The Beginning 8/11

After a long day at work I finally sat down, curled up to a good book. I had only been sitting there for 5-10 minutes, however, when I heard a sound coming from the back of the house. Perplexed (I rarely have visitors- and never in the back), I set my book down on the coffee table, using a handy piece of scrap paper to mark my place.

I made my way to the back warily. The sound returned. Now a pounding on glass. This time it was accompanied by shouts. Once there, I saw Robby through the glass door. He was pounding with all his strength, using both fists. Tears streamed down his face. I couldn’t even imagine what was wrong.

I opened the door, ready to yell at him for interrupting my night. As soon as the door was wide enough, Robby shrieked and pushed his way into my house, knocking me down. “Dude!” I yelled angrily. “What gives?”

“Run!” Robby scrambled off of me. Upon closer inspection, I saw that Robby’s shirt was covered in dark blood. His green eyes were scared and wild- a look of desperation. His expensive jeans were ripped and his shoes were scuffed beyond repair.

My first thought was, ‘Wow. It must be pretty bad if Robby let anything mess up his clothes.’ On a normal day, he would kill anyone who so much as touched them.

That was before I realized just how bad it was.

Robby saw the open door and screeched. I swear. This grown man, my best friend, who I have never heard even yell at a haunted house, screeched like a five-year-old girl who had just dropped her ice cream cone on the sidewalk. No, more as if the ice cream cone had morphed into a demon.

He then leaped over me and grabbed the handle, yanking it closed. But before it could shut all the way, a hand shot out of the dark, gripping the edge. This time we both screamed. The hand was pale, spattered with thick blood and covered in thin cuts. It was missing the ring finger. There were bits of flesh stuck underneath the remaining four nails.

I scooted back away from the door. Horror clouded my vision, my brain trying to come up with ways this could be happening, other than the obvious answer. Zombies aren’t real. I repeated this phrase over and over to myself but could no longer believe it.

Finally, Robby succeeded in closing and locking the door. And then the face appeared. A grotesque, grinning horror of a face.

It was a man, that much was obvious. His lips were peeled back, revealing swollen gums and gore-speckled nubs. His hair had been torn out in clumps, leaving bald patches and angry red spots.

And his eyes.

Haunted, insane…hungry.

Hungrier than I have ever seen anyone in my life. A hunger that consumed. A hunger for…me.

This person-no, this thing- moaned. He moaned and my heart stopped. It was a groan of pure desire. Pure desire for food. For blood. For brains. For me and my friend.

Robby grabbed my arm, yanked me upright, and forced me out of the kitchen, towards the stairs. “Mandy come on. We have to hide.”

Before we left though, I saw the shuffling figures behind my glass. All of them getting closer and closer. Coming for me.