Tell me, Doctor, what is it?

It took nearly 6 months before people started to put it together.  We did a suitable amount of damage, though.  6 months of testing this and trying that and finally the medical profession declared their discovery.  With bags under their eyes, a few shifty glances and a sigh they announced to the world that it wasn’t a zombie apocalypse.  This was something we’d seen before, it was leprosy.

The remaining healthy population shared a collective sigh of relief.  Then, as though you could feel it ripple through the air, the cogs started turning in their heads.  Finally someone voiced the confusion they all held.  Why then, they all mouthed in synch, have they been attacking us?

Frankly, we’ve gotten a bit bored watching you guys scratch your balls to figure out that we weren’t the undead so we’re gonna go ahead and spell this one out for you.  It’s simple really, once upon a time in a far away land a few decades ago someone with undiagnosed leprosy spent a little too much time in front of a dental x-ray.  Presto, chango, Bob’s your uncle and a new anti-biotic resistant strain of leprosy was born.  That guy infected this girl, who gave birth to infected twins who spread it to classmates who shared it with blah blah.  You get it, right?

So then here we are, decades later and we’ve got an unprecedented number of lepors that can’t be treated!  It’s a reverse miracle or something.  But just like you idiots seemed to collectively realize what was going on, we collectively realized what we could do.  When we all started falling apart, blistering and bleeding, losing muscle control and nerve sensitivity we all realized what you thought we were and really grasped our fate.

We weren’t treatable, we were forever this way.  Everyone just assumed we’d never get better so what better time to live out some revenge fantasies, eh?  Really, you know you’ve thought about the chance of you catching something terminal.  What if?  Just what if you decided to take someone out with you?

It was kinda like that.  We were going to be festering, pus covered pariahs for life and you weren’t?  Why?  What the fuck did we do?  Nope, it’s not going to be like that.  Your zombie fears fed right into our naughty daydreams.  It started with one dude, I saw it on the news in my parent’s basement.  The hysteria started.  One asshole leper, who probably would’ve bit his sister anyways, is all it takes to trigger global panic.

We did it cause we hate you.  You’re everything we’d never get to be.  Your husbands and wives, your kids and houses.  Your jobs and cars, your trips to the bar, your family holidays.  Your laughter, your hand shakes, your sex.  Some stupid biblical illness leaves us looking like Baron Harkonnen and you twats are peachy keen?

Not on our watch.

I think about 30,000 people were killed at our hand.  Funny how no one seemed to get sick after a nasty bite but you guys were far too scared to notice.  We’ll call that the Zombie Placebo effect, cause y’all sure acted like you were sick. We forced you to scorch your own earth and we laughed while it burned.  In the end, sure, we’re going to pay the price along with you but god damn it.

That was fun.

Let’s Talk About Sex.

Both pairs of eyes were gazing at the TV but neither of their focus was on the images flashing back and forth.  The very small gap between their bodies was filled with electricity and each shift, each shuffle set off a few sparks that jumped between them, dancing against their skin.  Each jolt brought them closer together, his hand hinting at brushing her thigh.  Her shoulder bridging the gap between their hearts.  She laughed at a trite joke from the TV and looked to see if he was laughing too.

Their gaze connected, synapses firing so quickly that the fire was nearly visible in their eyes.  He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, her eyes closing before he’d even reached her.  Their kiss ignited the fire that had been smoldering on the couch between them.  She leaned back instinctively and he climbed up, straddling her body on the couch, his knee pressed desperately into the edge of the couch cushion, praying it would hold his weight.  His kisses pressed firmly into her mouth as his hands searched her body, unsure of where to stop, nervously seeking skin.  His lips broke from hers and joined in the sojourn for her flesh, awkwardly kissing her chin and jawline before moving more fruitfully to her neck and collar bones.  Her muscles reacted, twitching and stretching, leaning into his kisses, pressing her body against him in an effort to force him to kiss harder.

Their bodies twisted together for some time, kisses landing anywhere skin was exposed before his anxious hands found the hem of her shirt and slipped underneath it, roaming her stomach while he pressed his wrists up against the edge of her shirt, pulling it ever higher.  She propped up on her elbows and one arm at a time, helped him loose her from her shirt.  She was so warm, her skin firey to the touch as his hands and mouth tried to cover the entire expanse in a mere moment.  His knee lost it’s purchase on the edge of the couch and he lost his balance.  He pulled his leg back over and nudged her to the edge of the couch, laying his body tightly in the space behind her.  He kissed her shoulders and she moaned.  His fingers toyed at her belt buckle, a blind attempt at freedom.  The post clicked free and her belt loosened around his hand as he tugged at the button and zipper, opening a space for him to slip inside.  She wriggled against him, her ass pressing against his previously unnoticed excitement.

His fingers traced the waistband of her pants before all too eagerly dipping inside to test her arousal.  He teased her, his fingers avoiding the places where she was aching for him to explore, but only momentarily before his own excitement overcame his restraint.  His fingers slipped and slid, inside and out, around and over.  Her excitement grew with each movement.  He paused, his wrist strained from the awkward angle to tug off the rest of her clothing before resuming his mission.  Her heat was becoming nearly too much to handle, they were both sweating.  He slipped his fingers inside her with a final concerted effort, her pleasure reaching its audible crescendo.  She peaked and her body tightened around and against him.  Her cries shifted and he could feel the shiver as he recognized pain in her voice.  He jerked his hand from her body and with it pulled open whatever stopper had been containing a rush of blood and gore that immediately spilled out between her legs.  He leapt up and backed away, the brackish fluid dripping past her thigh before she relaxed onto her back.  Her eyes were closed.

Without thinking, he wiped his hand off on his pants, leaving a black stain across his hip.  He stepped forward again and reached out to try and wake her.  He laid a hand on her abdomen and immediately recoiled.  Her stomach undulated from his movement.  He reached out again and felt the doughy, unnatural softness of her stomach give way to his fingertips.  He rubbed his eyes as her skin appeared to turn a slight blue, like just the hint of a bruise was forming on her stomach.  Her body suddenly went stiff, her muscles straining against her pale skin.  He stepped back again and watched from a few feet away, unsure of what to do or where to go or even how to react.

Her muscle tone relaxed and a long sigh escaped her lips.  He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and allowed himself to step forward just a bit, now more sure that things were probably more OK then he’d thought.  She slowly sat up, her eyes still mostly closed.  He reached out a hand to help her, but she didn’t seem to notice it.  She pushed herself from the couch and walked toward the back of her house.  He opened his mouth to say something just as she stopped, solid in her position.  He gulped and looked around, unsure of himself again.  She turned, her eyes pointed to the floor and mumbled under her breath.  He cleared his throat and asked her to repeat herself.

Her face tilted upwards, her eyes fully opened but a nightmare shade of pure white.  She opened her mouth and more of the same looking fluid spilled out onto the floor.  He winced and the slight movement was enough to jar her into action.  She rushed to him, closing the space between them before he could internalize that she had even gotten off the couch.  At the last moment she jumped, her feet pounding against his chest, her body following his to the floor, the weight of her body and the force of her jump crushed his ribs when they stopped against her floor.  He wheezed in pain and her hands came up around his jaw.

He knew what would happen next, he felt her readying to jerk.  He didn’t need to feel the snap to know she was about to break his neck.  She leaned in and kissed him again, licking her lips as she pulled back.  A loud grumble sounded from her stomach and she sneered.

He closed his eyes and braced for impact.  He should’ve asked her to take care of him first.  At least then he could’ve died on a post-blow job high.

Prescription.

He leaned over the couch, his head hovered over the dark brown towel stretched out on the green carpet.  His mind reeled and he could hear the rushing of his blood inside his ears but nothing came up, so he relaxed back against the pillows.  His vision was slightly blurred but when he focused in on the images flickering across the TV his sight calmed back into clarity.  A vibration centered directly above his crotch startled him and he sat upright and looked down, relaxing his taut muscles as he realized it was only his phone, a text from his wife.  She’d be home in 10 minutes, the text relayed.  She was bringing much needed supplies of anti-nausea pills, soda and Saltines.

He glanced down at his phone again and caught sight of his hands.  Holding them up closer to his eyes he squinted in an attempt to wash away what he was seeing.  His fingertips had turned a garish shade of blue.  He forced his hands away from his face and blinked several times, hoping to clear whatever caused him see what wasn’t there, unable to shake it he drew his hands back into his eyes only to see even more clearly the disturbing color they had camouflaged themselves in.  With one hand he pinched at several of the fingers of the other hand and grimaced at the lack of sensation.  His mind worked quickly to convince himself that it was just a trick of his vision, his fever was giving him fits and that when his wife returned she would laugh at his silly fears.

He heard the key turn in the door knob signaling his wife’s return but as he sat up to greet her his stomach rushed up into his throat and he ran for the bathroom, throwing closed the door and flicking the lock behind him before kneeling at the toilet, waiting for his stomach to revolt and throw it’s very limited content into the waiting bowl.  He heard his wife knock on the door just as the first fountain of acid coursed up his throat and out his widely stretched mouth, his body taking over the motions.  He felt the strain of his jaw, unused to such forceful and involuntary stretching.  Retching had to be the single most effective ab exercise, his muscles sprang back so tightly against his spine in order to force his stomach to give up whatever it held inside.  Just as he thought his body had nothing to give, his muscles coiled hard again and he felt a sudden rush of fluid that had not been there before, his mouth wrenched open and his eyes pressed painfully shut as the river of fluid sprang from his throat.

He awoke to the sound of frenzied knocking on the locked door, his wife calling out for him.  He sat up and looked into the toilet, a mass of bloody, lumpy fluid filled the bowl and spilled out down the side to where his head had been.  Suddenly aware of an extreme hunger, he dipped his hand into the bloody mess and lifted up a small lump of tissue.  He studied it only momentarily before placing it to his lips.  It smelled heady and intoxicating and he slipped the clot into his mouth and chewed quickly, gulping down the mass.  He stood, the wave of nausea all but a distant memory as he shuffled to the door.  Fumbling with the lock he could hear his wife muttering her thanks that he was alive.  He pulled open the door and she gasped and her body instinctively jerked backwards, butting up against the wall on the other side of the short hallway.  Her hands stretched out in protection but they were no match for his sudden onslaught.

He shoved her hands to the side and grasped her jaw in both hands jerking sharply downwards, her jaw putting up little fight as it pulled free of her face, he let go and her jaw swung freely against her, a gory new necklace.  Her throat and tongue were exposed and he quickly closed the space between them, his mouth pressed against her tongue, blood and audible terror burbling up from deep inside her.  He opened his lips and bit into her strong tongue, his teeth biting through with unstoppable violence.  His wife cried out in fear and agony but his hunger was his only focus.  He pulled away, his mouth full of her tongue and she slid to the ground, her hands shaking near her face, unsure whether to cover the gaping wound or not.  He chewed on her tongue and stepped backwards into the bathroom to sit on the small stool in front of the pedestal sink.  He glanced in the mirror and was drawn in, studying what he saw before him.  The eyes were milky white and completely vacant, the mouth coated in blood and gore and a large fissure on the forehead oozed black fluid and blood.  Suddenly unsure of who this creature was he raised a fist and pounded the glass of the mirror, shattering it on impact.  Glass rain and mist filled sink as he sat on the stool, the new threat destroyed.

He swallowed the last stringy bites of tongue and raised the back of his hand to wipe away the warmth on his chin.  He looked back into the hallway and saw the delicate legs of his wife, twitching with fear on the ground.  He slid off the stool and crawled for her, ready for his next bite.

He’d always been so hungry after getting over the flu.

ASL.

As vibrations coursed through her bed, she rolled over and blinked, still in the stupor of sleep, at her alarm clock hoping that if she looked she’d find that the vibrations were just part of a dream and her alarm clock had not yet gone off.  The glaring orange numbers flashed the time and she grimaced.  She pulled back the covers and shifted her legs over the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to press down on the bar that would halt the incessant vibrations.  Her feet touched down on the terry cloth rug at the edge of her bed and immediately felt the cold seeping through from the hardwood flooring beneath.  She stretched and her mouth opened wide but no sound, no moan or groan escaped.

She stood and opened her door, the creaking just a sensation under her fingertips.  Lurching down the hallway her feet suddenly felt the radiating thud of something in the distance.  She stopped, her muscles tuned in to pick up any further physical disturbances.  She turned back and saw the barely cracked door of her daughter’s room and stepped backwards to push it further open.  The form of her daughter was still clearly visible in the morning light.  She sighed her relief and shifted to continue down the hall again when another thud echoed through the hardwood and pulsated through the muscles of her body.  Having been deaf since her birth she was highly attuned to the physical sensations of movement and how they translated to what she may hear if her ears actually worked.

The vibrations had been strong and must be coming from somewhere on this level of the house.  She moved further down the hallway towards the bathroom.  Light soaked the carpet just outside the door frame, spilling out from under the door.  She pressed a delicate hand to the closed door and paused, hoping to feel more sensation, something that would alert her to what was happening behind the door.  She couldn’t sense the constant hum of energy that she associated with the shower running, couldn’t feel the movement of someone brushing their teeth or undressing.  She could feel nothing.

She knocked rapidly on the solid wood of the door and again returned an open palm to it in order to detect any shift in response to her knock.  There it came, pulsation in the wood tickling her palm.  Someone was there and moving, hopefully to open the door, to answer her non-verbal call.  The door eased open and her eyes connected with that of a creature that did not belong in the house.  Her mouth remaind tightly closed but her hands reached up in defense, a scream without a single noise.  The blood soaked figure’s mouth opened and she was struck by the smell of metal and rot.  The warmth of his breath traveled the distance between them and coated her face.

He stepped forward and she forced her hands out further, stalled in place by fear and confusion.  She glanced behind the monster and saw the feet of her husband, torn and disjointed, in a pool of dark blood.  The liquid that clung to this thing’s face was undoubtedly, at least in part, that of her husband.  The fluid that had previously warmed her husband’s skin was now the rouge on this creature’s cheeks.  His hand met hers and with a deft movement she felt her bones crack, the shockwave of pain reaching her brain and shutting down control to her muscles, her knees giving way as she slunk to the floor.  Tears rushed from her eyes as the monster’s face drew close to hers, its eye’s as dead as her husband.  She pounded a fist on the floor, praying the vibration would be enough to wake alert her still sleeping daughter as the monster opened its mouth one last time before her world rushed into darkness.

A Scripture: #NaShoStoMo

From the Book of Lazarus

Laz 2:3-

And they did roll back the stone and entered the sepulchre in which they had laid Him.  They entered it first one and then the other and stood before the stone upon which He had been lain to His final rest. Jordan and Mary gasped as they gazed upon the stone where His body should still be.  A great fear overcame their hearts and they did tremble as they fled from the sepulchre to return to town and speak of what they had just witnessed.

Laz 2:4-

When Jordan and Mary had reached the town of Bethel the citizens thereof did not believe them.  They cried “We canst not believe that He is not there.”  and “How could He leave?” and “Where would He go?” and Jordan and Mary assured them that He was gone and that He could leave and that it had been told in prophecies of old that this would all come to pass.

Laz 2:5-

And they said “Let us go up and we shall show you.  To prove that He is removed from his sepulchre.” And all who heard say “Yea, verily we will go up with you.  We desire to see with our own eyes that He hath gone.“

Laz 2:6-

And they went up and they saw that Jordan and Mary had not decieved them.  He was gone and his sepulchre was empty but for a trail of rust colored fluid on the ground leading out of the tomb.  They all stood and they marveled and many prayed.  And many stood in silence as they considered what had gone on.

Laz 2:7-

Then a low growl was heard and some said “It is a lion of the mountains” and others said “It is naught but a drunk who hath weathered the night near the shelter of this tomb” and still others said “Nay, it is merely an oncoming storm.”  All present gasped when a shadow emerged from the corner of the sepulchre.  Women fainted and men cried out as His face was recognized.  A cry echoed through the valley as He overcame the party.

Laz 2:8-

Not one of the citizens who disbelieved Jordan and Mary and went forth to see the tomb returned to the city of Bethel and much was said about why they had gone but none among the remaining was willing to venture forth to search.

A Gamer’s Dream: #NaShoStoMo – Guest Post R. Grimm

He knew all the strategies.  Malcom had spent most of his teenage and early adult years preparing himself for this.  He’d hit them with benches and foam bats. He’d avoided the weeping ones for fear they’d rip him apart. He knew just how to shout “Cocktail Party!” so he sounded hard but still sarcastic and he burned the big ones with his homemade alcohol bombs. Anything was a weapon when it came to zombies.

When he first heard of the outbreak he was ecstatic. He knew all those gaming years would be put to good use, no matter what his mother said. He packed his bag, re-enforced his windows and doors, blocked the windows, he even made himself a “safe room.” If they got to him, there would be no escape. He would enjoy mowing down the horde.

He’d watched the news anxiously. It hadn’t hit his city yet, but he wasn’t about to go out looking for it. He knew he was safe in his apartment. He continued to refine his skills, only pausing his games for food and bio breaks. When they came knocking, he would be ready for them.

Three weeks. That’s how long it took for the disease to spread to him. His apartment complex was one of the first to be hit. Some girl brought it back from vacation. It was almost too perfect. Malcom heard the sounds and readied his weapons. The horde broke through. He yelled, slashed, hit.

In the end, there were too many and his years of gaming experience didn’t mean anything in the real world. Backed against the corner, Malcom whimpered. No escape for the zombies also meant no escape for him.

I guess Mom was right. Game Over.

A Monologue: #NaShoStoMo

Make your choice and make it quick.  I need a moment to resign myself to whatever fate you choose for me.

I knew that eventually you’d be here, the door would bust in and there you’d stand guns ready to shoot and I’d have only a breath before the bullets pierced my disease-addled brain.  Your group looks just as I’d imagined it would.  The tall one, the woman, the teenager, the old one, the military type and the educated one still wearing a blood soaked leather elbow patched jacket.

Yet you defied my expectations on how long I’d exist after you busted through my carefully boarded up door.  My last hours as a still living human were spent locking and boarding all the doors and windows in my home to contain myself here to avoid contributing to the havoc we zombies could wreak.  I knew that eventually you’d hunt us down to destroy our chance at continuing to reproduce.  I just wish we could communicate that we’re not the mindless creatures that pop culture suggested we would be.  Our brains still work but the disease has made it hard for us to reason and make…appropriate choices.

So here I sit, handcuffed to a door while you bicker about what to do with me and what value I may hold.  She’s right, I can warn you about other zombies if they get close enough to smell.  He’s wrong, I won’t bite unless you get close enough for me to smell your sweat.  That’s true, I can’t bite at all if you pull out all my teeth.  Well no, I don’t think I’m likely to run away, if given the option I’m more likely to stay close to a food source like you.  I doubt I’d be any danger if you kept me well bound.  Yes, you’d have to keep me under constant watch.  I was great in bed as a human but darling, I doubt you want to take that chance.  You are all right, I am nothing but a monster.

I had planned to be bleeding on the floor right now, not shifting my eyes from speaker to speaker while you extol my virtues or demonize my faults.  I wish I could tell if my eyes are screaming as loud as my soul is.  My mouth just won’t follow the scattered commands of a brain no longer willing.  She’s watching me but I can tell there is nothing in her eyes but guarded terror.  She can’t and won’t recognize the humanity I’m desperately trying to exude.

For all the fear you seem to have regarding my ability you are certainly taking your time in deciding whether or not to spare me a quick and painless death.  I’m not a toy, or a zombie warning system nor am I that teenage asshole’s sex slave.  He may have watched too many movies growing up.  Can’t you see how much effort I put into protecting you from me?  Take my advice and just let me die.  Kill me.

You can’t seriously be willing to take the chance, right?

Teeth or not my friends, you spare me a bullet and your brains will be mine if I have to scoop them out with my gums.

A Harlequin: #NaShoStoMo

He pushed the door open and squinted into the darkness.  He’d heard her labored groans and screams from the street.  Knowing the danger, he had some anxiety that he would be tortured if he knew that he’d ignored an injured human.  He felt confident he was prepared to keep himself safe but he couldn’t pass the sounds of agony by.  As his eyes adjusted he saw the shape in the corner of the room.

He called out tentatively and the figure shifted.  He could now make out her form.  She sat perched on her feet, her hands wrapped around her chest.  He walked forward until she cried out, her voice threaded with fear and pain.  His heart fluttered with terror, he recognized the animal like tone to her voice and knew instantly that this girl was one of them.  He took a a shuffle step back and she yelped and thrusted a hand out toward him.  He stood very still as she cautiously moved in his direction, her body moving into a bare slip of light peaking through the window.  He cringed at the sight of the wound on her shoulder but let her continue to move to him.  As she drew closer he noticed the muzzle on her face, covering her mouth in leather and steel.

She stopped only a few feet in front of him and stood up, her height bringing her eye to eye with him.  A puzzled look contorted his face as he studied her eyes.  They were wet with tears, dirty stains creating a lattice work of trails on her cheek bones.  They were also too still, too focused.  Too human.

She cried out again, her voice pushing it’s way through the muzzle.  He tried to quiet his racing heart as he studied her.  She was wearing a tattered hockey jersey and appeared bare from the waist down, the remnants of a sock ringing one ankle.  The shoulder was shredded, exposing the open wound crusted with dried blood.  The wound was still red, no pus or smell that was so often carried by the monsters.  He met her eyes again and she nodded.

He reached out for her face and she drew back suddenly.  The movement startled him and he leapt backwards.  She put up her hands in apology and he came forward again. She turned her head to the side, exposing the lock that held the muzzle fast around her face.  He reached up and gingerly touched the lock, looking her in the eyes while he moved to avoid startling her a second time.  Her tears were flowing again as she pointed to the corner she’d emerged from.  He caught sight of a chain looped around the radiator with a pair of handcuffs dangling like two tiny nooses.  She held up her hands and he saw the bloody rings around her wrists.

He reached out and wiped away her tears with his thumbs and gestured to the bed in the room, he moved to it and sat down, illustrating what he wanted her to do, suddenly unsure of whether or not to break the silence with his voice.  She sat next to him and searched his face imploringly before clearing her throat.

“As far as I can tell, I’ve been here for two months.  My husband left me here to rot.”

“How have you survived?”

She bent over and slid a hand under the bed, pulling out a box filled with ramen noodles and water bottles.  ”I eat them dry and limit myself to 1/4 of a bottle of water with each meal.”

“Why the muzzle?” He asked, his hand touching the space where the leather met her jawline.

“For when I ‘turned’ he said I’d be no danger to anyone who might find me and kill me.”

“Can we get it off?”

“I don’t know, he took the key and it’s too tight to slip out of.”

He smiled softly and pulled a substantial knife from the pocket of his cargo pants.  He put his hand across the muzzle and slipped the knife just in front of her ear, the leather parting for the blade.  As soon as it had severed completely she reached up and pulled the muzzle from her face, sliding her jaw side to side, she smiled.  Her tongue traced her freed lips and she looked at him.

Before he could react she leapt at him and pressed her still damp lips to his.  Her cold fingers clutching at the nape of his neck as her mouth searched his.  He fought down the desire to run from fear when he realized that she was kissing him and not trying to bite him.  He managed to push her back and her brow furrowed in confusion before he brought his mouth back to hers.  She pushed him backwards on the bed and straddled his waist.  She grabbed the hem of the jersey and pulled it over her head, her face drawing into a grimace as her shoulder responded to her movement.

His hands moved to her waist as her cringe relaxed.  He followed the curve of her waist up to her thin chest, her ribs tugging at the skin that held them inside and to her small breasts.  His hands soon followed his glance and she smiled as a now pleasured instead of pained moan tumbled from her mouth.

She leaned forward and her passion washed over him.  He was so glad he’d responded to the call of this damsel in distress.

A Nursery Rhyme: #NaShoStoMo

Knock on wood
Knock on wood
Zombies in the neighborhood

Don’t you fret
Don’t you fear
Just don’t scream so they can hear

Hide your head
Hide your brain
Hope that they don’t bring you pain

Knock on wood
Knock on wood
Zombies in the neighborhood

Don’t you cry
Don’t you frown
Don’t run for water, Zombies can’t drown

Hide in here
Hide in there
They’ll probably find you anywhere

Knock on wood
Knock on wood
Zombies in the neighborhood

A Horror: #NaShoStoMo

The thump sounded again and Marley brushed her collar bone nervously.  She balled up her slender fingers into a fist and wiped at the steam clinging to the bathroom mirror.  Her dewy reflection greeted her behind the condensation.  She could no longer ignore the strange thud that had sounded several times since she stepped out of the shower.

Wrapping a towel around her damp body she took a deep breath, her breasts swelling over the tight terry cloth.  Pushing the door open, she stepped out into the hallway.  The air felt frozen and crisp and her skin reacted, tiny pin points of flesh raising up all over her arms.  She glanced down the hallway towards the back of her modest home and then turned to look down the rest of the hallway.  Her instinct pushed her legs into motion and she walked toward the front of the house.

Just before reaching the doorway that led into the kitchen Marley stepped into a patch of warm, moist carpet.  She looked down and considered the dark area of carpeting, her eyes followed the edge of the patch to the door frame where a dark red liquid seeped from the kitchen tiles into the fabric.  Her brain failed to make the connection and she took another step forward, her body tilting to move into the kitchen.  Her eyes lifted from the damp carpet to appraise the kitchen.

He was crouched on the ground, another body’s legs sticking out from behind him.  He was straddling the waist of her boyfriend, Tad.  His jeans were stained with dark splotches and his bare feet were bright red.  Marley’s brain finally caught up and she dropped the floor, tucking herself back behind the wall, a cry balanced carefully in her throat.

Her mind raced, searching for the best option of what to do next.  Her heart sounded so loud, like it was thumping into an amplifier.  She bit her bottom lip to contain any further noise but it was too late.  She didn’t notice his shadow until he’d reached the doorway.  She heard his groan and the cry in her throat was unleashed.  She screamed and leapt to her feet, running down the length of the hallway toward her bedroom.

She reached the door and slammed it shut, throwing her weight against the solid wood before slowly sliding down it.  He hit the doorway with all his force and the concussion pushed her forward and whiplash brought her head back against the door.  The room went black and Marley slumped into unconsciousness.

Her eyelids fluttered open and her gaze connected with his.  She screamed again and he grinned and burbled his joy at her horror.  She recognized he was laughing right before he brought the brick down on her forehead, a clump of Tad’s brains still unchewed in the monster’s mouth.