I pulled the trigger of my shotgun and felt the warm spray of sticky liquid hit my face. The copper taste of blood on my lips was familiar but it was thick and rotten and I found myself instantly sick. I turned over onto my side, vomiting hard. Pausing to get my breath I waited a brief moment and felt my face flush as another wave hit me. I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the grass and rolled onto my back, looking up at the night sky. What a horrendous ordeal, I thought ruefully. All across the world there are people sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to the traumatic scenarios into which I have been thrust over the past few weeks. Those few who have seen these monsters seem to have their memories altered or erased, like Tracy had. I wondered if that would be a better solution than this reality I faced.
I propped myself up onto my elbows and surveyed the carnage. The body at my feet was a disgusting mess, and my clothes were covered with its blood. I pushed it off my legs and stood up, wincing in pain as my broken fingers moved. I looked back toward the house, wondering where Tracy was. A feeling of dread filled my heart. Surely she would have heard the shotgun. I contemplated running back through the woods to Mr. Munn's house for more shells but knew that would take too long. I wished I had brought a handgun or a machete or something. I felt helpless, unarmed and unprepared. It was an uncomfortable, exposed feeling, and made me nervous about my ability to protect Tracy or save her from whatever trouble she might be facing. I looked around in desperation and saw the shovel with the blood covered handle. I picked it up and hefted it, testing its weight. I looked back at the house and took a deep breath. "Leroy Jenkins" I thought to myself, and walked toward the front door.
"Tracy?" I called out, listening as I stepped over the threshold. The house was silent. I moved through the hallway cautiously, gripping the shovel tightly. If something did leap out at me I wouldn't have much room to swing this thing. I thought of all the other weapons I'd rather have and cursed myself for not being more prepared. The living room looked empty as did the kitchen. I moved past the kitchen island and glanced inside the office. Nothing. A small room lay off to the side of a kitchen filled with coast and shoes. A door in the room looked like it led out to a garage, and I turned the handle slowly. The hinges creaked slightly and I could see steps leading down to a cement floor. Stepping into the doorway I looked around in the darkness. A double light switch laid next to the square glowing button of a garage door trigger. I flipped on the first switch and squinted at the sudden brightness. Four overhead fluorescents illuminated the garage where a minivan and small sedan were parked peacefully. They weren't new, but they were meticulously maintained. I felt a bit of sadness at the thought of the hard working man who had provided a comfortable home for his small family. Stepping backward into the kitchen I picked up a photo sitting on a countertop near the door. The woman smiled so happily in the photograph, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck as he held their infant son on his lap. What a proud father. I wondered if I would ever have that feeling, the joy of being a parent. My mind immediately thought of Tracy and the feeling of dread and urgency flowed back into my veins.
I bounded upstairs, more confident in my ability to search the rooms now that I understood the layout. Checking each quickly to confirm that no one was inside, I spun back down the stairs. Where could she be? I went back into the garage and pushed the button, watching as the door slowly lifted on its track. The night was dark and a cold, unwelcome breeze chilled me. Tossing the second switch the outdoor flood lights flicked on, pouring light through the windows in the garage and across the driveway leading up to the house. Several hundred feet outside the house I saw the outline of a small shed. Something was moving outside, clawing at the door. As the faint light cast its shadow upon the shed the figure immediately reacted, turning toward me for the briefest moment and then rushing in a what I would best describe as a limping sprint. I watched in horror as it approached me aggressively, and as it came fully into the light I could see that it was the woman from the pictures. My mind puzzled for a moment. If she was here, who was buried in the dirt, and who's blood was in the tub upstairs?
Shaking myself from my thoughts I pressed the garage door button too late, and watched as the door closed too slowly. Reaching the door before it was even halfway down, she crawled underneath, triggering the door's safety sensor. As the door began to raise again, I pressed the button repeatedly in desperation, but the door remained unmoved and the garage light flashed in protest. She clambered into the garage and stood erect, staring at me for the briefest of moments, head cocked to the side as though studying me. Her hair was greasy and her clothes filthy. She had the same mud caked on her knees and thighs as her husband did, as though she must have helped dig that grave in front. She snarled at me, her eyes a putrid yellow, thick with puss-filled cataracts. Her infection looked disgusting and juicy, as though simply getting a drop on me would infect me with the same madness she was suffering from. She took a step toward me, purposefully, as though she was hunting me. I recalled the mad, almost blind rage of Mr. Lawrence, how he seemed to sniff the air, listening for signs of movement. She was different. She seemed to know exactly where I was, and was moving in such a way to ensure I didn't escape her. I backed toward the door and she paused, watching me. Her hair was almost dripping down her face, her mouth curled in a horrible sneer. Her gums were swollen and bleeding, and there were chunks of fur wedged between her teeth. I thought of the poor dog I had found upstairs and knew how it must have been injured. Her hands were covered in the dark stains of blood and mud, and she was truly the most horrible thing I'd ever seen. I gripped my shovel tightly, unsure whether to fight or flee. Remembering the damage my mother had done to Mr. Munn I knew a younger, healthier woman could be even stronger, so I leapt backward and grabbed the edge of the door. As I slammed it closed I saw her face fill with rage as she charged, the force of her body hitting it as I held it closed. She wiggled the handle violently, and it took all my strength to keep her from pushing it open.
I held the door closed with my foot and wedged the shovel into the drywall behind the cabinet. I brought the long handle up and pushed it under the door knob, doing my best to secure the door. I stood back for second and watched the door buckle under her attack. The drywall cracked and the cabinet moved outward a bit, giving her enough space to reach a blood stained hand out. The hand grasped frantically, looking for the shovel handle. I backed up slowly, worried that she might succeed. Looking to my left I saw a block of kitchen knives and grabbed the largest one. It felt small and ineffective, but I passed it from hand to hand to see which grip felt right. Her force moved the cabinet further, and her hand came out, twisted around until her fingers touched the handle of the shovel. With steady resolve the hand grabbed the wood and I watched in horror as it almost splintered in the powerful grip. She pulled upward, but the handle stopped against the handle. I darted in with the knife, jabbing at the forearm. A long cut across the sleeve of her mud stained shirt showed very little blood, and she didn't even react to the injury. I lashed out again, removing a finger and almost vomiting as the thick blood dripped slowly from the stump. A horrible smell filled the air and I choked and back away. The arm was still violently pulling back and forth on the shovel, and the cabinet began to give way. I turned and ran.
Racing past the couch and down the hallway to the front door my eyes caught the images of this family hanging on the wall. Instead of the happy family smiling all I could see were the yellow, angry eyes. I rushed out into the night, passing the body of the man and the animal wrapped in the rug, which now lay motionless. Glancing back at the house I heard a tremendous scream, like a banshee in pain and agony. It was frustration mixed with fury, and it was followed by a large crash. I could only assume the door had finally given way.
I ducked behind the woodpile and crouched down. Peeking through a space under two large blocks of wood I could see the front door and the bodies laying in the yard. The light from the hallway filled the night and the bodies cast long deformed shadows along the grass. I heard some shuffling in the house and looked at the front door. The woman's silhouette filled the front doorway, and she paused a moment before stepping out into the night air. Looking left and right she completely disregarded the mangled body of her husband laying on the ground in front of her, nor did she show any remorse as her eyes passed the dirt pile under which I can only assume her son lay. She waited, standing silently for a moment, searching the tree line. Something caught her attention in the distance and she limped off rapidly. I watched her disappear into the night and worried that I might have just unleashed something horrible on the world.
You know how it ends. Now read how it begins...
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