The bloody water swirled around the drain like a red vortex. There would be a loud clink every time a piece of glass dropped into the porcelain sink, and then it would be swept up by the Crimson current down the Hall. I felt the chill rundown from the back of my neck to the bottom of my spine every time I used the tweezers to pull out a Shard. The sink was running hot water, open next to it was the first aid kit I had found in one of the back offices. I drowned the wounds with disinfectant. When I was done I wrapped my hands as tightly as I could with the gauze and bandages. I help them out in front of the mirror, I looked like a street brawler from extensively gritty 80s beat-em-up, or maybe a character from an arcade fighter.

When I was all fixed up, I left the dilapidated public restroom, with broken green tiles, and went into the rest of them all.

I waited, I'm waiting and I will wait. I had decided to stay here even if it took days or even weeks. This voice had been drilling itself into my skull for awhile now, I was going to have it out with it even if I had to starve myself to death in this abandoned mall. That's what I told myself anyway, of course the truth was even if I wanted to leave I couldn't.

I walked around. I tried to make out the advertisements under the layer of muck . I wiped away some of it with my sleeve, I saw a calculatedly diverse group of people in suits. And then baking : financing your future.

I looked through the holes where the storefronts used to be. I saw the scattered remains of what they used to sell . I picked up one of the decaying widgets. It was a blender; 12 different modes, only 39.99. Somebody worked all day in a factory to make this shit , somebody else worked all day in a different factory to build this shit, putting all the components together. Now years later, both of these people are probably dead and I'm holding the sweat of their brow, in an abandoned decaying place. If I was a philosopher or a poet I could probably render some significance out of it, but I'm a pragmatist by nature.

A stream of water came down from the ceiling. It came down to form a large pool, or miniature Lake, and one of the main plazas or intersections hallway. I didn't drink from it, it had a strange smell. All the plumbing seemed to be working so it wasn't necessary, and for all I knew it had a flesh eating virus. Bad status effect.

I occupied my time with experimentation. I spray painted a red X on the ground where I had seen the last several balls drop. I dragged one of plastic mannequins out from one of those trendy clothes shops, the ones that are so thick with body spray and perfume you could hide a dead body in there for weeks and it wouldn't be discovered, not to mention they are dark and there's always fucking idiotic music playing so you could probably kill somebody in there too, anyway I took one of those mannequins and placed it on the red X. I looked up to the fluorescent light pouring in from the broken window in the ceiling. I looked over in front of me, where there was another broken window, also with a fluorescent void outside. I took a deep breath and as hard as I could chucked the Bowie knife I was holding, I had gotten it from the sporting goods place. I quickly moved away from the mannequin and before I saw anything I heard a loud thwack. I looked at the plastic hipster and saw the Bowie knife sticking out of its head. X marks the spot.

I foraged for food. There wasn't much left and any of the restaurants in the food court , so I resorted to busting open vending machines with chairs. That lasted me for a little bit but man cannot live on junk food alone period When the days turned into weeks I got too tired and hungry and sat back down on the bench.

sometimes I would drift off but then I would always wake up with intense hunger pains. Even before I started starving I had trouble sleeping. There was no day night cycle in this place threw off my internal Meridian Clock, or whatever it's called and I couldn't get any sleep. Always fluorescent light.

I stared just ahead of me . I focused on my breathing period I focused on the way my air felt coming in and out of me. Inhale, exhale.

And that when the static came to me.

Next thing I know, I was either up somebody's asshole or in a swamp. The air was sultry, the ground was damp, and I couldn't see shit (but I could smell it).

I stumbled up. The ground squished under my feet. I tried to breath but gagged on the poop-air. I pulled my T-shirt over my face. I tried to look around, but like I said, it was too dark. I could hear plenty though. I heard the cawing of birds. I also heard crunching of footsteps and growling. It sounded like that jungle sounds CD my mom would play to make me fall asleep. She stopped playing it because I kept having nightmares of being lost in the jungle at night. Actually, where ever the hell I was, was a lot like those nightmares.

I just stood there for a bit and waited for my eyes to adjust. After awhile, I could just barley make out shapes. Yellow, orange and blue light filtered through, somewhere in the distance the shapes were large, slow, and lumbering. I swear I could feel their hot breath on my face.

I felt the vibrations before I heard the foot steps. Some thing was moving towards me, something big. I looked up to see a pair of eyes. The thing growled and I saw a row of pearly whites.

I heard thunder in the distance.

"Ward," a voice said. It sounded like it was coming from inside my head.

"Who's that?" I asked.

"I've gone by many names," the things said. It's teeth moved but the eyes stared at me, unblinking. "Your ancestors huddled around fires and fear what was just beyond the lights reach. I am that fear. They pushed the horizon, but were afraid of what lurked in the depths. I am that fear. Their children sleep in their beds, but are frightened of waits beneath them. I am that fear."

It's warm, meaty breath blew against my face.

"What's one of your names?" I said.

I heard the thunder clap again, closer this time.

"The Mesopotamians called me Humbaba," it said. "The Greeks called me the Hundred-Handed one. I show up in many of your stories. I am the dragon, the beast. But you? I smell your blood, the blood of an Englishman. You can call me what your forefathers labeled me. Grendel."

Grendel. Just the name sends shivers down my spine. Of all the monsters, of all the stories my mother read to me, Grendel always scared me the most. The book had these colorful illustrations. All the other monsters were like dragons or something, typical stuff. So alien it didn't feel real. But the drawing of Grendel was basically this big, naked hairy dude, with long matted hair and sick yellow skin. The drawing had these big owl eyes which looked fucked up on a human face. It was just close enough to reality and yet at the same time really off. Anyway, it scared the shit out of me as a kid.

Suddenly there was the flash of lightening. For a second the dark swamp was lit up. I saw the thing that called itself Grendel. It looked like the drawing come to life. It looked down at me and smiled.

I bolted while screaming and crying. I ran as fast as I could, without worrying about seeing where I was going. When I used to have nightmares as a kid, sometimes if I ran fast enough I could, like, run out of the dream.

I tripped on a branch and before I fell face first, I woke up.