Cry For Help

     "Greetings, Creepy Connoisseurs!  Hiram Worth here, speaking to you from the cavernous depths of the old Grand Palace Theatre in Detroit, Michigan!  I'm down in the lower basement of the building.  You're welcome to join me, just watch out for that..heh! heh!... infamous third step!  Also, you may want to put on a pair of wader boots as the rain water level down here is around 3 feet.   Don't mind the floating rat carcass.....It can't hurt you!  Oh, you say you'll wait at the top of the steps ?  That's fine, I'll be right there...!
       Ah....That's better....Now where were we ?  Yes, that's right, tonight's presentation!  Let's move along down the hall here and through the main lobby.  Pardon the dust, but recall that this place has not been operational for the past several decades!  Just follow my flashlight into the main area of the theatre.  The curtain has already been drawn back and the rusty projector is beginning to flicker onto the worn screen.  Please take your seat.....
     Our feature tale concerns a man named Herbert Stoefer, or 'Helpful Herbert' as some called him.  You see, Herbert believed in assisting those on the lowest rungs of our society's ladder, specifically stray animals and vagrants.  Their whimpers and heart breaking sobs drew this big hearted lad into some rather precarious positions including dry wells, vacant buildings and open sewer drains.  But Herbert got quite a surprise when he harkened to a most unusual......
                           Cry For Help

     The gray kitten's fur was matted and oily as Herbert stroked her shaking form with compassion.  "There you go, sweetie", he soothed while removing her gently from the trash bin.  "Lucky I got to you when I did, 'cause tomorrow's trash day!"  As an inner city resident, the young man regularly made evening rounds through the streets and back alleys of his area in search of both two and four legged needy beings.  At least twice a week, he came across the heartbreaking sight of puppies or kittens that had been tossed into the trash like so much garbage or similarly abandoned by their thoughtless owners.  In most cases, Herbert heard their pitiful cries before actually seeing the animals.  Many times, the same was true for the down and out people he aided.  Just last Summer, he heard the thirst driven screams of a nearly newborn baby as it called out from a vacant tenement.  Gaining access to the unspeakably filthy room via an open basement window, Herbert rescued the infant from certain death in an otherwise cruel world.  The local paper called him a 'hero', a title which he humbly shrugged off with a chuckle.
     Just one week previous, Herbert had found a collie puppy whimpering softly in the back seat of an abandoned car.  The vehicle had been stolen hours before by local thugs who had left the dog with the stripped hulk.   The eventual reunion between grateful owner and trembling puppy was enough to bring a tear to anyone's eye.  
     Walking up Burnside Avenue, Herbert stepped into the local drug store to buy milk and a small box of cat food for the kitten.  
Upon completing the purchase (and leaving a pleasant smile on the face of the clerk), he returned to his small apartment and gave a reluctant 'Boots' what may have been her first bath.  Late, the lad was surprised to see that she had consumed the entire half pint of milk in under 3 minutes time.  "You really WERE thirsty!", he cooed at his new friend.  "Well, I'll leave you here for now and head back to Sam's drug store to get you more....."  It was then that Herbert realized that Sam's closed only minutes ago and that he would need to take a longer walk to the all night gas station several blocks in the other direction.  In and of itself, this was not a bad thing as it gave Herbert a chance to walk through a section of town he had not visited for some time.  The young man strolled past the homeless shelter where he had donated countless hours of charitable service.  Several of the residents assembled outside greeted him with high fives and smiles of gratitude.  Herbert continued across the railroad tracks and down Peterson Drive.  
     While passing by a building in between Pine and Snelling Streets, he heard a disturbing sound emitting from a building which he had never seen before.  The pitiful groan was muffled and pained.  No doubt, a vagrant had fallen down in the hazardous building and injured himself.  Gazing upon the structure itself, Herbert felt a sense of apprehension rising in his heart.  The front yard sign which once advertised its purpose had long since been smashed away by neighborhood vandals.  Warped, rain soaked plywood covered the double front doors.  Yellowed newspapers, fast food wrappings and dried leaves laid several inches thick across the front of the building.  The rusted metal gratings that once covered the twin front windows had been long since pried open, and over half of the aluminum siding had been stripped away.  Gang related graffiti of every style covered the front side of the old structure.  The sound of the groan came forth once more in a desperate, garbled plea for assistance.  Nervously, Herbert decided to step up and do what he could to help the owner of the voice trapped in the old structure.
     Finding a discarded milk crate, the young man stood atop it and boosted himself into the building through the open window on the West side.  Upon entering the deserted abode, his nostrils were immediately assaulted by a stench that seemed to combine mildew, rotten wood, garbage and stale urine into a 'cocktail' of foul odor.  Coughing, Herbert withdrew his cell phone and used the small light to guide his way forward.  Faded cranberry carpeting littered with pieces of broken plaster and trash of all sorts was what he saw beneath his feet while broken foam ceiling tiles and wires hung down like stalactites from above. The wallpaper in the building's front section appeared to have originally been a formal floral design of some sort, but years of mold and water damage obscured it to a great degree.  
     The groaning now grew more intense as the party in need realized that help was on the way.  Moving slowly forward with only a thin beam of light to guide his way, Herbert stepped around a large couch that was probably a shade of light cream at one time.   A crunching sound beneath his feet was made as he stepped over several pounds worth of discarded papers and envelopes.  Some rumpled old clothing sat in a pile near the center of the floor along with an old pair of sneakers.  Reflectively, he wondered what type of function this building served in former days as he walked toward the sounds of the person in need.  Perhaps it had been a fraternal lodge, union hall or museum of some sort.  He pondered if the structure may yet contain objects valuable to the town's history while continuing on uncertainly.  
     The wordless pleas seemed to be coming from a room just to the left of the building's main section.  Turning into the uncertain area, Herbert gazed forward as far as the light from his tiny phone would allow.  A few broken chairs and pieces of debris and papers were all he could find as the beam of light faded into the blackness.  "Um....Hello...??", he spoke in a tone that wavered slightly.  The groaning sounded positively desperate at this point and Herbert feared the utterer may be in serious pain if not near death.  "Hang on....where are you....?   I'll call 9-11, don't worry, everything is going to be ok."  Just as he dialed the first digit, Herbert's eyes were drawn toward a small white business card lying amidst the general filth and grime of the floor.  Retrieving it, the curious young man brushed off the dust and read from the embossed lettering:   "Krazlowski....Funeral...Home...."  His whispered voice trailed off fearfully as he heard the sound of shuffling feet moving toward his position.  It was then that the groaning occupant of the building ambled into the faint light of Herbert's cell phone.
     A bloated face blackened by the effects of decay appeared like an evil full moon.  Bits of flesh had rotted away leaving sections of its yellowed jaw bone visible.  The remains of a moth eaten, mildew encrusted funeral suit clung to its chubby frame, and clumps of matted grayish-white hair jutted out of its scalp.  Green flies circled the undead monster's head humming a symphony of death.  Herbert's eyes opened in pure terror as the gourd-like face leaned down toward his own.  Just as his own mouth opened in a panic stricken silent scream, the creature's mouth opened up as well displaying several misshapen teeth that dripped with green slime reminiscent of the leakage from a defective septic tank.  
     The creature bit into Herbert's face savagely, tearing out a piece of his right cheek.  Before he could even muster a yell, the undead attacker followed up his first bite with a bloody chomp to the young man's throat.  As Herbert's life blood gushed forth onto the floor of the abandoned mortuary, the last sight he saw was the face of the decomposed beast bearing down on his forehead.  

     "Heh! Heh!  Well, at least ol' inquisitive Herbert found out the function of the building before he died!  After years of supplying food for  the needy, who would have guessed that his last act on Earth would be the feeding of a hungry ghoul ??  Talk about 'giving of oneself', eh ??  A pity our hero didn't first explore the funeral chapel to the RIGHT of the home's main hallway.  There, he would have found the bones of the business owner and his assistant.  You see, the pair were the ghoul's FIRST victims just as the ghoul was the Krazlowski's last ....heh! heh!.....'guest of honor' in the funeral business !
     Just remember this tale the next time you're walking home late from a party and you hear a groaning sound from a darkened structure.  My advice to you:  Run!!!!  
     I hope you've enjoyed the tale, fear fans!  Watch your step while exiting the Grand Palace Theatre and safe driving (or walking!) home, now!  Ciao!!