly cleared my sinuses. The bath was often empty, so I typically had it all to myself. But not on this day. Two people entered the steam room soon after me. I was sitting high on the top tier, my usual spot. I could not see them nor they me, given the heavy fog of steam. That was just as well because I value my privacy. Not that I care about modesty, but I simply felt more comfortable being alone. The only lights in the room were at ground level to aid people as they moved about. Other than that, the place was dark as the Black Hole of Calcutta, if that were possible.

       I could not hear their conversation clearly given the distance and the noises from the old pipes clattering away overhead. I was not really that interested except the way they spoke was odd, sounding a little like gibberish but with English words thrown into the mix. Just perhaps they were foreigners. That would explain things. I vaguely saw the door to the room open and then close. But what I most noticed about the pair was the musky scent they left behind. It was a remarkable odor which lasted long after they departed. I could not place it.

***

        A large pall had fallen over the city and not just because of the miserable weather. WGN news had carried the story of the second death of a homeless person in the Loop. It was a strange one yet intriguing. The two men had been living outdoors despite the bitterly freezing weather. According to the broadcast, their bodies were located four blocks apart. And there seemed to be no connection between the two. That was not really news. The odd part of the story was that both bodies were desiccated as though something had pulled the fluids from their bodies. There were sucker marks on each body, each with large O shapes. It was as if their bodies were freeze-dried with every ounce of liquid drawn from them. Jesus, what a way to go.      The reporter noted that the bodies had suffered predation, most probably the bites of rats or feral cats.

        I was now back at work although my sympathetic boss cut me a little slack, so I was able to go to the steam bath with at least some regularity. It was only about a block and a half from my workplace on Wabash. The bath was one of the oldest still operating. Built at the turn of the last century, it was beautifully tiled in mosaic patterns. Despite its age, it still maintained its dignity although a little down-at-the heels as someone might suggest. No matter. I still loved the place. After the steam, one could go to the next room where a cold bath finished the process. Well, if you could afford the cost, a massage therapist waited in the furthest room.

       The city was panicking with the news of the two deaths. Speculations ran rampant as to what caused them. One of the prevailing theories was a mutation, a mutant had killed them given the very strange circumstances. Too many Chicagoans remembered the creatures caught offshore in Lake Michigan, all related to the toxic effluence from the Chicago River. Examples included fish with two heads. Fish with no eyes and more gruesome examples of the effects of long-term pollution on the environment. Beavers with no front paws or tails. Could there be a connection between the deaths and what happened to the fish and wildlife?

       Like everyone else, I wondered about the deaths, too.

       I was now using a cane, plodding through the ice and snow between my office and the steam bath. My blackouts were becoming more frequent, losing minutes of sensate awareness. I worried about my health but looked forward to reaping my just reward with the lawsuit filed against the CTA. Those bastards would pay for my painful travails.

***

       I was sitting in my usual place at the bath when the two foreigners arrived. The same ones from before. I was now intently trying to hear what they said, an eavesdropper on their conversation. Although their language proficiency was terribly limited, I was able to comprehend certain words they used, even though those words were not entirely clear to me. But I clearly heard the words: humankind, sustenance, feeding, and humans mentioned. I could not believe what they were inferring! What to do? My first thought was to call the cops and tell them what I heard. Oh sure, tell them about the vague words and nothing more. They would laugh when they found out about my medical condition. No, I needed more evidence to bolster my claim. I would follow them to see exactly what they were up to. If nothing, no harm, no foul, just a hairbrained goose chase.

       They left and I got down from my perch. As I exited the room, I slipped, just barely keeping my balance. There was something slippery on the floor, a viscous substance of some kind adhering to my feet. The musky smell was now overwhelming and my mind reeled at the stench.

       Following them was easy. The musky smell was one telltale sign I was on the right track. The other thing was more alarming. It was the slime which congealed over the ice and snow making my job of tailing them much easier. They were heading west and I was determined to find out what they were up to. After about nine blocks of difficult walking, I could see them in the distance. As I got closer, I could make out the wastewater treatment plant. That was their destination. I suspected they were home.

       We could now see each other and what I saw shocked me to my very core. They were not human in the slightest. But what were they? Their bodies glistened as I saw both slither up the chain-link fence. My God, they resembled large grubs, no, slugs with large capacious mouths formed in an O shape. The horrific sight chilled me. As they climbed the fence, one turned to me twitching its feelers as if to say I see you too. It then left a slick coating of slime on the fence, a thick mucus path marking its territory. The sight of the creatures left me so shocked that I lost consciousness, my mind staggering in disbelief. But they were real and really disgusting. Slugs, gigantic slimy slugs.

        The next thing I remember is sitting in my favorite spot in the bath. The door opened and then I glimpsed them staring in my direction. They slowly slithered towards me, inching ever closer. They made soft mewling sounds like hungry creatures as they crawled towards my direction. I could not yell for help because no one could hear me. They had now reached the top tier, moving almost silently, stealthily towards me. I could now see their rapacious maws open wide in ghastly O shapes. Oh God, I screamed and as I did, I blacked out once again.

***

       The two attendants came to my aid. One said “Hey mister wake up! You have been here for over an hour at 130 degrees temperature. The maximum time is twenty minutes, tops. Lucky you did not end up as a steamed lobster,” he admonished.

       I gradually came out of my torpor, shaking off the fear I had experienced. It was just a dream and nothing more. My unfettered imaginings had once again come to the fore. There was no slip and fall and no lawsuit. Certainly, no shapeshifting slugs, terrorizing people in Chicago. That was patently absurd. Yet the unsolved murders of the two homeless men still gripped the city.

       As I dressed to brave the frigid weather once again, I remembered the smell of the attendants’ cologne. A powerful musky scent filled the air, impossible to ignore.

​

        George Larson is a retired special agent with the US Department of State, Diplomatic Security Service. He has written eight novels (DICK AVERY ADVENTURE STORIES) and sixteen short horror stories, many which have appeared in print or have been podcasted. He holds a BA in English.

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       Hillary Lyon founded and for 20 years acted as senior editor for the independent poetry publisher, Subsynchronous Press. Her horror, speculative fiction, and crime short stories, drabbles, and poems have appeared in more than 150 publications. She's an SFPA Rhysling Award nominated poet. Hillary is also the art director for Black Petals.