Last Night
The ripping buzz of the chainsaw cut through the night silencing the screams and hasty footfalls of the teenagers. The blade of the saw was fed on old wooden furniture and then young soft flesh. The busty blonde archetype, always present. She had been penetrated once by the all-star athlete in the upstairs bedroom; soon the machete wielding maniac will get his chance. The immortal nay, invincible monster going bump in the night, preying on fear and weakness. It was all overdone really.
The horror films had a surreal quality to them. But as seen through the long bay windows of the house that night, they almost seemed fitting. A storm had rolled in earlier that afternoon, imitating art. Now it was approaching eight and the wind had risen to force what started as a calm grey sky into a wailing downpour. The old yellow house was being beaten upon by the slanted drops. The sounds of thunder shook the walls and lightning split the sky in the nearby fields. The flag on the mailbox at the end of the newly redone driveway rattled in the gusts of wind. Appropriately, the name lettered across the red mailbox was “Storm “
The hum of a small engine lowered the garage door to the house. Standing inside the cold garage was a young, raven-haired girl with a cordless phone in her hand. Her feet felt cold against the concrete floor. She listened casually to her friend, Sara, babble on and on. Once the garage door had closed she squeezed around the solitary vehicle to step back up the wooden steps and into the main part of the house, closing the white door behind her. She watched the sheets of rain through the dining room windows then headed into the kitchen. Serenading her along the way was the shrill, staccato rhythm of a horror movie theme. She wasn’t even sure which movie it was anymore. They were all running together by this point—the whole deal with cars that never start… with every vein spewing like a shaken soda. How everyone dies, the virus gets out at the end, the one zombie they missed. Blood, guts, and flesh create a beautiful carnage of chaos.
On the stove, a large pot and its contents at a boil. Spaghetti. She adjusted the dial and looked over the vat of noodles she had made as Sara went on in her ear about her boyfriend and dad and classes and blah blah blah. In the living room, the on-again/off-again movie monster was eating a woman’s brain. Meadow could sympathize. By comparison to her friend’s “troubles,” she was glad her biggest problem was a boring night alone. Sara was supposed to come over that night, hence the monster movies, but after all of this she thought perhaps it was better if she didn’t. After Meadow’s sixth attempt to prematurely end the conversation, she was free. Fixing herself a plate, she was determined, even if alone, to make the best of it. Besides, she didn’t want to be listening to the never-ending bullshit of shallow, self-absorbed people when she could be watching them die in horrible and incredibly convoluted ways. That’s the allure of the horror film: getting to know people and all of their nasty habits just long enough to see them, along with their bitchiness, turned into meat confetti.
She was quite surprised at how well the spaghetti had turned out. Sara didn’t know what she was missing. She settled in on the couch with it and a glass of wine, itself red, not unlike the gallon of goo that spewed from every nick and cut on screen. She grew tired of the current movie and started up another, but found herself paying more attention to the lightning flashing through the windows behind the television. She wondered how long the storm would last.
The lights in the house were dim and had flickered on and off with the storm a couple of times. Her plate ended up in the sink and she nursed what was left in the wine glass as she forced herself to watch the young girl on the television screen die atop the blood soaked mattress. It was around the time that the ominous villain began flaying the skin off of the guy with the bad hair that Meadow couldn’t handle it anymore. The movies weren’t even scary anymore: just gross. She made a disgusted face at the television, wanting reprieve back but the box offered none. She shook her head.
She turned the television off, having finally gotten enough of the blood and creepy atmospheric music. She thought of what to do, as it wasn’t even quite midnight yet. She looked down at her freshly painted purple nails and wondered if she’d still like the color when she was trying to find something to wear in the morning. She pulled out her tablet to check her blog and e-mail. She had been checking every day for the past two weeks in hopes of seeing something from one of the many grad schools she had applied to.
As the tablet booted it up the few lights that were on in the house died out. The power was out and it seemed like it wasn’t just going to flicker back to life like it had been. She sighed and put the computer down and cautiously made her way back into the kitchen. She found the tall white candle that had only been used once before. It took her a moment longer to find her dad’s BBQ lighter that brought the candle to a burn.
She waited a bit as the storm subsided, passing the time with a game on the tablet. Though the storm was gone, the lights remained a victim of its rage. The house was older and the lights might not come back on for a while. She headed upstairs with the candle, watching the light as it cast a shape of the railing against walls. For a split second she thought she saw a shadow along the glass of the front door. She turned but convinced herself it was the trees moving in the wind. She finished her trek upstairs and down the hall past her father’s room to her own. Dad wouldn’t be home until tomorrow night. She thought about that as she went into her room and shut the door. She locked it out of habit even though she was alone in the house. Her dad worked as a computer contractor for the military and he had been busy as of late at different bases. She didn’t mind staying by herself really. What bothered her was the thought that something might happened due to the storm, something she couldn’t fix on her own. Though the storm had passed, the thought lingered in her mind.
Instead of worrying about controlling nature for her own peace of mind, she decided to get ready for bed. She went to the back of her room to the adjoining bathroom. Distant lightning lit up the room in quick blue light as she placed the candle down on the sink in the white-walled bathroom. She moved the shower curtain back and turned the faucet on, feeling the water to make sure it was getting warm. Then she stood, about to get undressed. She stopped and looked at herself in the mirror, checking under her green eyes and running a hand through her hair. Meadow didn’t like to wear too much make-up, but some days she thought she could use more. She kicked the discarded clothes aside and stepped into the shower letting the water run over her. Meadow loved the rain, she loved to swim. Her mother had gotten her swimming lessons as soon as she was old enough to go; that summer she spent every day in the water. She felt peaceful under water.
Steam rose against the cool air as she went through her processes. Closing her eyes she found herself lost in myriad thoughts that weren’t connected to anything. This was interrupted by a noise from downstairs. A small shiver went down her spine, but her mind quickly explained it away as something harmless. She was determined to finish her shower now though, and picked up the expensive shampoo. Several moments passed before she put her head underneath the water to wash it all off. She heard the remnants of the thunder outside even over the water cascading down all around her.
She didn’t see the new shadow that was cast across the mirror. She squinted and reached out from behind the shower curtain for her dark blue towel. As she did this an odd feeling came over her as the hair stood up on the back of her neck. She had that feeling of being watched. Above her, the subject of this bad feeling looked down with a silent snarl. The creature that clung belly to the ceiling looked like a giant rat with human arms and legs. The mangled face had jagged teeth and in his right hand was the handle of a knife. The blade had been replaced by a broken piece of glass partially wrapped in duct tape. Just before the attack there was a low hiss that she didn’t quite hear over the running water. Hearing it wouldn’t have made a difference.
She pulled back the curtain and then killed the water. Wrapping the towel around herself, Meadow headed to the bathroom door and looked out. Nothing.
“Hello?” she said quietly, almost to herself.
She turned back around only to see the creature leap at her. The force of his jump shook the curtain and blew the candle out. A mesh of fur and skin, seen through the sliver of moonlight. Meadow’s back hit the hardwood floor. Her head almost bounced back up into his and she got a closer look than she wanted at the round yellow eyes. The saliva dripping from his sharp teeth welcomed her. Seizing for a moment, her mind tried to rationalize the thing she saw gazing down at her with malicious intent.
The creature paused, inhaling her fear as he got closer. His nose and whiskers twitched as he raised the knife up to move it towards her throat. He was pressed against her, pinning her to the wooden floor. As he moved to shift against her she realized that this thing was taking some sort of sick pleasure in this. Her knee shot up in reaction. She barely realized she had done it until she was crawling out from underneath him on all fours. This new pain slowed his grab. His ratty fingers latched onto the edge of her towel as she shot back to her feet. His claw dug into it but didn’t have the desired effect of keeping her there. Meadow didn’t care that she was naked as she ran down the hallway. The only thing she could think about was that her father’s gun was in his closet.
Meadow ran as fast as she could to her father’s room. She flung open the door and lunged for the closet. Her hands knocked shoe boxes and stacks of magazines off the shelf until she found the silver lockbox with the keypad. She found herself glad that her father kept everything in the same place and was a bit of a neat freak. Fingertips touching the keys in readiness she realized she couldn’t the combination.
“Fuck!” she yelled out of frustration.
Why keep a gun for home safety if it is this hard to get to? She struggled to remember her father’s birthday under the stressful conditions. She felt him coming up behind her. She swung the heavy metal case and almost caught him flush with it. The rat-like creature hissed as she dropping the case and tried to dart back out of the room. The rat let out a lingering noise and lunged at her. Meadow’s bare feet were moving quickly across the cool wooden floor. She had heard him scuttle after her. He was quicker and certainly resilient.
She turned to look for him while thinking of where to run. But he was gone. He had caught up to her and just stopped? She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there. Suddenly there was a sharp pain. She leaned against the rail and looked down. Sticking out of her chest just above the breast, a large red shard of glass. She felt blood streaming from both her back and front, and then the lightheadedness. She leaned too far against the banister causing it to break under the pressure. As she fell toward the foyer floor the world spun and she could only see the yellow eyes looking down at her. Before it all went black she felt him turn her over and remove the blade. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know if anything else happened after that. She wanted to live. She tried to breath. The part of her struggling to stay alive just wasn't enough. The only thing in her future was darkness.
