Chapter 7: The desperate plea for survival
James approached the back door with a caution born of their recent ordeals, his hand reaching out to test the handle. It resisted, locked—a whispered curse, "Shit," escaped his lips, a soft exhale of frustration in the silent night. From his obscured vantage point, he could just make out the creature's grotesque form ambling with an unsettling grace between the kitchen and the living room, its presence a malevolent stain on the house's once-innocuous interior.
He couldn't risk a direct confrontation—not with the pitiful excuse for a weapon clutched in his hand. He needed another way in, a quieter approach that wouldn't alert the creature to his presence. Returning to Daisy, his voice was a soft, reassuring caress in the darkness, "I'll be back, be safe Daisy."
Leaving her there, nestled in the shadows, was an act against every protective instinct raging within him, but he needed to secure a safe haven for them both. Daisy nodded, her tear-streaked face a mask of bravery, and with a final squeeze of her hand, he left her side.
The front of the house loomed before James, and he approached the door with trepidation. It gave way with an ominous creak, revealing a foyer bathed in shadows that clung to the walls like cobwebs. The smell hit him first—a ferrous, coppery scent that spoke of unseen violence. Blood had been spilled here, and the odor was an unwelcome reminder of the line between life and death that they skirted with each passing moment.
As he stepped into the threshold, the door groaning a protest on its hinges, his senses were assaulted by the weight of the air, thick with the smell and an unspoken history of terror. The once welcoming entrance was now a portal to a mausoleum of former normalcy, and every instinct screamed for him to turn back. Yet forward was the only option—the only chance they had to find a sanctuary amidst the nightmare.
With a careful step into the blood-scented foyer, James prepared to reclaim this small piece of the world, to carve out a moment's safety in a reality gone mad.
The foyer, once a passage to warmth and comfort, now served as a chilling overture to the house's transformed interior. The smell of blood was pervasive, hanging in the air like a sinister fog. As James set his foot down, the wooden floor creaked a warning beneath his weight, betraying the silence he desperately sought to keep.
Inside, the creature's ghastly form was a macabre testament to the world's descent into madness. It moved unnaturally, its body contorting to compensate for its rigid, immobile neck. With the creature's back turned, James seized the moment, lunging for cover behind an overstuffed armchair, its fabric worn by the echoes of everyday life now passed. He crouched low, his breathing measured, seeking to become as small and inconspicuous as possible.
The creature seemed momentarily distracted, its attention caught by something within the house—a sound, perhaps, or a scent. It was only a fleeting reprieve, as the monster suddenly slammed its grotesque head against the countertop with a hollow thud, a violent act that underscored its otherness, its estrangement from the human it once might have been.
Then came the sounds that curdled James's blood—the wet, visceral noise of flesh being rended, of teeth tearing through sinew and bone. Risking a glance over the crest of the chair, James bore witness to a scene of primal consumption. The creature was hunched over the remains of a human, one who had made a valiant, tragic last stand where they had prepared meals, laughed with family, lived.
The corpse was sprawled across the countertop, its final moments etched in the savage wounds and defensive posture. The victim had fought fiercely, that much was clear—a knife lay discarded nearby, its blade smeared with a dark testament to its use.
James's stomach churned at the sight, but he quashed the rising bile, knowing that now was not the time for weakness. The scene before him was a stark reminder of the stakes—they were prey in a world where the predators were no longer just the beasts of the wild, but the twisted remnants of their neighbors and friends.
He clutched the can of beans tighter, feeling its meager weight as both an absurdity and a talisman. With a silent prayer for the fallen and a vow to prevent such a fate befalling Daisy and himself, James waited for the creature to finish its grizzly feast, to become distracted enough for him to move.
In that precarious moment, something primal ignited within James's chest, an instinctual urge that overrode the paralyzing grip of fear. His hands, white-knuckled around the meager can of beans, prepared to transform it from a trivial object into a weapon of necessity.
He surged forward, the creature's back still turned, its ghastly feast occupying its horrid attentions. But the creature was not oblivious to the world around it, and as James closed in, it whirled with a nightmarish agility. Its head, heavy and deformed, swung with a momentum that defied its grotesque anatomy, striking James squarely in the sternum. The force was like the kick of a beast, sending him hurtling backward, his breath a stolen gust of wind as he crashed to the ground.
Pain erupted in his chest, stars dancing in his vision, but there was no time for the luxury of agony. The creature, emboldened by its assault, advanced with a ghastly gait, intent on adding James to its grisly tableau. But survival sang in his veins, and he reacted with a desperate vehemence. He grasped the back of a dining room chair, dragging it down with a clatter, using it as both shield and lance to fend off the looming death.
Wood met flesh as he thrust the chair at the creature, its sturdy frame providing a precious barrier between him and the snapping jaws. Behind the safety of the table, his fortress in the domestic battlefield, he braced for the impact as the creature's body slammed against the barricade, a guttural cry erupting from its throat—a sound that was almost, but not quite, human.
The creature's wail pierced the stillness outside, carrying with it the raw notes of frustration and rage. In its aftermath, Daisy, huddled in the shadow of the house, her tears a silent stream of grief and fear, flinched at the noise. The image of the man in the burning car was seared into her memory, an indelible mark upon her soul.
Her sobs were a quiet soundtrack to the violence, a lament for the world they had lost, for the innocence that had been so cruelly stripped away. And then, another sound pricked her ears, a rustling from the bushes that bordered the house. The darkness of the foliage kept its secrets, but as the moonlight—both the soft glow of the new celestial interloper and the stark, explosive light of the old moon's destruction—spilled over the scene, the source of the noise emerged.
As Daisy's eyes struggled to adjust to the contrasting luminance, her breath hitched. There, materializing from the underbrush, was another of those ghastly aberrations—their numbers were not dwindling. This new creature crept forward, its movements deliberate, the moonlight glinting off its slick, disfigured hide. It was smaller, its limbs twisted in unnatural angles, but its eyes held the same feral glint of hunger as the others. Daisy pressed herself tighter against the cold exterior of the house, willing her trembling form to stillness, to invisibility.
Inside, the stale air was thick with the odor of terror and the tang of metal as James, backed into a corner, kept the monstrous intruder at bay with frantic swings of his makeshift weapon. The table, once a centerpiece for family gatherings, had become his rampart against the assault. His muscles screamed from the exertion, his mind raced with strategies, but options were scarce, escape routes, even scarcer. With every thud against his barricade, the reality of his dire situation pressed closer, like the walls of a closing vice.
The creature's persistence was relentless, its own instincts driving it forward, each snap of its jaw a promise of oblivion. James ducked and weaved, every move a dance on the razor's edge between life and imminent death.
Outside, Daisy's terror was compounded by the sounds of the struggle within—the crashes, the guttural roars, James's determined grunts. She dared not cry out, even as her every instinct screamed to warn him, to help him. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to betray her presence to the new threat lurking mere feet away.
She knew she couldn't remain hidden forever. The creature outside was methodical, testing, probing, its senses attuned to the quiver of prey. Daisy's eyes darted about, searching for anything that might serve as a weapon or a distraction. Her gaze fell upon a loose piece of siding—a small, sharp shard of the home that could be wielded in desperate defense.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Signed_JMB
Signed_JMB Creation is hard, cheer me up!
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