Unarmed - Part Two

The little blonde hairs on my arm lift up and I strain my eyes into the darkness, blinking and waiting for them to adjust.  But I cannot see what I need to see.  I can only hear those awful shrieks - each one in unison, as if they practiced before they came here - and they're coming down the short hallway to my room.

Mixed with the shrieks are the pitter-patter of feet.  It sounds as if hundreds of footsteps are pounding against the ground, like the corridors of a school after the final bell for summer break.

What the hell?

Is it a parade?

A herd of animals?

A crowd of people?

Could it be a colony of ghosts?  

But do ghosts have feet?

I would assume ghosts would be somewhat quieter than this group that’s out in the hall.

Maybe it's rats?

It is the city.  It would not be unheard of here.

My guess is some salt heads looking for cheap jewelry and their next fix.

But how many are there?

If only the lights worked.

The television set, that's usually on all hours of the night, sits quiet.

My cell is off.  I know it had been fully charged at bedtime, but now it sits dead and of no help to me.

My arm reaches out to the lamp beside my bed.

I flip its switch.

I click it again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing.

Everything is dead.

What - or who - could cause this?

Living alone for this long - and having seen enough Criminal Mind episodes to know one must always be prepared - I am a little surprised by my lack of protocol.  I do have an alarm system (thanks to the previous owners); a gun (thanks to an over-protective dad) and a bottle of hornet spray next to my bed (thanks to an episode of 20/20) but what I want right now is to be able to see in this room.  I want to be able to see what’s about to come through that door.  (Which brings up a very good and debatable question.  Would you want to see it coming?  And by it, I mean death.  I guess the answer is different for all of us.  Personally, I’m not convinced either way, but I sure would like to know who the hell is on the other side of my door.)

I'm guessing from the parade of footsteps that the alarm has either been disabled or broken.

As for the gun, I know I’m not fully awake enough to find it and load it with bullets, which I think may be in the closet anyway.  (I curse myself for not taking safety more seriously and for not having it ready for such an incident.) 

So, as the stampede of footsteps inch closer and closer to my door - playing more with my over-active imagination than my nerve - I grab for the hornet spray on my nightstand, 

cock the bottle, and say a silent prayer. (I'm sure God is wondering who I am and where the hell I've been up until now, but I figure it's worth a try.)

With my finger on the trigger, I am ready to defend my honor, my collection of glass unicorns (don't ask), and my measly lifestyle.

I stare, wide-eyed, into obscurity - still trying to make out any kind of shadow or light that might seep underneath the door.

Nothing.

I stare in apprehension and into complete darkness.  

I am ready to fight.

The screams and footsteps stop abruptly.

I sit poised with my bee spray.

I wait to attack whoever - or whatever - is about to come through that door.  

But, I hear nothing.

I hear nothing for a long while.  

The silence deafens my ears.

It feels like time, too, has decided to stand still.  Maybe it's taking a short break from running itself.

Perhaps a time warp of sorts?

Who knows, but this time lapse is making me sleepy again.

My body relaxes a bit, it's initial adrenaline-rush replaced by fatigue.

Finally, the door creaks open - ever so slowly and just like in a mother-fucking horror movie or like one of those ghost-hunting shows after they brow-beat the spirit into communication and it decides to show them a sign. (Probably just so it can be left alone or go back to sleep.)

I take a quiet, but deep breath.

I hold it in.

I aim, ready to open fire of hornet poison to whatever stupid son-of-a-bitch has dared to enter my humble dwelling.

Wham!

The door slams open and I almost piss myself.

My heart smacks against my rib cage.

A loud whoomph echoes through the apartment as the door hits the wall.

I scream.

I jump out of bed and in the process drop my only line of defense.

The spray can clinks to the hardwood floor.

The room fills quickly with hoards of floating entities. 

In unison, these ghastly figures give out one long, loud, horrendous scream from their throats. The mirror on my wall cracks beside me. I can hear glass break in my bathroom. Their sound makes my ears bleed.

I scream back just as loud, out of fear and pain and panic.

I drop to the floor, struggling on my hands and knees to find that spray bottle.

I cannot find it.   

I am doomed and I decide to use profanity as an imaginary shield.

Incomprehensible words fly out of my mouth.

In retrospect, it wouldn't have mattered if I had emptied that whole can of spray on these beasts or unloaded a whole chamber of lead into them.  They were coming for me one way or another and they were not leaving until their job was finished.

It was obvious to me and to any onlooker - had they been there - that I was 

out-numbered;

Unarmed;

Undermanned.

My eyes, however, were adjusting to my circumstances and I was finally able to get a good look at my intruders.

That's when I started to cry...

(Find out what happens to Deanna and what the creatures are after.

Stop back for the rest of the story tomorrow.)

#ReadOn

#CreepOn