by Rich Young
Act Three
"Why won't your dad answer his phone? I'm worried about him." Karen's voice was shaky as she spoke to her daughter on the phone.
"I'm sure he's fine, Mom." Julie spoke the words but doubted them as they left her lips.
"He never does this, Julie. It's weird. The first time I called, I swear he answered. I could hear him breathing. There was this creepy moaning noise, and the phone went dead," Karen explained. "When I called back, he didn't answer. He didn't answer his work phone, either. That number just rings busy."
"You worry too much. Dad's phone probably died. I'm on my way home. Please don't panic," Julie said.
Karen ended the call by telling Julie that she loved her and to hurry home, the she walked through the living room to the front door and looked through its window to see if Sam's car was parked in front of the house. It was not there. The sun was shining, but the world somehow felt darker.
As she walked past the doorway into the kitchen, she noticed something moving in the house next door, but thought that she must have been seeing things, because no one was ever home there during the day.
Karen walked into the kitchen keeping her eyes on the windows next door. She leaned on the sink and watched. Everything looked normal from what she could see. All of the curtains were open and no one was moving around inside. She was about to turn around and figure out what to make for dinner when she noticed that, from the kitchen window next door, someone was looking back at her.
Her hair stood on end, and she felt her stomach drop. There was a man in the kitchen watching her. She could not make out his face, and as soon as she realized he was there, he left the kitchen and headed towards the front of the house. She watched a shadow pass by the living room window.
The front door opened next door, and a man walked out. It was cloudy outside, and dusk had just set in. She could not make out what the man looked like until he turned his face towards her. It was Sam, but it wasn't Sam, either. His eyes were wild, his hair was damp and pressed down around his ears, and his skin looked mangled and scarred. It was his eyes that caused Karen to feel the most fear. Something was not right in those eyes. She left the kitchen.
Sam was now staggering up the walkway to their front door, and Karen could hear the same chanting sound that she heard on the phone call earlier. It was too loud to be coming out of her husband, but she knew that it was coming from him as he walked up the steps to the front porch. The other thing that she knew was that she didn't want any part of him in this state.
She could just see the ripped pant leg and blood on the skin underneath as he approached the door. Karen turned and ran to the stairs that led to the basement. The moaning was so loud that she could feel it under her skin.
At the top of the basement stairs, she heard the front door open. The chanting sound was unnerving as she quickly descended the steps. She knew exactly where to hide, and hiding was the only thing she could think to do. She ran into the laundry room and opened the pantry next to the dryer. The door to the pantry squeaked, but she opened it so slow that it made no noise as she climbed in amongst the old paint and tools that were forgotten in the pantry. She pulled the door closed as silently as she opened it. She could only see black, and she could only hear the chanting sound from upstairs.
"Wife, where the fuck are you?" Sam's voice rang through Karen's head as it traveled through the thin floor over her head. Karen thought that he must be standing in the dining room. "I know you're here." Sam's voice was a ragged, guttural, rasping disgrace to the human voice. Each word was vomited from some dark, evil place.
"I will find you."
Karen heard his footsteps throughout the house along with loud crashing noises that she knew were pictures from the walls and dishes in the kitchen being thrown around upstairs. Still unable to see anything from inside the pantry, her sense of hearing was enhanced. This thing that was Sam and also not Sam was a combination of puking, slithering, scratching madness. She could hear the darkness in its words.
"Where are you?" Sam yelled. His words seemed to come out of the chanting vibration. Karen could tell that he was becoming more agitated; more things were crashing to the ground. "I'll tear this fucking house down!"
She could hear him back in the kitchen, going through drawers. Karen's mind raced through the possible ways for her to die. She heard footsteps walking to the steps to the basement where she hid in the pantry.
"I know you're down there." Sam sounded crazy and excited and hungry and sick and wrong. Karen heard his shoes on the steps coming closer.
Karen's phone vibrated in her pocket. In the midst of her terror, she forgot she had it with her. She pulled the phone from her pocket and did not recognize the number calling.
Sam was at the bottom of the stairs now. Karen could hear his shoes hit the concrete floor. She slid her finger across the face of her phone to answer the call.
"Help me." Karen tried to whisper as softly as she could.
"Is this Mrs. Johnson?" The voice on the other end of the call was cold - and all business.
"I can smell you." Sam was breathing heavily, and Karen could hear a mad hunger in his breath.
"Yes. I need help - I'm being hunted," Karen whispered into her phone. Sam was on the other side of the basement opening cupboards and storage cabinets and laughing a wet, twisted cackle.
"Wife! Whore!” Sam choked out. Karen heard his vomit splash on the cement floor.
"Mrs. Johnson, there was a fire today at the office building where your husband works.” The voice on the line obviously did not hear what Karen was whispering.
"Sam? He's here. He wants to kill me." Karen's whispers were drowned out by laughter from right outside the pantry door. The low moan sound was ringing in her ears.
“Are you alright, Mrs. Johnson?"
"I think he's gone mad." Karen was holding her phone in one hand and the handle to the pantry door in the other, in case Sam tried to open the door, hoping that she could keep it from opening. She felt him grab the handle on the other side and turn the knob.
Click.
As the pantry door opened, and Karen looked into the sick eyes of a madman, the chanting sound stopped, and she heard the cold voice on the phone.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson. Sam was killed in the fire today."