It started out like any other day. I got up, brushed my teeth, got dressed, had breakfast, kissed my wife good bye, and headed out the door to my **** box with wheels, to a job that I can’t stand. Every single day I do this. Day in and day out. Nothing exciting ever happens, nothing new. Nothing to look forward to.

That was three weeks ago…

I have now just locked myself in a room of an abandon house, that I so luckily (thank god) found, while trying to escape. It’s just me, and this bloodied up Louisville slugger I managed to steal from the local Wallmart. This was suppose to start out like any regular day. Nothing exciting was suppose to happen. Not like this.

Outside…Outside behind this door that I quickly barricaded with an old chester drawer, a couple of chairs and an old dusty couch are…I don’t know what is out there, infact it’s more like what ARE out there. All I know is, I’m in here. They are there, and I’m ****** if they manage to get inside.

How did this all start? This question haunts my mind more than those things out there. Where did they come from? Why are they here? And…why aren’t I dead yet? So many questions, just no god damn answers.

I don’t even know how to recap the events that occurred before I got in here. Before this whole mess even started. What happened? Today was a normal day. So, I thought. Who knew, me kissing my wife and saying ‘good-bye’ to my wife, actually meant saying ‘good-bye’ for the last time…I came from work to hear screaming. Not just any screaming. This was like…I can’t even explain the sounds I heard coming from the upstairs washroom. What caught my eye first before the shock was that the back door was wide open. Not like forced open, but just open. That’s when the shock hit me. I started putting pieces together. Door is left open. Smoke from the burnt dinner is plowing through the oven door, filling up the kitchen and the rest of the house. The Fire alarm is going off. There are smashed plates on the floor. Glasses are smashed and an open tin of tomato sauce is knocked over, spilling over the counter. The screaming. The screaming…coming from upstairs. I’ll never forget that sound.

Still in shock, I quietly called out my wife’s name "Sandra…?"

The screaming still continued

I couldn’t move. I wanted to, every part of me wanted to just bolt right up stairs, bust into that washroom and save her. Be a hero, hold her in my arms and live happily ever after.

No, reality doesn’t work that way.

This was how reality works…Death. Pain. Suffering.

Then the screaming stopped. It didn’t fade. Just stopped. The only sound that was heard was the annoying pitch of the beeping of the fire alarm. Piercing through my ears.

Finally slowly coming back to my senses, started to walk, slowly, towards the stairs. Walking ever so careful. I was scared. Every bit of my body tensed. My body ached cause my muscles were so stiff from fear. Every bit of me was telling myself to go. Get out of the house. She’s dead. She’s gone. Don’t waste your time. Get out now, go to a neighbor’s house, call the police. But, I couldn’t. I had to check out the scene. I had to face what I never thought I would ever face in my entire life. I had to see…I had to see my wife.

I started walking up the stairs. Like a sloth climbing across a tree branch. My hand gripped the banister, causing my knuckles to go bone white. Ever so slowly, fear trying to guide me back. Curiosity pushing me forward. When I finally reached to the top of the stairs, I made my first gruesome discovery, and puked all over the hallway floor. I didn’t want to see this. But I had to. I Inched my way, forward through the hallway towards the open washroom door. I wanted to close my eyes. Shut them tight. But, they wouldn’t close. I wanted to yell, but my mouth wouldn’t open. All I could do was move closer to what was my washroom, the door wide open, to just a rectangle view of what was inside. The smell made me throw up again. It was the smell of blood…and lots of it. I didn’t want to go any further. Fear had finally stopped me, and I turned around and started to walk back down the hallway towards the stairs…until I heard breathing. Deep breathing. Deep, gurgled breathing to be exact. I knew something wasn’t right.

"Sandra?" I managed to squeak out, "Sandra please, say something?"

All, I heard still was the deep gurgling sounds of breath.

Then sounds of movement, sounding like someobody trying to stand up on a bloody floor, slipping everywhere as she would try to get to her feet.. I didn’t know what to think. I just stood there in fear. Locked. Fixated on the view of the washroom, from the opened door. Bloodied hand prints smeared all over the walls. Walls that used to be white. Along with the bathtub, and probably the sink. The floor pooled in blood, it spilling out, getting soaked in by the light tanned carpet.

Then came the grunting.

Deep, gurgled breathing. Struggling movement. And then grunting and growling.

Something really wasn’t right.

"Sandra…please" I tried to keep back the tears

Still, with the sounds. Everything silent, except for what was going on inside that washroom. The sound of the fire alarm filtered out.

I still couldn’t move…

Then she appeared. In a quick instant, causing me to retreat back through the hallway and down the stairs…freaking out. I didn’t look back at all, I just ran. So fast I didn’t have time to open the door and ended up smacking into it, causing me to fall to the ground. I was winded, and got up slowly. The sound of thumping as my ‘wife’ slowly, and freakishly started walking down the stairs, causing me to force myself up faster

Growling and grunting.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I finally got to my feet, opened the door, and got the **** out of there. Jumped into my car, and skidded off. I didn’t look back. I just drove.

Confused.

Scared.

Alone.

Copyright 2007 Adam.A
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