Silence.
“I’ve already called the police, so just get out of here.”
Silence.
I knew it! There’s a loon in my kitchen, what am I going to do.
Nick didn’t know what to do. Opening the door and stepping inside the kitchen was probably the stupidest thing, but it was what he found himself doing anyway. Despite his fear, Nick was angry that someone felt they could root around his kitchen in the middle of the night.
He pushed open the door, ready for action.
The kitchen was dark. The light he had seen creeping beneath the door was coming from the open fridge-freezer. In front of the glowing appliance stood the intruder. Their body was a featureless silhouette against the backdrop of frozen ready meals and French fries.
“Hey,” said Nick. “What the hell are you playing at? Get the fuck out of my house.”
No answer. Not even a reaction.
As his eyesight continued to adjust, Nick could see that the figure was facing away from him, peering into the fridge-freezer. But slowly…gradually…the stranger was beginning to turn around. They were small…too small to be an adult…
Nick’s breath caught in his chest.
What the…?
He stared at his son with shock. “J-James, what are you doing down…”
His words trailed off as he saw what his son was doing. Hanging from James’s tiny mouth was a large hunk of fillet steak, still raw and dripping.
Jesus…
Nick didn’t understand what he was looking at. What was James doing down here in the middle of the night, tearing into raw meat like a feral dog?
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not well.
Nick raised a hand toward his son. “James, put the meat down. It will make your tummy bad.”
James lowered his head, animal eyes trained on his father. His thin lips trembled in a snarl.
And then, with what sounded like a growl, James lunged at Nick. His delicate hands were outstretched like cat claws. His sallow, naked chest was soaked with the blood of the dripping steak. As James collided with Nick, the hunk of meat fell from his mouth and hit the tiles with a splat!
Nick wrapped his arms around his son and spun him around. From behind, he wrestled to keep his thrashing child under control.
“James! James, what has gotten into you? It’s your father. You have a fever and you need to calm down.”
James continued to thrash and was now letting out a high-pitched scream like an old-fashioned kettle. The noise forced its way into Nick’s head and made his skull throb.
“Calm down!” he yelled at his son. “Just stop fighting me.”
But it was no good. James continued to screech and yell; clawing and punching, fighting to get free of Nick’s restraining arms. His bloodstained milk-teeth snapped wildly at the air.
Nick assumed his son was hallucinating from fever. If he could just get to the light switch and illuminate the room, perhaps James would be less confused. Maybe then he would calm down.
He squeezed his arms tight around his son’s waist and began to sidestep towards the light switch. James’s relentless thrashing made every step a battle of will and determination. He did not understand how his young son could suddenly become so strong and wild.
What has gotten into him? He’s like a feral cat. I can’t believe-
Nick’s bare foot came down on something soft and slippery. He quickly realised that it was the raw fillet steak, dropped from his son’s jaws. But it was too late to react in time. Nick’s leg went out from under him as his foot slipped on the wet meat. He fell sideways with the full weight of his son still in his grasping arms. His head hit the tiles with a crack and a galaxy of stars burst through his vision. There was also another sound. A sound that was both meaty and wet.
He was too dazed to sit up. His vision spun and a roiling wave of sickness crashed against the rocks of his stomach. So, he just lay there for a while, totally confused by what was happening.
Am I missing something? Because this all seems a little crazy to me.
After a few stretched-out seconds, Nick finally pushed himself up onto his elbows and glanced around.
James was lying nearby, his small body unmoving.
“Oh, Jesus!” He scurried across the tiles on his hands and knees. He placed a hand behind James’s head and tried to lift it up, but withdrew his fingers when they touched something hot and tacky. Even in the dim light provided by the open fridge, Nick could see the dark blood on his hands. It was warm and sticky like drying glue.
No, no, no!
Nick looked to his left and saw the matted clump of hair that covered the sharp corner of one of the kitchen’s wooden chairs. As he had fallen he had taken his son down with him, smashing his young skull against the unforgiving furniture.
Nick shot to his feet and leapt for the light switch. “Oh my God! James! James! No! I’m sorry. No! Help me! Somebody help!”
He flicked on the lights, flooding the kitchen with an artificial glow that stopped just short of the darkness outside the windows. He dropped back down to his knees and placed his hands either side of James’s face. Blood pooled on the tiles and his son’s staring eyes were glazed and puffy. He felt for a pulse, but there was none.
His son was not breathing.
He can’t be dead. No!
Nick slunk backwards on the tiles, his mind skewing at the edges and threatening to shatter into a thousand frantic pieces.
God help me, what have I done? I’ve killed my own son. I’ve killed my own son.
No, no, no. He’s not dead. He can’t be. I just…I just need to get help. That’s all.
Nick leapt up off the floor, so panicked that he almost took flight. For a brief moment his mind was blank, numb with panic, but then he got moving, sprinting into the hallway and leaping up the stairs. He could use the phone beside the bed and wake up Deana at the same time. She could go check on James while he spoke to the emergency services.
And tell them what I’ve done.
He burst into the bedroom, shouting at the top of his lungs for his wife to wake up. Her body shifted beneath the sheets, but she didn’t respond. Nick cursed under his breath and grabbed for the phone. He dialled 999 and waited.
And waited.
In his ear: Emergency Services are currently dealing with a very high number of calls. Please leave your name, address, and situation, and help will arrive with you shortly. Please remain calm while waiting for assistance. Leave your details after the beep.
Beep!
Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 999 were too busy to answer his call?
What is going on?
He turned to Deana and knelt on the bed, shoving her hard with both hands. “Deana, wake up! I need your help. Something terrible has happened.”
She began to stir.
Finally! She’ll know what to do.
With a low moan, Deana rolled out of bed and placed both feet on the carpet with a soft thump. Then she began to straighten up.
Nick switched on the bedside lamp and started redialling 999. He looked up at his wife as he did so. “Deana! James is hurt. He was in the kitchen and I…I…”
Deana’s glaring eyes were wide; the lower lids hanging slack while bloodshot orbs rattled around their sockets. A slick trail of blood covered her chin and trickles of fluid sweated from her nipples beneath her nightshirt.
Nick’s jaw dropped open as he tried to understand what he was seeing. But, before he had chance to think, Deana leapt across the bed at him. He dodged sideways, just in time, and stumbled against the end of the bed. He almost fell down, but managed to remain on his feet.
“Deana, what are you doing?” he shouted.
She clambered over the bed towards him, leaving bloody handprints on the Egyptian sheets and snarling at him like a wolf.
Nick edged backwards against the wall. Deana glared at him balefully, her jaws grinding back and forth like saw blades. Then she let out a high-p
itched screech and pounced.
Nick put his arms out to defend himself and managed to shove Deana off-balance as she landed. She stumbled sideways and tripped, colliding with the mahogany chest of drawers that her mother had bought them both as a wedding gift. The one he’d always hated.
Instinctively, he went to help his wife, mortified that he might have hurt her, but Deana was right back on her feet. This time he ran away from her. It was the only thing he could think to do. Deana seemed dead-set on hurting him and he knew in his heart that he could never intentionally injure her – not even in self-defence. His only option was to get the hell away from her until she got a hold of herself.
He rushed out of the bedroom and slammed the door closed behind him. Deana crashed against the other side, shaking the wood on its hinges. She banged her fists against it and let out another ear-piercing shriek. Nick didn’t know why she didn’t just use the door handle and continue coming after him, but he wasn’t about to complain about her lack of common sense. He used the opportunity to flee.
He needed to get help, call 999 again and again until someone finally answered him – but he couldn’t afford to just wait around for them to pick up the phone. His son and wife needed help right this instant.
It might already be too late for James.
Jesus save me!
Deana continued battering the bedroom door. All Nick could do to get away from the torturous sound was to go downstairs. He reached the ground floor hallway and realised he was naked but for his boxer shorts. Bloodstains covered his chest in murky smears. He headed through the kitchen, pausing at the threshold as he saw the body of his son lying on the tiles.
I’m in Hell. This is the Abyss.
Looking down at James’s tiny body, Nick knew that his son was dead. No ambulance or doctor would change that.
This can’t be happening.
He stumbled over to the kitchen sink and immediately vomited; mashed-up fish fingers and undigested baked beans. He twisted on the taps and watched the mess rinse into the plug hole. Then he splashed the cold water onto his face and chest, wiping away some of the blood. By the time he was finished, he was freezing and numb.
“I need to put some clothes on,” he said out loud. Hearing his own voice calmed him slightly, made him feel a little more in control of the situation.
Deana was still banging on the door upstairs and screeching like a banshee. There was no chance he was going to go into the bedroom to get clothes, so instead he headed across the kitchen.
He rummaged through the laundry basket on the breakfast table and pulled out a crinkled, grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He threw them on quickly, along with a pair of mismatched socks.
Then he began to sob.
And then wail.
And then scream.
He didn’t allow himself the luxury of crying for much more than a couple of minute. He could not condone sitting there and weeping while his son lay dead at his feet, and his wife was upstairs, flinging herself against the bedroom door like a mental patient.
I need to help her.
He had to get out of the house. It seemed like the only way to ensure help came was to go out and find it. James was dead, but Deana was not. She needed a doctor.
He got up and left the kitchen behind him, entering into the hallway. As he did so, an almighty crash came from the bedroom. He stopped at the bottom of the staircase in the hallway, staring up at the landing.
Deana appeared at the top, half-naked and snarling.
“Deana, just stay right where you are, okay?”
She hurtled down the steps towards him.
Nick wasted no time in sprinting inside the front porch and slamming the double-glazed interior door behind him. Deana’s face immediately smashed up against the glass panel, splitting the delicate flesh of her tanned cheeks and smearing blood everywhere. Nick was confident the PVC door would hold against the onslaught, but seeing his wife’s mangled face through the glass was more than he could bear. He slid his feet into the first pair of trainers he could find and pulled his long woollen overcoat from the wall pegs.
It was then that he realised the worst.
His wallet was in the bedroom.
And so were his car keys.
Damn it!
There was no point leaving the house without his keys. He wouldn’t get anywhere without a car. But how could he get back to the bedroom without Deana tearing him to shreds?
He turned back around to face the interior door. The glass panels were soaked with bloody chunks of flesh.
But Deana was gone.
Nick crept up to the glass and peered through. The hallway was dim and shadowy, but there seemed to be no sign of his wife anywhere.
Can I make it upstairs before she spots me? Maybe she’s gone to the kitchen. She may have seen James’s body and come to her senses.
Nick placed his hand on the door handle and began to turn it slowly. With every inch that the door opened, he paused and waited, seeing if Deana was hiding in the hallway.
He looked left.
He looked right.
It was all clear.
Where the hell did you go, Deana?
He pushed open the door and slid through the gap. The end of the hallway was illuminated by light coming from the kitchen, but the stairway and the upstairs hallway were shrouded in shadow. He placed a foot on the first step and paused, listening out for any warning signs. Then he took the second step. The third. The fourth.
He entered the hallway upstairs and all was still clear.
Darkness seemed to close around him like a blanket. The bedroom was just up ahead, the door hanging wide open. Nick picked up his pace and hurried towards it.
Out of habit, he went for the light switch as soon as he entered the room, but this time he stopped himself before pushing it.
Better to remain hidden in the dark.
He crept across the carpet and headed over to his bedside table where he knew he had left his wallet and keys. Sure enough, even in the dark, he found them. He picked them up and shoved them into his coat pocket.
That went easier than expected.
Nick turned around to leave.
Deana was right in front of him.
His wife was standing so close that he could smell her fetid saliva. Her hands immediately went for his throat, choking him with a strength he didn’t know she possessed. He tried to fight her off, to force her backwards as she tried to bite at his face, but she was unrelenting. Each snap of her jaws sent hot dribbles of bloody phlegm down his neck. His vision began to crackle with spots and stars as his oxygen supply was suddenly cut off. He twisted in the vice-like grip of her hands and lifted up his knee to create space between them. Just when he was sure he was about to lose consciousness, Nick threaded both of his arms between his wife’s elbows and forced them out and away from him. He succeeded in breaking Deana’s hold, but the sudden intake of desperate breath left him momentarily paralysed.
Deana was back on him before he even had chance to move. All Nick had time to do was deliver a swift kick that caught his wife just above the knees. She fell to the floor, snarling. He took his chance and made a run for it.
Heading down the corridor at full pelt, Nick could hear his crazed wife right behind him, chasing him down like a predator. He took the steps downwards, three at a time, half-running, half-tumbling. Deana gained on him as she leapt down the stairs behind him without any fear for her own safety.
She collided with him at the bottom, clinging to his shoulders like a piggybacking child. Nick felt her teeth clamp down and grab a hold of him. He anticipated the sharp burn of his skin being shorn away, but was relieved to find that Deana had only sunk her teeth into the thick woollen collar of his coat.
He barrelled into the wall, crushing Deana like the meat in a sandwich. Her jaws tore loose from his collar and he was suddenly free of her weight. He made for the porch again, so quickly that his foot struck the lip of the doorway and he went crashing to the s
tone floor.
Wind knocked out of him, Nick looked up to see Deana coming at him like a hungry vulture. She let out another one of those high-pitched screeches and leapt into the porch. Nick kicked out with both legs, catching her in the stomach and forcing her back into the hallway.
Before Deana had chance to regain her balance and come at him again, he leapt up and slammed the porch’s interior door shut. Just like before, Deana crashed into the other side and shoved her face up against the glass, snarling like a demon. Nick stared back at her in horror, gasping for breath, and barely recognising the woman he had married. No longer was she his beautiful, exotic wife of seven years. She was a flesh-craving ghoul.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he said to her through the blood-smeared glass. “I’m going to find help right now. I’ll sort this all out, I promise. I love you.”
Nick’s world was falling apart, his nightmares becoming real. He unlocked the front door to his house and stepped out into the cold, grey, approaching dawn.
Chapter four
The first thing Nick noticed when he stepped out of his front door was the orange glow on the horizon. The sun was beginning its journey past the horizon and the darkened houses of the street were slowly being coloured-in by the muted pastels of dawn.
The start of another autumn morning on the worst day of my life.
The second thing he noticed was that the quiet cul-de-sac in which he lived was unusually active for so early in the morning. Several of his neighbour’s houses were lit up bright, their windows glowing. Silhouetted figures flitted back and forth inside, moving in and out of sight.
There was also a lot of noise.
Nick wasted no time in heading past his wife’s compact, blue Peugeot parked on the driveway and making for his own car parked on the curb. He pressed the fob on his keychain and the lights flashed, the locks disengaged. He was just about to head around to the driver’s side when he heard a commotion across the road.
Ravage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel Page 3