Unarmed - Part Three

Picture a balloon head, thin, pale and veiny, almost blue in color.

Think hollow, white eyes, like that Undertaker dude from wrestling.

A triangular mouth - almost like a beak - that was oozing some sort of  brown, foul-smelling mucus.

A shrouded body - like a monk robe or graduation gown- with tiny stick arms and legs that protruded out like tree branches. 

And their feet were simply two bones that jutted out like salad tongs.

That was what made all of the clatter in the hallway.  Those tiny, grotesque, tong-feet.

I was sobbing now.

This is what’s coming for me.

And not just one of these creatures stand before me.

Hell, if it were only one of them I could snap it like a twig.

No.

It’s an army of them.

And right now, they’re all floating.  Why can they fly?  Do they have wings hidden underneath their garments? Do they only use their gross tong-feet to scare you?  To announce their arrival?  What sense does that make?  Who are they?  What are they?  And what do they want with me?  What the hell did I do? 

I shudder and I think about hitting my head off the wall to knock myself out, just so I don't have to see this happening.  I contemplate it but realize I’m too afraid to make a movement of any kind.  I am frozen in place and I choose to scream instead of act.

After a moment they start to move.

Some of the monsters choose to float around the ceiling and some of the other monsters choose to use their tong-feet to prance about the room.

I watch, helplessly, as they block off all the exits - the one window (that doesn’t even open), the door in front of me, even the air duct near the ceiling.

If I could will myself to move, I would.  But I cannot make myself do it.  I cannot function, although my instinct is telling me to try and get out of here.  But to run out of here would mean going right through one of them.  Or did they only look translucent?  Maybe they're  solid as a football player?

I am too scared to find out.

I scream again.

I scream at my hopeless situation.

I scream at my cowardice.

They scream back, this time exhaling some ghastly looking, greenish-color of fog from their mouths.  It fills up the space between us, making them almost invisible.

I scream some more.

I wonder if my neighbors can hear me?  Will they call the cops?  Run for help?  Come rushing in and save me?  I don’t even know their names or who they are to call out to them through the wall.  I don’t think they know my name either.  I never so much as made eye-contact with them.  Damn it, Deanna.  You’re such an idiot.  People are important.  So very important.  Especially in times of a paranormal invasion.  Idiot.

I am frantic;

And desperate;

And I search again for that damned hornet spray bottle.

I feel if I can reach it, I can somehow survive this attack.

Maybe finding this spray bottle will jolt me back to reality; to a time that isn’t so unfuckingbelieveable.

These creatures creep closer towards me.

Their empty eyes study me like a specimen.

Their foul odor pollutes the room like a stink bomb.

I feel woozy and weak and I can no longer scream.

I've lost my voice somewhere between the smell and the fear.

Shaky and unsure, I stand up to face my judgement, my knees barely holding it together.

Tears fall down my cheeks.

My mouth, dry as a summer lawn.

The one creature speaks.

Maybe the leader?

Is it a ghost? 

A ghost camouflaged as a decrepit creature for special effect?

Some souped-up version of an old entity?

Is it a demon?

The devil himself surrounded by his army of evil minions?

Could it be an alien?

Part of the infamous Greys?

Maybe a descendent of the reptilians?

Was it a monster?  Some remnant of a childhood boogeyman?

Or were these creatures just that.  

Creatures.  An unidentified species?

Some new breed of mammal?  Worthy of a cryptozoologist?

At this moment, I have no idea.

I look at this thing with both fear and respect.  Glaring at it with eyes begging for a chance of survival.

"Oh.  Look," a voice, deep and brooding, speaks.  "Now, she wants to live."

The group of monsters laugh.

I’m in shock that it speaks through that beak of a mouth.  And I’m surprised that I can understand Its words.

"Why now?" It asks me.  “Why do you want to live now?  What would be the point?”

I didn't understand the question.  

Or why it was a question.  

Or even if this thing wanted me to answer. 

I think it might have been rhetorical. 

But I answer.

Also in the form of a question.

"What do you want?"

Another laugh from the army of hideous onlookers.

"What do you want?" I squeak again, my voice trembling and weak. 

"We heard your soul is up for sale," the leader says.  "And we've come to collect it."

In unison, this colony of creatures releases another deep breath of billowing cloud- smoke throughout the room.  (Can they do nothing by themselves?  Are they all followers of the crowd?)

“Losers,” I mumble out of anger.  “You’re all puppets.”

At that moment my body betrays me.

My muscles seize-up like one big Charley horse, as that foul-smelling smog encompasses me.  The vapor fills the room end to end.

My body hits the floor.

I ache for sleep.

I ache so badly.

I am tired.

Exhausted.

Spent.

My body feels so heavy.

So heavy like a huge sac of potatoes.

I crumble into a ball.

My eyes surrender and close.

I succumb to slumber.

And that was all I remember from that horrifying night.  

I don’t know if they really did take my soul or if it was all one big humorless joke.  I know I don’t feel any different.  I’m assuming if someone steals your soul you would know about it.  I’m thinking you would feel lighter.  Drop a few pounds on the scale?  Eat more to try and fill the void?  

Would the loss of a soul make you angrier?  Sad?  More evil?  Would I go around hurting people?  Pinching kids?  Kicking animals?  Wouldn’t I know?  Wouldn’t I know if I lost something that important?  That precious?  And wouldn’t there be changes in me?  Even if they were only subtle changes?  I would have to know.  Right?  Wouldn’t music sound hollow?  And sunsets burn my eyes?  Would food taste different?  More bland?  Less savory?  Would I get colder quicker?  Need an extra sweater in the winter?  How would the loss of a soul affect you?  And wouldn’t we notice?  

I wonder.  Just like my mind does.  Sometimes I cannot control it.  What if they’re gorging on my soul right this very minute and I can’t even feel it?  Wouldn’t I feel some sort of pain?  Loss?  Worry?  And I do worry.  I worry because I have been wearing heavier socks these days and I don’t enjoy the new Taylor Swift album as much as I should and I’ve switched from beer to vodka because beer has lost its taste for me recently.*  So, maybe all of this means that I am soulless.  I’m changing because deep down I’m not really me anymore.   I just don’t know and I fear I will only find out some day when it matters the most.

And then I think, well, what if they didn’t take my soul.  Why not?  Was it not good enough for them?  Was it too tarnished already?  Or the opposite?  Maybe too angelic for them to snatch up?  Or were they interrupted?  Distracted?  And will they come back for it?  Will they try again?

This not knowing is a such a burden.  It takes up most of my time; most of my thoughts; almost all of my energy.  All I do is prepare.  Because what if they plan on coming back?  Or what if they’re hiding in the walls right now, plotting their next attack? Too many what- ifs and not enough medication to ease my mind.

  

I do not have any answers or advice.  But I can tell you this.  This was not a dream or some unruly nightmare.  I woke up on the floor, where I had passed out from their chloroform fog (those bastards), holding an empty can of hornet spray.  Maybe I had defeated the creature mob after all?  I’m not holding my breath on that matter, but I do know that I have a plan.  I put together a slew of back-up, battery-operated lanterns and flashlights and nightlights.  I also have my gun locked and loaded and enough ammunition that should put me on some sort of government watch list.  And of course, I go out now.  I’m still not the social butterfly society would have me be, but I am much better. (Even with my flawed theories and demented thoughts.)  I have opened up my life to family and new friends and social gatherings and birthday parties and movie nights and trivia Tuesdays and a book club at the local library where we talk more about sex than books and I get a little perturbed about that but I keep that to myself and push it down and listen and share stories with other human beings.  I even found God - not in a weird joining-a-cult-to-drink-the-wine kind of way or going door-to-door-to-spread-His-word kind of thing - but I pray.  A lot.  

I am trying to live better.  I have even increased my five block radius to ten and am amping up my social media posts and chats.  Yep.  It’s a new me.  The headaches are starting to wear off and my focus is crawling back out of the haze that once consumed it.  And even my jitters are controllable most of the time.  I’m a work in progress.  I need to be.  I need to be ready in case they come back for me; I need to save this new life I have created for myself; I need to protect this soul I think I might still be toting around.

And when I think long and hard about it, perhaps those creatures weren’t here to destroy me after all, but to warn me.  Perhaps their threat of taking my soul was just that, an empty threat.  Maybe all they wanted to do was scare me into a little appreciation for life and for the people around me.  Maybe it was a scare tactic to start embracing some new adventure that will inevitably save my soul; my life; my sanity.

And who knows?  Maybe these creatures aren’t ever coming back; Aren’t even around anymore; Are no longer interested in me and my measly existence.  Maybe they’re in the next building over or down at the local pub or traveling out of town or flying to the West Coast or heading your way into your town or into your home, searching and hunting their next meal. 

Or maybe they’re waiting in the shadows, watching, laughing as I tell myself lies and write my tale.

Maybe they never left at all.

Maybe they never will.

The End 

Thank you for reading my story, Creepsters.

Your thoughts and compliments are appreciated.

:)

Leave your comments below.

(*For the record.  I absolutely love every Taylor Swift album.)