I stumbled out of bed and swatted the alarm clock off my bureau in a frenzy, cracking the screen against the wall. The red glow of the numbers vanished in an instant, leaving me with absolute darkness hovering over my house. From the window, I saw rows of homes perched along the lower reaches of the town for miles, black and silent.
A pale orb hung low above us, as though the moon had crept a little closer in my sleep.
My cell lay dead on its charger. My alarm clock had used a battery backup.
The alarm had been set for 3 PM.
Pieces of an impossible puzzle began to fit themselves together in my groggy brain. I grabbed my jacket and rushed into the silence of the afternoon night, flitting from door to door with no response. A few hung open, and I ventured inside to find tables set for breakfast and clothing strewn across bedroom floors, as though the town had packed a hasty bag and fled.
Everybody had evacuated, and nobody had thought to tell little old me.
And, as I stood alone in the middle of the empty Main Street, cursing neighbors I couldn't name and pondering my options, it occurred to me at last to wonder why they had vanished. I gazed up at the pale orb hanging in the sky, and I realized it had moved...
And the giant, looming eyeball focused square on me.
Friday, April 21, 2017
Friday, April 7, 2017
[#077] The Bottle and the Glass
I remember the last time I saw my grandmother without red hair.
She was turning 77 and I had driven two hundred miles to see her. It was the least I could do for the woman who'd held my hand at my father's funeral and then fed me for more than half my life. The scent of fresh-baked cookies greeted me in the hall, and the sight of her lying face down on a persian rug greeted me in the den.
Grandma didn't wake for two weeks. I still remember the night my aunt called to tell me Grandma had changed. She never rose from the rocking chair in her bedroom. She never made a sound, except to cry when left alone. She didn't seem to recognize her own name, and...
And Grandma refused to step inside the den.
Twelve years in that house and I'd never really adjusted to the den myself. It lay at the center of the house, beset on every side by another room. The only natural illumination came from a creepy, frosted skylight stretched across the entire ceiling. She would often sit in there for hours drinking wine and reading to herself in a whisper, just loud enough to hear from the hallway between the incessant ticking and tocking of her clock collection. She would sometimes sit up long past my bedtime, and I would venture through the wall of sound the following day to collect the glasses and bottles she forgot.
I returned on Christmas for the gathering.
Her hair had fallen gray and dry, damaged from decades of dye I had never realized she was using. She looked so frail and lifeless without her shiny red crown, a life-sized doll hunched over in my grandmother's chair. This year's family get-together was a big one, as so many distant cousins I had only met through Facebook came to see what became of Grandma. She was the one link to a huge arm of our family descended from her long-passed sister, and I balled my fists as the ingrates polished ham and potatoes off her finest china and chattered about the tragedy of her imminent demise every time my auntie led her from the room.
The guests had gone by ten, leaving Grandma to my aunt and the mess to myself. As I wandered through the house collecting plates and wadded napkins, I paused outside the entrance to the den. Not one person from the party had stepped inside, and indeed many of them had complained about the volume of the clocks even through the closed door.
Why, then, was the door now open?
A glance behind my shoulder saw my grandmother's shadow at the end of the hall. My aunt's voice floated gently through the air besieged by ticking, and I couldn't make out anything but the words "--to bed."
Heavy clouds of snow and winter coated the moon that night. No light poured through the ceiling, and shadows drenched the tiny room. As I squinted, I could just make out the tell-tale shape of a bottle on the end table inside. A glass with a tall stem, her favorite glass, stood next to it, half-full of ruddy liquid.
And just above the top of the chair, turned deliberately away from the door, I caught a glimpse of a wisp of scarlet hair.
I grinned and shut the door. Maybe next time I'll sit with you, I thought.
The bottle and the glass waited for me the next morning.
She was turning 77 and I had driven two hundred miles to see her. It was the least I could do for the woman who'd held my hand at my father's funeral and then fed me for more than half my life. The scent of fresh-baked cookies greeted me in the hall, and the sight of her lying face down on a persian rug greeted me in the den.
Grandma didn't wake for two weeks. I still remember the night my aunt called to tell me Grandma had changed. She never rose from the rocking chair in her bedroom. She never made a sound, except to cry when left alone. She didn't seem to recognize her own name, and...
And Grandma refused to step inside the den.
Twelve years in that house and I'd never really adjusted to the den myself. It lay at the center of the house, beset on every side by another room. The only natural illumination came from a creepy, frosted skylight stretched across the entire ceiling. She would often sit in there for hours drinking wine and reading to herself in a whisper, just loud enough to hear from the hallway between the incessant ticking and tocking of her clock collection. She would sometimes sit up long past my bedtime, and I would venture through the wall of sound the following day to collect the glasses and bottles she forgot.
I returned on Christmas for the gathering.
Her hair had fallen gray and dry, damaged from decades of dye I had never realized she was using. She looked so frail and lifeless without her shiny red crown, a life-sized doll hunched over in my grandmother's chair. This year's family get-together was a big one, as so many distant cousins I had only met through Facebook came to see what became of Grandma. She was the one link to a huge arm of our family descended from her long-passed sister, and I balled my fists as the ingrates polished ham and potatoes off her finest china and chattered about the tragedy of her imminent demise every time my auntie led her from the room.
The guests had gone by ten, leaving Grandma to my aunt and the mess to myself. As I wandered through the house collecting plates and wadded napkins, I paused outside the entrance to the den. Not one person from the party had stepped inside, and indeed many of them had complained about the volume of the clocks even through the closed door.
Why, then, was the door now open?
A glance behind my shoulder saw my grandmother's shadow at the end of the hall. My aunt's voice floated gently through the air besieged by ticking, and I couldn't make out anything but the words "--to bed."
Heavy clouds of snow and winter coated the moon that night. No light poured through the ceiling, and shadows drenched the tiny room. As I squinted, I could just make out the tell-tale shape of a bottle on the end table inside. A glass with a tall stem, her favorite glass, stood next to it, half-full of ruddy liquid.
And just above the top of the chair, turned deliberately away from the door, I caught a glimpse of a wisp of scarlet hair.
I grinned and shut the door. Maybe next time I'll sit with you, I thought.
The bottle and the glass waited for me the next morning.
Friday, March 31, 2017
[#076] The Reliquary
Moonlight spilled through the endless rows outside, the wind rustling a path through the tall corn as I set the heavy pewter chest down in the porch light. My fingers traced the divine swirls and sprawls etched into the surface of the foot-long box as I listened to the night song falling quiet. The owls roosting in the barn hid. The coyotes howling through the distant trees fled, and the stars alone accompanied me as I undid the clasp and pulled up the lid.
Half a dozen mechanical children danced a circle around a fallen log. A bulbous gut hunched there, bordered by the arms and legs of a man and topped with the bristles and tusks of a boar. The monster drew its arms to the sky, to me as I watched, and opened its mouth in a noiseless laughter.
The wind ceased, and I gazed out at the rustling corn to watch Him emerge.
Half a dozen mechanical children danced a circle around a fallen log. A bulbous gut hunched there, bordered by the arms and legs of a man and topped with the bristles and tusks of a boar. The monster drew its arms to the sky, to me as I watched, and opened its mouth in a noiseless laughter.
The wind ceased, and I gazed out at the rustling corn to watch Him emerge.
Friday, March 24, 2017
[#075] Cleaning House
My pristine kitchen window framed a gorgeous golden-pink portrait of the sky as the sun dipped beneath the rolling farmlands to the west. I swiped a finger along the frame and admired Mrs. Mender's handiwork when it came up clean of dust. A month earlier the sill had harbored a streak of filth and insects I could never stand to touch myself, but all my problems had gone away since I let the maid into my life. Now the carpets were vacuumed, the sink was clear of dishes, and I could stand to look at the toilet for the first time in years. She even arranged my books!
I opened the cabinet for a mug to fill with fresh coffee. I sighed with happiness as my eyes played across the rows of unblemished ceramic and glass waiting to greet me. "Worth every penny," I said to myself.
Deep, brown liquid life flowed from the percolator, the glorious and bitter scent filling my heart with warmth. I sipped and sauntered down the dust-free hallway to the den, where my old dog lay panting on the floor beside the couch, nosing at the space beneath. The massive leather seat was much too heavy for Mrs. Mender, and so I couldn't be surprised if it still held a couple morsels I had dropped in my sloppy late night meals. It occurred me as I watched my chubby beagle try to crawl beneath the furniture that I should pull the couch out and finish the job myself.
After all, she had done so much for me. It would be a shame to leave such a blemish on my perfect home.
Setting my mug on the table, I wrapped my hands around the closest arm of the couch and pulled. It was heavier I remembered, or else the fabric caught on something held fast to the corner behind it. I leaned over to peer down the back, and a strange cry filled the air as I knelt on the cushion. Startled, I quickly leapt backward and tensed.
From beneath the couch arose a weak cry muffled by the overstuffed leather.
Adrenaline surged through me. My renewed strength strained against whatever fingers held the couch in place, and the muscles in my arm began to throb and ache. Giving it one last go, I shot forward and knocked the couch back to startle it from the grip of whatever lay beneath, and then I grabbed the side of the furniture and nearly rolled backwards with it.
The couch pulled away from the wall to reveal a shivering, yellowed mass of flesh drenched in the sweat of fear. I couldn't help myself but laugh as my dog dove on it, and the thing began to scream.
Living in a house of monsters isn't hard if you learn to handle them. You've got to show them you mean business, and you can't be afraid to break a few bones while you establish boundaries. Or while you spill a gallon of purple monster blood up and down the walls.
After all, if worst comes to worst, you can always hire a maid.
I opened the cabinet for a mug to fill with fresh coffee. I sighed with happiness as my eyes played across the rows of unblemished ceramic and glass waiting to greet me. "Worth every penny," I said to myself.
Deep, brown liquid life flowed from the percolator, the glorious and bitter scent filling my heart with warmth. I sipped and sauntered down the dust-free hallway to the den, where my old dog lay panting on the floor beside the couch, nosing at the space beneath. The massive leather seat was much too heavy for Mrs. Mender, and so I couldn't be surprised if it still held a couple morsels I had dropped in my sloppy late night meals. It occurred me as I watched my chubby beagle try to crawl beneath the furniture that I should pull the couch out and finish the job myself.
After all, she had done so much for me. It would be a shame to leave such a blemish on my perfect home.
Setting my mug on the table, I wrapped my hands around the closest arm of the couch and pulled. It was heavier I remembered, or else the fabric caught on something held fast to the corner behind it. I leaned over to peer down the back, and a strange cry filled the air as I knelt on the cushion. Startled, I quickly leapt backward and tensed.
From beneath the couch arose a weak cry muffled by the overstuffed leather.
Adrenaline surged through me. My renewed strength strained against whatever fingers held the couch in place, and the muscles in my arm began to throb and ache. Giving it one last go, I shot forward and knocked the couch back to startle it from the grip of whatever lay beneath, and then I grabbed the side of the furniture and nearly rolled backwards with it.
The couch pulled away from the wall to reveal a shivering, yellowed mass of flesh drenched in the sweat of fear. I couldn't help myself but laugh as my dog dove on it, and the thing began to scream.
Living in a house of monsters isn't hard if you learn to handle them. You've got to show them you mean business, and you can't be afraid to break a few bones while you establish boundaries. Or while you spill a gallon of purple monster blood up and down the walls.
After all, if worst comes to worst, you can always hire a maid.
Friday, March 17, 2017
[#074] I received a Presidential Alert on my phone this morning.
My
phone is always set to vibrate. Two things I do each night before I
head to bed are: A) Make sure the thing's plugged in to charge, and B)
Make sure the volume's set to zero, just in case someone from work tries
to call me. I couldn't even tell you what my ringtone sounds like. I
might have heard it once when I left my sound on by mistake.
So you can imagine my surprise when the loud buzz of the emergency alert system pierced the veil of sleep around 4:30 in the morning. It's a frightening sound by design, and I struggled to ignore it. We get an Amber Alert every year or so, but they're always so far from home I've never heard of the towns listed in them.
Nothing interesting like that ever happens in Summerdown Grove, so you grow to forget them if you can.
Fast forward a couple hours and I'm crawling out of bed to the sound of my neighbor pounding on my front door. He asked me if I got the message. He said everybody else on our block got it too, and nobody could get a straight answer from the cops. He was gathering people in the bomb shelter beneath his basement, as he put it, "just in case."
I slammed the door in his face and stumbled back to bed, picking up my phone on the way. The screen flipped on without a lock, my stormy wallpaper replaced with a black screen and a white text box labeled "PRESIDENTIAL ALERT."
It read:
"SMMRDWN GRV AREA: TAKE SHELTR IN BSMENT, DO NT OPN DOORS R ANSWR PHNE, TRST N ONE"
I don't have a basement, so I'm cowering under my bed and tapping this out on my shitty phone keyboard. It's hailing now and the power's out, but I can't hear anything else unusual. The neighbor called a couple times, but I just don't know what to think.
Especially since the alert was dated for tomorrow night...
So you can imagine my surprise when the loud buzz of the emergency alert system pierced the veil of sleep around 4:30 in the morning. It's a frightening sound by design, and I struggled to ignore it. We get an Amber Alert every year or so, but they're always so far from home I've never heard of the towns listed in them.
Nothing interesting like that ever happens in Summerdown Grove, so you grow to forget them if you can.
Fast forward a couple hours and I'm crawling out of bed to the sound of my neighbor pounding on my front door. He asked me if I got the message. He said everybody else on our block got it too, and nobody could get a straight answer from the cops. He was gathering people in the bomb shelter beneath his basement, as he put it, "just in case."
I slammed the door in his face and stumbled back to bed, picking up my phone on the way. The screen flipped on without a lock, my stormy wallpaper replaced with a black screen and a white text box labeled "PRESIDENTIAL ALERT."
It read:
"SMMRDWN GRV AREA: TAKE SHELTR IN BSMENT, DO NT OPN DOORS R ANSWR PHNE, TRST N ONE"
I don't have a basement, so I'm cowering under my bed and tapping this out on my shitty phone keyboard. It's hailing now and the power's out, but I can't hear anything else unusual. The neighbor called a couple times, but I just don't know what to think.
Especially since the alert was dated for tomorrow night...
Friday, March 10, 2017
[#073] Summers Past
The
familiar tune drifting through the evening air was a time machine,
pushing my tired brain back to June of 1986 when my friends and I ran
free along the sun-drenched streets of Summerdown Grove. Fresh from
school, the five of us had hit the road with slingshots and sneakers and
a compass in our heads that always pointed to adventure. We'd hiked the
edges of the forest and balanced on the rafters of the old rail car
factory, and once we'd even bolted screaming from the haunted house on
Medicine Row. We read comics under flashlights in tents beneath the
stars, and September loomed in the distance like a razor-fanged specter
waiting to rip the carpet out from under our feet.
And then the first day of school finally came, and Jacob didn't show.
We'd left him at the baseball diamond just a day before. Our mothers had booked our last weekend of freedom solid with trips for school supplies and doctor's visits. I was fourth to be picked up, and I remember waving sadly to Jacob while our station wagon pulled away from the park, just as the churning music of the ice cream truck emerged from the distance and I sighed as though my greatest problem that year was missing out on a strawberry shortcake bar.
That was the Saturday before school began. Though he still hadn't shown by the next Friday, a couple more weeks passed before I finally heard the word "kidnapped."
By June of 1988, I was alone. Lucas had disappeared the year between, and Brent's parents got scared and pulled up stakes. Michael's dad got a job in another state, and Travis simply drifted away from me. I hadn't thought of him until today, when a boy who vanished from my life thirty years ago grinned at me from the evening news, older and bearded and scarred.
Travis was missing. His wife had last seen him hiking out to the corner the night before to fetch a treat for his bed-ridden son... From the ice cream truck.
I stood with my eye to the peephole as the truck cruised down my street for the second time in ten minutes. It hadn't occurred to me before, but that day on the baseball diamond in 1986 was the last time I'd heard the cheery tune cranking from the speakers of that old, beat-up machine. Thirty years I'd gone without seeing or hearing it, and just tonight it came back.
A tiny hand print smudged across the truck's big, filthy window. The driver's side was tinted pitch black. The thing slowed to a crawl as it passed my house, then sped up again when it reached the neighbor's plot. It puttered along the rest of my street, all while cranking out that hideous song.
I racked the shotgun in my hands as the truck turned wide at the end of the block for a third run.
And then the first day of school finally came, and Jacob didn't show.
We'd left him at the baseball diamond just a day before. Our mothers had booked our last weekend of freedom solid with trips for school supplies and doctor's visits. I was fourth to be picked up, and I remember waving sadly to Jacob while our station wagon pulled away from the park, just as the churning music of the ice cream truck emerged from the distance and I sighed as though my greatest problem that year was missing out on a strawberry shortcake bar.
That was the Saturday before school began. Though he still hadn't shown by the next Friday, a couple more weeks passed before I finally heard the word "kidnapped."
By June of 1988, I was alone. Lucas had disappeared the year between, and Brent's parents got scared and pulled up stakes. Michael's dad got a job in another state, and Travis simply drifted away from me. I hadn't thought of him until today, when a boy who vanished from my life thirty years ago grinned at me from the evening news, older and bearded and scarred.
Travis was missing. His wife had last seen him hiking out to the corner the night before to fetch a treat for his bed-ridden son... From the ice cream truck.
I stood with my eye to the peephole as the truck cruised down my street for the second time in ten minutes. It hadn't occurred to me before, but that day on the baseball diamond in 1986 was the last time I'd heard the cheery tune cranking from the speakers of that old, beat-up machine. Thirty years I'd gone without seeing or hearing it, and just tonight it came back.
A tiny hand print smudged across the truck's big, filthy window. The driver's side was tinted pitch black. The thing slowed to a crawl as it passed my house, then sped up again when it reached the neighbor's plot. It puttered along the rest of my street, all while cranking out that hideous song.
I racked the shotgun in my hands as the truck turned wide at the end of the block for a third run.
Friday, March 3, 2017
[#072] Planetfall
I was halfway to work on the eight o'clock bus when the first ship fell from the sky.
A crash of tangled metal cut the clatter in an instant, and only the screaming of a single babe broke the silence draped across the stretch of morning road as every car in sight squealed their brakes. I counted hours from the seconds between the squealing and the wreckage, as the bus turned sideways in the slow motion of my overwhelmed mind.
Memory skipped a few steps after the world began to tilt. I remember staring at the blood on my fingers in shock as I struggled to remember how I ended up in the median. Wheels spun in the air inches from my face. In the distance I could just make out the triangular shell of flashing lights and burning metal, and the bodies scattered in the field around it, all gray flesh and beaks and bones cracked and crackling in the fires.
Twelve more scattered across the state alone. Nobody saw them coming, and their wreckage took a hundred thousand lives across the globe without a single shot fired. First contact was a blood bath, even though none of the invaders lived to issue demands. None of them could tell us why they came or why they crashed.
Or why the scorches on their ships made it seem as though they'd been shot at from behind.
A crash of tangled metal cut the clatter in an instant, and only the screaming of a single babe broke the silence draped across the stretch of morning road as every car in sight squealed their brakes. I counted hours from the seconds between the squealing and the wreckage, as the bus turned sideways in the slow motion of my overwhelmed mind.
Memory skipped a few steps after the world began to tilt. I remember staring at the blood on my fingers in shock as I struggled to remember how I ended up in the median. Wheels spun in the air inches from my face. In the distance I could just make out the triangular shell of flashing lights and burning metal, and the bodies scattered in the field around it, all gray flesh and beaks and bones cracked and crackling in the fires.
Twelve more scattered across the state alone. Nobody saw them coming, and their wreckage took a hundred thousand lives across the globe without a single shot fired. First contact was a blood bath, even though none of the invaders lived to issue demands. None of them could tell us why they came or why they crashed.
Or why the scorches on their ships made it seem as though they'd been shot at from behind.
Friday, February 24, 2017
[#071] Ignorance is Bliss
I leaned through the doorway and glanced around the moon-tinted shadows of my little girl's room in astonishment. Glassy orbs glinted in hordes from the shelf above the bed. More dolls as large as cats lined up along the dresser, and one as tall as a child lounged in the rocking chair beneath the window, the occasional flash of lightning gleaming off its nylon hair.
Honestly, I'd have woken with a start myself with all those glittering eyes watching me. Especially in a power outage.
"Well, I regret not bringing a flashlight," I admitted with a shrug.
Beatrice was busy studying the wood grain beneath her feet when I turned around, and I knelt to squint at her face. "You don't have anything to be afraid of, sweetie. Your dolls aren't going to hurt you. They're just shapes in the dark."
She finally turned and trudged back into her room after a couple words of encouragement, and I smiled at her one more time as I pulled the door shut. Bea's paranoia had spilled over onto me, and I felt foolish power-walking as quietly as I could down the hallway, terrified something might hear.
The glow of an LED lantern greeted me in the kitchen. My wife sat at the table, slumped over the tall bottle she'd polished off while I was gone. She growled around her arm as I reached for the coffee maker. "How many?"
I glanced over my shoulder at her. "Six or seven. Maybe... Maybe eight?"
Samantha lifted her head and glared at me. "You can't count them?"
"I didn't buy them, how can I keep track of them?"
"Jesus, you haven't been listening to me." She leered up at me from her pile of misery. "Nobody bought them. She didn't have any. Did you see the one in the rocking chair? That look on its face..."
I glanced at my watch. "Four more hours. We all had to do this once. They won't hurt her as long as she ignores them."
"Four more hours? What are you talking about?"
"Until dawn." I cocked an eyebrow at her. "We can sleep when its daylight. She can sleep."
Samantha opened her mouth and paused a moment. Then she rose from the table so quickly she knocked the lantern to the floor. She gripped my shoulders, shaking me furiously. "Michael, she isn't here. Did you forget? I dropped Bea off at mom's house before the storm hit."
The lantern rolled into the hallway, coming to a stop at a small pair of plastic feet.
Honestly, I'd have woken with a start myself with all those glittering eyes watching me. Especially in a power outage.
"Well, I regret not bringing a flashlight," I admitted with a shrug.
Beatrice was busy studying the wood grain beneath her feet when I turned around, and I knelt to squint at her face. "You don't have anything to be afraid of, sweetie. Your dolls aren't going to hurt you. They're just shapes in the dark."
She finally turned and trudged back into her room after a couple words of encouragement, and I smiled at her one more time as I pulled the door shut. Bea's paranoia had spilled over onto me, and I felt foolish power-walking as quietly as I could down the hallway, terrified something might hear.
The glow of an LED lantern greeted me in the kitchen. My wife sat at the table, slumped over the tall bottle she'd polished off while I was gone. She growled around her arm as I reached for the coffee maker. "How many?"
I glanced over my shoulder at her. "Six or seven. Maybe... Maybe eight?"
Samantha lifted her head and glared at me. "You can't count them?"
"I didn't buy them, how can I keep track of them?"
"Jesus, you haven't been listening to me." She leered up at me from her pile of misery. "Nobody bought them. She didn't have any. Did you see the one in the rocking chair? That look on its face..."
I glanced at my watch. "Four more hours. We all had to do this once. They won't hurt her as long as she ignores them."
"Four more hours? What are you talking about?"
"Until dawn." I cocked an eyebrow at her. "We can sleep when its daylight. She can sleep."
Samantha opened her mouth and paused a moment. Then she rose from the table so quickly she knocked the lantern to the floor. She gripped my shoulders, shaking me furiously. "Michael, she isn't here. Did you forget? I dropped Bea off at mom's house before the storm hit."
The lantern rolled into the hallway, coming to a stop at a small pair of plastic feet.
Friday, February 17, 2017
[#070] Destinations Unknown
She
watched as the seventh turbine started to spin, and all the light in
the world began to collect inside its blue corona along the rim.
Doctors Ven and Hadley had tried to explain the new propulsion engine to her several times, but the idea was just beyond her reach. "The Identity Drive can move entire planets," Hadley had said. "Right," continued Ven, "By reaching back through the aeons and re-framing our entire concept of localized space to another point in the universe, we can wear reality down enough to force it to comply."
"But it requires such an extravagance of energy we can only do it once," Hadley added.
A confusing proposition, but the only hope they had. Nobody had any idea the slow buildup of nuclear energy over the past century would attract such a force from the stars; not a sentient power but one of thermonuclear physics, unknown and still unlabeled by scientists who had no time to ponder it once it began to cool the sun at such a rapid pace.
The Drive was the Earth's last chance at survival.
She shivered at the awesome glow of the seventh turbine, the size of a skyscraper hung flat from suspension cables over the valley before her. Six others like it rested at equidistant points around the planet, each gathering the very forces of creation to reach out and touch the minds of humanity and fudge a zero into a one. A monitor on her console showed the forest outside thinning quickly, the bark turning gray as leaves scattered in droves across the dying grass. Color drained from the sky and coiled around her little piece of the Identity Drive, and the stars above pierced through the thinning light. Something arched across the dome of the artificial night like a thunderbolt, cracking space in two above and slowly, agonizingly, pulling apart.
A light flashed red on the console.
She glanced at the readout.
The destination coordinates had been set to somewhere near Alpha Centauri, where they would evacuate to the closest planet on which they could find a way to live. Now those numbers were changing, flashing through an unfamiliar sequence so quickly she couldn't read them. A voice called out from her radio, but the Drive's vampiric properties had affected that too, reducing Dr. Hadley's voice to a mash of grunting syllables.
She placed her hand over the engine brake. The turbine would shut down if she pulled the lever, but none of the energy would return to the planet. Too much of it was gone by now, shot out into the borders of the universe as she understood it. The world would crumble into ash beneath the dying rays of the sun. The Drive had not already stopped, which meant the other six turbines still spun. She had no way of knowing where the Drive would take them, but...
Could she pull the lever and live with the knowledge she had doomed humanity to a certain, freezing death?
Her hand fell into her lap. She watched the corona around the turbine shift into a bruised purple. A booming voice sang out from somewhere high above her.
The crack in the sky widened, and a single eye peered down through it.
Doctors Ven and Hadley had tried to explain the new propulsion engine to her several times, but the idea was just beyond her reach. "The Identity Drive can move entire planets," Hadley had said. "Right," continued Ven, "By reaching back through the aeons and re-framing our entire concept of localized space to another point in the universe, we can wear reality down enough to force it to comply."
"But it requires such an extravagance of energy we can only do it once," Hadley added.
A confusing proposition, but the only hope they had. Nobody had any idea the slow buildup of nuclear energy over the past century would attract such a force from the stars; not a sentient power but one of thermonuclear physics, unknown and still unlabeled by scientists who had no time to ponder it once it began to cool the sun at such a rapid pace.
The Drive was the Earth's last chance at survival.
She shivered at the awesome glow of the seventh turbine, the size of a skyscraper hung flat from suspension cables over the valley before her. Six others like it rested at equidistant points around the planet, each gathering the very forces of creation to reach out and touch the minds of humanity and fudge a zero into a one. A monitor on her console showed the forest outside thinning quickly, the bark turning gray as leaves scattered in droves across the dying grass. Color drained from the sky and coiled around her little piece of the Identity Drive, and the stars above pierced through the thinning light. Something arched across the dome of the artificial night like a thunderbolt, cracking space in two above and slowly, agonizingly, pulling apart.
A light flashed red on the console.
She glanced at the readout.
The destination coordinates had been set to somewhere near Alpha Centauri, where they would evacuate to the closest planet on which they could find a way to live. Now those numbers were changing, flashing through an unfamiliar sequence so quickly she couldn't read them. A voice called out from her radio, but the Drive's vampiric properties had affected that too, reducing Dr. Hadley's voice to a mash of grunting syllables.
She placed her hand over the engine brake. The turbine would shut down if she pulled the lever, but none of the energy would return to the planet. Too much of it was gone by now, shot out into the borders of the universe as she understood it. The world would crumble into ash beneath the dying rays of the sun. The Drive had not already stopped, which meant the other six turbines still spun. She had no way of knowing where the Drive would take them, but...
Could she pull the lever and live with the knowledge she had doomed humanity to a certain, freezing death?
Her hand fell into her lap. She watched the corona around the turbine shift into a bruised purple. A booming voice sang out from somewhere high above her.
The crack in the sky widened, and a single eye peered down through it.
Friday, February 10, 2017
[#069] The Hook
The long, black flag of a curtain whipped in the window at the top of the house.
"I'm not crazy, right?," Cal said as he unfolded himself from the squad car and sank his boots into the muddy earth.
Jen climbed out and rubbed her arms, shivering in the half-hail rain. Chunks of ice thumped across the roof of the car and beat down on the brow of her hat, but neither of the country deputies paid mind to the November storm as they stared up at the simple cloth flailing from the turret of the ruined Victorian.
"I was right, wasn't I?" Cal added.
His partner blinked at the fabric billowing in the wind, as dark as the still room beyond. "You're right."
"It was definitely closed."
"Been closed for years."
"Since MacReady died."
Jen's eyes trailed down the falling rain to meet her partner's gaze, but he wasn't looking at her. He studied the curtain with an intensity she couldn't will herself to match after the night she'd had. "You don't really think he's in there, do you?"
Cal turned to her. She swore she saw a glint trailing down his cheek.
"It's been thirteen years, Cal."
"And I guess his body will wash up in the creek any day now?"
She sighed and breathed in the cold, wet air of early winter. "The guys told me all about it. Billows and Temper, they've been on the force long enough to know what they're talking about. You don't survive a fall like that."
Cal shut his eyes and listened to the sounds of the storm. Thunder carried from above, and with it came a cavalcade of scratches and thumps as the hail wore away at the structure. And something else flowed down from the curtained room, though Cal prayed it existed only in his mind, a distant whisper beckoning him to the top of the turret: "Come on up, Calvin..."
"What'd you say?"
He shook himself out of his head and glanced back to meet the mixture of pity and suspicion in Jen's eyes. He waved a hand at the house. "Do you know why the windows aren't boarded? Even on the first floor?"
"I hadn't really thought of it."
"It's because nobody who grew up in Summerdown Grove is taking one step into that house. Ain't nobody in the county who can forget what MacReady did. Now someone's poking around in his house and leaving the attic window open in the middle of a thunderstorm. You don't do that if you want to stay hidden.
"You do that if you want someone to see it. You do that to make dumb cops like us walk into a trap."
Jen watched the curtain ripple. She imagined the corner bending up into a little finger, calling her into the attic. Her hand found its way to the radio inside the car before she knew what it was doing, but the waves rolling from the speakers returned only static. She dropped it in the seat and pulled up her belt.
"Just some kids," she grumbled. "People want to forget that stuff. They aren't gonna pass that story down. To the kids on this street, it's just a big, empty house."
Cal bent over and spat his dinner into the weeds beside the road. Jen grimaced and looked away before making her way around the hood and picking up her partner's hat, shielding his head from the falling hail. When he finished, Jen loaded her partner into the squad car and gazed up at the flapping curtain.
"Stay here," she said.
He watched her outline melt into the growing darkness between the car and the house, words failing as he sat alone beneath the rain and ice and thumping metal. The steady patter of the storm proved soothing, and his stomach came around before a quarter-hour passed. A shame grew inside him with the realization his partner had to carry on without him. The clouds withdrew a moment later, the better part of their burden shed on the muddy slopes up to the porch, and Calvin knew the time had come to step out of his cage and do his job.
Wooden planks twice his age creaked beneath his weight as he climbed the front steps. A single bench swing rocked back and forth on its chains from the far end of the covered porch, beams swollen and cracked from the rain seeping in sideways over thirteen years. The door swung open beneath the slightest touch, as if the latch had long since buckled under some heavy weight. Calvin pulled a flashlight from his belt and clicked it on, igniting the beam over a thin smoke curling from the wick of a recently extinguished candle.
Every ounce of will in his body strained against his instinct to run. He thought of Jen, and he closed the door behind him as he glanced up the hall.
Shadows oozed from the cobwebbed corners all along the corridor. The air grew thicker as he climbed the stairwell into the upper floors, hot and suffocating like the breath of a giant hovering inches from his face. A familiar shape gleamed in the darkness of the third floor landing, and Cal's heart froze up as he knelt to pick up Jen's revolver.
"Come on up, Calvin."
He leaped upright, pistol shaking in the air before him. Nobody else stood on the landing. The only door hung open halfway down, a blue glow shining on the bottom of the attic steps. A shadow spread across the moonlight, and Calvin lost it. Down the stairs he fled, shooting down the hillside and leaping into his car.
One last look at the attic window revealed the face of a distant figure grinning down at him as he fled into the night.
--------
Jen smiled as she watched the squad car tear off down the street. She knew her partner would tell the others, and the others would come on up. That was fine.
They thought she was a victim. They wouldn't be looking for Jen.
They would be looking for her father.
"I'm not crazy, right?," Cal said as he unfolded himself from the squad car and sank his boots into the muddy earth.
Jen climbed out and rubbed her arms, shivering in the half-hail rain. Chunks of ice thumped across the roof of the car and beat down on the brow of her hat, but neither of the country deputies paid mind to the November storm as they stared up at the simple cloth flailing from the turret of the ruined Victorian.
"I was right, wasn't I?" Cal added.
His partner blinked at the fabric billowing in the wind, as dark as the still room beyond. "You're right."
"It was definitely closed."
"Been closed for years."
"Since MacReady died."
Jen's eyes trailed down the falling rain to meet her partner's gaze, but he wasn't looking at her. He studied the curtain with an intensity she couldn't will herself to match after the night she'd had. "You don't really think he's in there, do you?"
Cal turned to her. She swore she saw a glint trailing down his cheek.
"It's been thirteen years, Cal."
"And I guess his body will wash up in the creek any day now?"
She sighed and breathed in the cold, wet air of early winter. "The guys told me all about it. Billows and Temper, they've been on the force long enough to know what they're talking about. You don't survive a fall like that."
Cal shut his eyes and listened to the sounds of the storm. Thunder carried from above, and with it came a cavalcade of scratches and thumps as the hail wore away at the structure. And something else flowed down from the curtained room, though Cal prayed it existed only in his mind, a distant whisper beckoning him to the top of the turret: "Come on up, Calvin..."
"What'd you say?"
He shook himself out of his head and glanced back to meet the mixture of pity and suspicion in Jen's eyes. He waved a hand at the house. "Do you know why the windows aren't boarded? Even on the first floor?"
"I hadn't really thought of it."
"It's because nobody who grew up in Summerdown Grove is taking one step into that house. Ain't nobody in the county who can forget what MacReady did. Now someone's poking around in his house and leaving the attic window open in the middle of a thunderstorm. You don't do that if you want to stay hidden.
"You do that if you want someone to see it. You do that to make dumb cops like us walk into a trap."
Jen watched the curtain ripple. She imagined the corner bending up into a little finger, calling her into the attic. Her hand found its way to the radio inside the car before she knew what it was doing, but the waves rolling from the speakers returned only static. She dropped it in the seat and pulled up her belt.
"Just some kids," she grumbled. "People want to forget that stuff. They aren't gonna pass that story down. To the kids on this street, it's just a big, empty house."
Cal bent over and spat his dinner into the weeds beside the road. Jen grimaced and looked away before making her way around the hood and picking up her partner's hat, shielding his head from the falling hail. When he finished, Jen loaded her partner into the squad car and gazed up at the flapping curtain.
"Stay here," she said.
He watched her outline melt into the growing darkness between the car and the house, words failing as he sat alone beneath the rain and ice and thumping metal. The steady patter of the storm proved soothing, and his stomach came around before a quarter-hour passed. A shame grew inside him with the realization his partner had to carry on without him. The clouds withdrew a moment later, the better part of their burden shed on the muddy slopes up to the porch, and Calvin knew the time had come to step out of his cage and do his job.
Wooden planks twice his age creaked beneath his weight as he climbed the front steps. A single bench swing rocked back and forth on its chains from the far end of the covered porch, beams swollen and cracked from the rain seeping in sideways over thirteen years. The door swung open beneath the slightest touch, as if the latch had long since buckled under some heavy weight. Calvin pulled a flashlight from his belt and clicked it on, igniting the beam over a thin smoke curling from the wick of a recently extinguished candle.
Every ounce of will in his body strained against his instinct to run. He thought of Jen, and he closed the door behind him as he glanced up the hall.
Shadows oozed from the cobwebbed corners all along the corridor. The air grew thicker as he climbed the stairwell into the upper floors, hot and suffocating like the breath of a giant hovering inches from his face. A familiar shape gleamed in the darkness of the third floor landing, and Cal's heart froze up as he knelt to pick up Jen's revolver.
"Come on up, Calvin."
He leaped upright, pistol shaking in the air before him. Nobody else stood on the landing. The only door hung open halfway down, a blue glow shining on the bottom of the attic steps. A shadow spread across the moonlight, and Calvin lost it. Down the stairs he fled, shooting down the hillside and leaping into his car.
One last look at the attic window revealed the face of a distant figure grinning down at him as he fled into the night.
--------
Jen smiled as she watched the squad car tear off down the street. She knew her partner would tell the others, and the others would come on up. That was fine.
They thought she was a victim. They wouldn't be looking for Jen.
They would be looking for her father.
Friday, January 27, 2017
[#068] Inside Jokes
"Crap, was I bringing the eye of newt?"
Three pairs of eyes stared at the ruddy-faced man as he pat his pockets with a exaggerated look of shame.
"Why do you always have to be an ass, Jerry?" The first tall woman in black rolled her eyes.
"Does he really need to be here?" asked the second.
"It was his idea. He should be here in case the thing gets hungry."
The other man in the party drew his hood down over his eyes and drew a heavy breath. "Can we just finish this? I've got an opening to attend in the morning and I need my four and a half hours."
"We'd be done by now if Jerry would keep his mouth shut." The first tall woman raised the yellowed book again and furrowed her brow over the long, winding loops of writing on its page. She coughed to stall for time as her eyes scanned line after line, and Jerry tapped his foot all the while.
"Lose your place?" he finally asked.
She tossed the ancient tome in the air. "Why do you have to make this so hard? I swear to God, it's like you want those bastards to win."
"I'm just trying to have a little fun before we sign our souls to the devil. Besides, not every devil wants a buncha boring blocks of wood for followers. Confidence attracts the like, after all."
"And just what kind of churlish devil do you hope to attract?" The other man wheezed and sputtered as he spoke, and Jerry couldn't stifle a laugh at his discomfort.
"The kind who knows how to tell his real servants apart from the sacrifice."
Four pairs of eyes stared at the ruddy-faced man as he crossed his arms and winked.
Three pairs of eyes stared at the ruddy-faced man as he pat his pockets with a exaggerated look of shame.
"Why do you always have to be an ass, Jerry?" The first tall woman in black rolled her eyes.
"Does he really need to be here?" asked the second.
"It was his idea. He should be here in case the thing gets hungry."
The other man in the party drew his hood down over his eyes and drew a heavy breath. "Can we just finish this? I've got an opening to attend in the morning and I need my four and a half hours."
"We'd be done by now if Jerry would keep his mouth shut." The first tall woman raised the yellowed book again and furrowed her brow over the long, winding loops of writing on its page. She coughed to stall for time as her eyes scanned line after line, and Jerry tapped his foot all the while.
"Lose your place?" he finally asked.
She tossed the ancient tome in the air. "Why do you have to make this so hard? I swear to God, it's like you want those bastards to win."
"I'm just trying to have a little fun before we sign our souls to the devil. Besides, not every devil wants a buncha boring blocks of wood for followers. Confidence attracts the like, after all."
"And just what kind of churlish devil do you hope to attract?" The other man wheezed and sputtered as he spoke, and Jerry couldn't stifle a laugh at his discomfort.
"The kind who knows how to tell his real servants apart from the sacrifice."
Four pairs of eyes stared at the ruddy-faced man as he crossed his arms and winked.
Friday, January 20, 2017
[#067] Only Those
Every springtime, on the third of March, twelve figures gather around the well behind the high school on the western end of Summerdown Grove. Eleven of them are children, dragged kicking to the rim by the last. This last is different every year, chosen from a lottery of the 1300 adults left in town.
But the eleven are always the same.
The twelfth knows a secret. The twelfth knows a command the children cannot break, names passed down a hundred years since the last time the ritual failed, the last time the cows died on their feet and rotted standing in the fields, the last season the adults woke up to missing sons and daughters and to fields of burning grass. Today the twelfth has never known this fear, and still they chase their duty.
For the twelfth knows how to find them, and the twelfth knows how to tell.
Not all children in the Grove are human, and only those who speak the names can see.
Only those who speak the names can hold the cycle for another year.
Friday, January 13, 2017
[#066] The Dare
"Now turn your flashlight off and step backwards down through the cellar door, staring up at the full moon as you walk."
Cass grinned at Jeffrey. Jeffrey shared a glance with Park before the two teenage boys frowned at her.
"Are you serious?" Park asked. "You're trying to get us killed, aren't you?"
Jeffrey gazed up at the filthy, brutal building before them. A yellowed stucco wall stretched about forty feet from end to end, unbroken but for three narrow window-slits left to drip in natural light. They were hung too high for anyone to peer through and spy the nasty work within the structure, which rumor held had been a butcher shop back in the 70s, before the big factory up the street closed and sent half the town packing for a better future. Brick walls over both the doors prevented access, though some enterprising explorer had managed to snap the chain wound around the big twin doors leading down into the shop's basement.
The girl sighed and rolled her eyes. "Alright, guess I win then. Cowards."
"Hold up, that's not even fair!" Jeffrey cried. "I made you hop the fence and find my baseball in the creepy railyard. We could fall over and break our necks on this!"
Park crossed his arms. "I mean, that was a pretty high fence."
"She found a way around it! I didn't even know there was a gap behind the tree, so she obviously had a better chance at it than we do!"
Moonlight filtered blue and spotty through the clouds, dancing with the shadows across the wall above them. Off and on a bright glow would flicker from somewhere within the building, like a hand waving in front of a torch a few seconds at a go. Jeff didn't like the way that light glinted off Cass's eyes.
"Right." Cass smirked. "You didn't know about the hole, so you had no problem asking me to climb a ten-foot fence."
"Alright, fine, maybe it was a little dangerous. But who knows how rickety the staircase is?" Jeff turned away from her, hoping to hide the sweat glistening on his forehead. He shined his light down the steps and illuminated the bottom some twelve feet down. The concrete floor of the basement laid out clear beneath them save a thin, uneven coat of sawdust, and the wooden railings mounted to either side of the wall still looked sturdy.
"Uh..." Jeffrey added.
"Still think it's a death trap?"
Jeffrey gazed at Cass, whose smile verged on mania. She had won, and he knew it. The basement's inviting appearance made it seem an easy dare. This terrified him, but the one thing he could not do was look like a chicken in front of his older brother.
He turned to Park, who looked oblivious to whatever invisible alarm had tapped Jeffrey's brain. Park shrugged and positioned himself at the top of the steps, pointing his gaze up at the moon after double-checking his grip on the banister. Jeffrey sighed and took his place beside the older boy, shutting down his flashlight and leaving Cass in silhouette against the moon. She stood before them, her face lit only by the intermittent glow within the shop. He shivered each time the light from the window illuminated her piercing stare, which grew colder as the pace of the torchlight quickened.
"Count of three," Cass whispered in the darkness.
"Three." Flash, and her face lit up thin and sallow.
"Two." Flash, and her face lit up thinner than possible, inhumanly angular, as though the light had caught her changing shape right before them.
"What the hell--" cried Jeffrey, but he was too late.
"One!" Cass roared as she charged at them. A solid shove with each hand sent the boys tumbling over each other into the shadows of the basement.
Red haze thundered through his eyes as Jeffrey fought to stay conscious. He placed his weight on his palms to struggle upright, crying out in pain as he drove the hard chunks of sawdust piercing him deeper through his flesh. Park sprawled out next to him, a copper halo seeping out into the air around his head as though the two lay underwater. Something enormous snorted and shuffled in the corners with elephantine footsteps, and Jeffrey picked up the torch and swept it across the room. The beam traveled no further than the narrow band of moonlight filtering down the steps, the moonlight now shadowing a figure unlike the girl he'd met at the neighborhood block party.
Cass now stood much taller and thinner, or she would if her spine hadn't bent in three places, giving her the look of a question mark with arms and legs. Her arms stretched out to her sides for several feet longer than they should, grasping the handles of the doors and pulling them closed. Something slithered from her mouth just before the doors shut, and she whispered once more down the stairs in a choked mockery of her former voice:
"Two more for the harvest, mother. You'll be free soon enough."
Cass grinned at Jeffrey. Jeffrey shared a glance with Park before the two teenage boys frowned at her.
"Are you serious?" Park asked. "You're trying to get us killed, aren't you?"
Jeffrey gazed up at the filthy, brutal building before them. A yellowed stucco wall stretched about forty feet from end to end, unbroken but for three narrow window-slits left to drip in natural light. They were hung too high for anyone to peer through and spy the nasty work within the structure, which rumor held had been a butcher shop back in the 70s, before the big factory up the street closed and sent half the town packing for a better future. Brick walls over both the doors prevented access, though some enterprising explorer had managed to snap the chain wound around the big twin doors leading down into the shop's basement.
The girl sighed and rolled her eyes. "Alright, guess I win then. Cowards."
"Hold up, that's not even fair!" Jeffrey cried. "I made you hop the fence and find my baseball in the creepy railyard. We could fall over and break our necks on this!"
Park crossed his arms. "I mean, that was a pretty high fence."
"She found a way around it! I didn't even know there was a gap behind the tree, so she obviously had a better chance at it than we do!"
Moonlight filtered blue and spotty through the clouds, dancing with the shadows across the wall above them. Off and on a bright glow would flicker from somewhere within the building, like a hand waving in front of a torch a few seconds at a go. Jeff didn't like the way that light glinted off Cass's eyes.
"Right." Cass smirked. "You didn't know about the hole, so you had no problem asking me to climb a ten-foot fence."
"Alright, fine, maybe it was a little dangerous. But who knows how rickety the staircase is?" Jeff turned away from her, hoping to hide the sweat glistening on his forehead. He shined his light down the steps and illuminated the bottom some twelve feet down. The concrete floor of the basement laid out clear beneath them save a thin, uneven coat of sawdust, and the wooden railings mounted to either side of the wall still looked sturdy.
"Uh..." Jeffrey added.
"Still think it's a death trap?"
Jeffrey gazed at Cass, whose smile verged on mania. She had won, and he knew it. The basement's inviting appearance made it seem an easy dare. This terrified him, but the one thing he could not do was look like a chicken in front of his older brother.
He turned to Park, who looked oblivious to whatever invisible alarm had tapped Jeffrey's brain. Park shrugged and positioned himself at the top of the steps, pointing his gaze up at the moon after double-checking his grip on the banister. Jeffrey sighed and took his place beside the older boy, shutting down his flashlight and leaving Cass in silhouette against the moon. She stood before them, her face lit only by the intermittent glow within the shop. He shivered each time the light from the window illuminated her piercing stare, which grew colder as the pace of the torchlight quickened.
"Count of three," Cass whispered in the darkness.
"Three." Flash, and her face lit up thin and sallow.
"Two." Flash, and her face lit up thinner than possible, inhumanly angular, as though the light had caught her changing shape right before them.
"What the hell--" cried Jeffrey, but he was too late.
"One!" Cass roared as she charged at them. A solid shove with each hand sent the boys tumbling over each other into the shadows of the basement.
Red haze thundered through his eyes as Jeffrey fought to stay conscious. He placed his weight on his palms to struggle upright, crying out in pain as he drove the hard chunks of sawdust piercing him deeper through his flesh. Park sprawled out next to him, a copper halo seeping out into the air around his head as though the two lay underwater. Something enormous snorted and shuffled in the corners with elephantine footsteps, and Jeffrey picked up the torch and swept it across the room. The beam traveled no further than the narrow band of moonlight filtering down the steps, the moonlight now shadowing a figure unlike the girl he'd met at the neighborhood block party.
Cass now stood much taller and thinner, or she would if her spine hadn't bent in three places, giving her the look of a question mark with arms and legs. Her arms stretched out to her sides for several feet longer than they should, grasping the handles of the doors and pulling them closed. Something slithered from her mouth just before the doors shut, and she whispered once more down the stairs in a choked mockery of her former voice:
"Two more for the harvest, mother. You'll be free soon enough."
Friday, January 6, 2017
[#065] A Bell Rang Out
Coffee spilled over the lip of my mug as I slammed it down on the counter and leaned over the kitchen sink, eyes tracing the cornfield swaying for miles across our property. Clouds strangled out the moonlight, cloaking the rows in darkness. Nothing stirred where I could see, and I cursed and checked my watch.
Eleven-fifty-three. I swore I heard a bell, but it wasn't time yet. Perhaps they'd just begun to gather.
The shotgun he left by the nightstand felt good in my hands. I racked it like he showed me, and I found the sound intoxicating. The coffee tasted better with his whiskey in it, and the warmth it poured down my throat made it easier to swallow the task ahead of me.
Eleven-fifty-six. I leaned back in the chair with the mug and the shotgun. The ceiling creaked above me, and I worried he was up too soon. Perhaps the sound of the gun had woken him and put the plan at risk... Far harder to disguise a gunshot wound than what they'd do to him.
I paused and listened for the hinges. By now he'd noticed the gun was missing, and he'd have to reach for the safe if he wanted some other protection. I'll hide in the cabinet beneath the stairs, I thought. He won't see it coming.
But that won't stop them. I'd already paid for their services, and dearly. And once they were called, they wouldn't leave until they were fed.
I glanced at my watch.
Eleven-fifty-eight. Something scratched at the door outside, too low to sight through the window. A smile crept across my face, and only the slightest pang of guilt shivered down my spine as I thought of what my mum would say if could see me.
The first step creaked above, and the cabinet door beneath the stairs shut without a sound behind me. I held the shotgun tight across my chest and sucked in all my breath, freezing myself so fast I felt for sure I would have fooled a mouse.
But he saw.
The door flew open faster than I expected, his wild eyes piercing through the dark just before the muzzle flashed. I leapt backward from the force and he stared in horror, clutching the giant hole in his chest as he slid to his knees and toppled over.
A bell rang out in the darkness.
It was midnight, and the only living meal in sight was me. I closed my eyes and breathed my first and last as a free woman just before the back door of the house burst open and first claws scratched their way across the kitchen floor.
Eleven-fifty-three. I swore I heard a bell, but it wasn't time yet. Perhaps they'd just begun to gather.
The shotgun he left by the nightstand felt good in my hands. I racked it like he showed me, and I found the sound intoxicating. The coffee tasted better with his whiskey in it, and the warmth it poured down my throat made it easier to swallow the task ahead of me.
Eleven-fifty-six. I leaned back in the chair with the mug and the shotgun. The ceiling creaked above me, and I worried he was up too soon. Perhaps the sound of the gun had woken him and put the plan at risk... Far harder to disguise a gunshot wound than what they'd do to him.
I paused and listened for the hinges. By now he'd noticed the gun was missing, and he'd have to reach for the safe if he wanted some other protection. I'll hide in the cabinet beneath the stairs, I thought. He won't see it coming.
But that won't stop them. I'd already paid for their services, and dearly. And once they were called, they wouldn't leave until they were fed.
I glanced at my watch.
Eleven-fifty-eight. Something scratched at the door outside, too low to sight through the window. A smile crept across my face, and only the slightest pang of guilt shivered down my spine as I thought of what my mum would say if could see me.
The first step creaked above, and the cabinet door beneath the stairs shut without a sound behind me. I held the shotgun tight across my chest and sucked in all my breath, freezing myself so fast I felt for sure I would have fooled a mouse.
But he saw.
The door flew open faster than I expected, his wild eyes piercing through the dark just before the muzzle flashed. I leapt backward from the force and he stared in horror, clutching the giant hole in his chest as he slid to his knees and toppled over.
A bell rang out in the darkness.
It was midnight, and the only living meal in sight was me. I closed my eyes and breathed my first and last as a free woman just before the back door of the house burst open and first claws scratched their way across the kitchen floor.
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