by Pete Kahle
Missy thought about her Gram’s stories while she stayed perfectly still in her hiding place behind the teacher’s desk. Her arms were locked around her knees, hugging them to her chest to stop her shaking. The guttural noises continued unabated outside of this small classroom. The windows were dark, no security lights brightening the panes. The room was shadowed, and she was glad; she didn’t want to look at her dead classmates anymore. They were ripped and slashed, disemboweled and beheaded, a gore-fest that surely would have delighted Gram. It would have brought back so many fond memories of her childhood.
Another thing that Gram had told her grandkids about was the heroes of those old forbidden movies. There was always one person, sometimes even someone as young as Missy herself, who was brave enough and smart enough to survive the attack of whatever kind of monster was ravening through the plot. That one person would sometimes be able to kill the monster, and sometimes just escape with their life. After all, that’s where the sequels came from. Missy wondered if maybe she was meant to be the hero of this nightmare. She had no intention of trying to hunt down and kill the monster that had massacred everyone except her in this classroom, and possibly the rest of the school. All she wanted was to be smart enough and brave enough to survive. If nothing else, if she could make her way to the safety of her home, surely Gram would have enough forbidden knowledge to know how to fight it.
Slowly, breathing shallowly so she wouldn’t miss any warning sound, Missy braced her back against the wall and her feet on the blood-washed floor, and carefully pushed herself up to a standing position. Out in the hallway, or maybe in the room across the hall, the ripping and meaty chewing sounds continued. Cautiously and as quietly as she could, Missy crept toward the door. She stayed close to the wall, partly to stay out of the thin slice of light coming through the doorway, and partly to use the wall for support. Her feet were cold in her blood soaked sneakers, and the blood had begun to congeal in the treads, making the floor even more slippery.
When she finally reached the door, she took a long slow breath to calm herself and cautiously looked around the edge. For a moment she could see nothing; the brighter light in the hallway struck her dilated eyes like a knife edge, and tears welled as she forced herself to focus.
There was blood in the hallway as well, though it hadn’t pooled on the floor as it had in her classroom. It was splashed in garish swipes along the boring taupe-colored walls, and even up to the white foam drop-ceiling tiles. The monster that had savaged the students was not in the hallway, but there were two bodies crumpled against the wall; one missing its head, the other disemboweled and with ropey lengths of gut strung along the hallway.
Missy pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, waiting for nausea to reveal her presence to the monster, but she didn’t become sick. She could hear wet tearing sounds down the hall to her left, toward the administrative offices. All the rest of the building was now silent. If there were any other survivors, they were as mute as the dead. As quietly as she was able, she slipped through the doorway without opening it any further, and stepped into the hallway, turning right.
A disembodied head lay against the wall just past the door, its neck ragged and wet, its expression more surprised than afraid. Missy recognized the face. Mr. Jenkins had been her English teacher, a man who had seemed lost since so much of the curriculum had been deemed unfit for the student body. He’d been left with spelling, grammar and punctuation, no longer allowed to teach poetry or classic literature.
Missy gingerly stepped around the head and continued down the hall. In about a hundred feet there was an intersecting hall, and if she turned right she would be to an exit door in another hundred. She gave a moment’s thought to heading for the gym, where her older brother Billy would have been when the carnage started. But all she wanted was to get out of this abattoir and back to Gram’s house. Once there they could call the police. Once there, she would be safe.
She had made it almost to the intersecting hallway when a shadow loomed from the left. She bit her bottom lip, glancing quickly around; her only choice was to enter one of the rooms either right or left just behind her. But both doors were closed, and she was afraid that opening one would alert the creature to her presence. How had it gotten ahead of her?
With no time to deliberate, she quickly stepped back to the last door, reaching for the handle with one blood-covered hand. Her attention was on the shadow, waiting for the monster to come into sight. When she turned the handle and pushed on the door, her back foot slipped. She was unable to silence the squeak that came from her throat as she fell, hand still locked on the doorknob, and then a cry of pain as her shoulder nearly dislocated.
The monster came around the corner into the hallway, less than twenty feet from her. Missy scrambled, trying to scoot back into the classroom, her hand still clutching the doorknob, tears of pain stinging her eyes.
It was tall, standing on two strangely bent legs and hunched over to keep from striking its head on the ceiling. Long arms dangled from wide shoulders, ending in viciously clawed hands covered liberally in gore. It had long dark hair hanging down from a narrow misshapen head, and fangs glistened in its open maw. It grunted, long tongue snaking out as it licked its upper lip, and it started toward her.
Missy crabbed backwards into the room, startling a cry from herself when she backed into another dead body. A quick glance revealed Mrs. Roberts. The science teacher had been clawed open from throat to crotch, her organs spread around her as though on display. Missy bit her lip hard and crawled away from the body, seeing without really understanding that ten-penny nails had been used like dissecting pins to hold the teacher’s chest and abdominal cavity open.
Another yowling grunt brought her attention back to the monster that was maneuvering its way through the doorway to follow her. She hurried to the window, her blood-soaked shoes slipping on the floor. The window was locked, and with shaking fingers she tried to release the latch.
Behind her the monster approached, a low throaty grunting coming from it that Missy guessed was laughter. Her heart was pounding, her fingers slipping again and again from the lock, and she knew suddenly that she wasn’t the hero of this horror story. She was just another one of the victims.
A high-pitched shriek came from the hallway, and both Missy and the monster wheeled toward the sound. Outside the open door was a second thing, bent and contorted like an old gnarled tree. Blood and viscera covered its face, chest and belly. Like the first one it had long stringy hair, talon-tipped fingers and sharp fangs filling its mouth. But this second one was larger, wrinkled as well as horrifyingly misshapen, and made no effort to hide the drooping breasts that revealed it was female.
Missy screamed, beating her clenched fists on the stubborn window.
The monster in the hallway snarled at the one in the room, and the smaller creature slumped and turned its head away. There was a moment when it seemed the larger monster was berating the smaller.
The window wouldn’t open, and the glass wouldn’t break. Missy felt dizzy, light-headed from fear and dehydration and the overpowering stench of dying people. She fell back into the corner, curling up into a ball, “Like a pill-bug,” she thought to herself. She tucked her head down, wrapping her arms around it, hoping only that when they came to kill her they would do it quickly. She didn’t want to scream and scream as so many of her classmates and teachers had done.
The growling had stopped, but Missy heard movement. She didn’t lift her head or open her eyes, just scrunching in upon herself as much as she could, wanting to become the size of a pill-bug. There were scraping, scratching sounds and the harsh stuttering screech of a chair being shoved across the linoleum floor. Missy flinched and shuddered, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming.
For a long moment it was quiet, just the muffled thunder of her heart pounding in her chest, and the thin high whistle of breath being forced through her constricted throat. Then, far off in the distance, the shrill warble of a s
iren. Across the room, perhaps from the doorway, there was a heavy sigh.
Missy didn’t want to look, but suddenly had to know. Was one of them crouched over her, just waiting for her to peek? She couldn’t simply cower in the corner and pretend they weren’t real. She turned her head a fraction of an inch, lifting her arm just enough to steal a glimpse.
Mrs. Roberts still lay motionless on the floor, ripped skin pulled wide and nailed to the floor on either side, her organs placed artistically around her—except where Missy had scrambled through the viscera to reach the window. Blood was pooled beneath the dead teacher, smeared and splattered messily around her. The creature that had followed Missy into the room was gone, long bloody footprints showing its return back to the hallway. Standing in the open doorframe was the female monster, staring back at her.
Missy froze, holding her breath, unable to take her eye away from the thing that gazed at her. As though it knew she was watching, it tipped its head to one side and bared its teeth. The siren was getting closer, maybe more than one, and Missy wondered who had gotten away and called for help.
The monster turned its head, seeming to consider the approaching sirens. Then with teeth still bared, it wiggled its claws at her, a parody of waving goodbye. Without a sound, moving as lightly as a nightmare, it disappeared from view.
Missy stayed in the corner, pretending to be a pill-bug, until the police officer shone his light into the room. He exclaimed at the sight of the teacher, and swore when he caught a glimpse of Missy.
“Get a medic, Charlie! There’s a live one in here!” he called over his shoulder, then picked his way around the displayed entrails to crouch near her. “It’s okay sweetheart. You’re safe now.”
“Are they gone?” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “Are the monsters gone?”
Paramedics loaded her onto a gurney and carted her outside, taking the route she’d been trying to make on her own. Flashing lights in bright blue and red strobed the front of the school. Someone had finally gotten the security lights on, and white spots reflected from darkened windows. Left unattended, Missy got off the gurney and huddled just inside the open door at the back of the ambulance. She clutched a faded blue blanket someone had draped over her around her shoulders, trying to stop shaking. Men and women in uniform went in and out of the school, all of them pale and grim-faced in the stark lighting.
One of the policemen had asked Missy’s name and home number so they could call Gram. She didn’t know what she would say to the old woman who had taken her in along with her four siblings after their parents died. She didn’t know what had happened to Billy, and didn’t know how to explain her survival if he was dead like so many others. At least the three younger ones hadn’t been here.
By the time Gram arrived, there were two rows of covered bodies on the grass before the school. Parents had shown up in long lines of cars, some screaming and crying while others prayed silently, waiting to find out if their children were alive or dead. When Gram strode to the ambulance where Missy still rested, straight-backed and thin as a heron with her long gray hair hanging loose rather than pulled back in its usual twist, the paramedics were bringing out another live one.
“That one’s mine as well,” Gram called, a haughty tone to her voice as though she were issuing orders to the rescue personnel. “Stand up straight, Billy.”
Missy’s older brother stood straighter with a grimace, and the paramedics on either side of him exchanged an aggravated glance. Billy was liberally covered with blood, and was walking with a pronounced limp. With so much blood, it was hard to tell where he was injured.
“There’s no need to baby them,” Gram went on, as imperious as a queen, and she flashed a bleached-white smile. “I’ll take them home now. They’ll be fine.”
“Ms. Megara, they need to go to the hospital,” one of the paramedics said with forced patience. “They have to be checked for injuries, and everything documented for evidence.”
Gram snorted, “Don’t be silly. They need to get cleaned up and rest. They can do that best at home.” She reached into the ambulance and took Missy’s wrist in a gentle grip. “Come now, Missy. Let’s get you home.”
“Ms. Megara, really I must insist…” the other paramedic said, but Gram just ignored him.
“It’s alright, my girl,” Gram said, her tone gentle for her eldest granddaughter. “This time tomorrow you’ll feel back to your old self.”
Missy stepped down, pausing to lay the borrowed blanket on the gurney. When she turned back, she noticed something odd. Gram was wearing sandals, the ones she could just slip on in a hurry. And there was blood on her toes.
“Come on, baby,” Billy said soft enough that the paramedics couldn’t hear him. “Cowering in a corner. Thought you were tougher than that,” he added, limping along beside her.
“That’s enough,” Gram said sharp and low, giving him a pointed look. “Keep it up, and no more scary stories for you.”
Billy hunched his shoulders, turning his head away at the chastisement, reminding Missy of something she’d seen earlier.
Gram led them to her old car and helped Missy into the front passenger seat. Billy slid into the back at another hard look from Gram. Before the old woman could get in the driver’s seat, one of the police officers caught up to them.
Missy could hear him arguing with Gram, but she just kept cutting him off.
“Ms. Megara, the kids have to –”
“Officer Neeley, I am taking them home. I’m not arguing with you about it.”
“There are procedures that must –”
“It’s going to be a madhouse at the hospital, and it’ll be more than the ER can handle, Officer. My kids are okay, they’re just in shock. I’m taking them home.”
“We have to document –”
“Not another word. You have plenty to take care of here. I’m going to take care of my own.”
“But –”
He was still standing on the curb with his mouth hanging open when Gram got into the car and pulled away.
The house was quiet and dark when they got there. It was set back from the road in a stand of old trees and wasn’t even visible until the car’s headlights struck the screened-in front porch. Gram parked and removed the key from the ignition. She looked at Billy in the rear-view mirror, and simply nodded once.
Then she turned to Missy. “Come on now, my girl. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Missy accepted Gram’s steady hand for support going up the stairs, noting without commenting that Billy’s pronounced limp was now missing. “Where’s Ginny and Pete and Randy?” she asked softly as Billy opened the front door and flipped on the lights.
“They stayed at a friend’s house tonight,” Gram answered.
“That’s good,” Missy whispered, and let Gram lead her to the big downstairs bathroom and pull shut the door.
“I’ll start a bath for you,” Gram said, leaning over to turn the hot water on. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
Missy kicked off her blood-soaked sneakers, now tacky and hard to slide off. “My shoulder,” she answered, sliding her blood-stiffened jeans down her legs to lie crumpled in their slaughterhouse stench. Her t-shirt was next, then panties and bra. “I wrenched it when I fell.”
Gram nodded, checking the temperature of the water, then turned to look at Missy with a circumspect gaze. “Get in then, child. The hot water will help.”
Missy stepped into the deep claw-foot tub and cautiously sat down. Immediately the water turned pink.
“I know this seems a mighty tragedy,” Gram said, leaning over to pick up Missy’s soiled clothing. “Death is always hard on the survivors. You already know that. But people die every day, my dear. Even if no one talks about it anymore.”
“Can I ask you something?” Missy asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The water gushing from the faucet almost drowned her out.
“Of course,” Gram replied, with Missy’s bloody clothing draped over her arm.
“How did you get blood on your feet?”
Gram looked down thoughtfully, wiggling her toes as she studied the rusty red stains.
“How did you know me and Billy weren’t hurt?” Missy went on, guessing the answer but still afraid to hear it. “How did he know I hid in the corner like a baby?”
Gram sighed. It was a heavy sigh, reminiscent of something Missy had heard earlier. Like the sigh from the monster in the hallway. The one that had smiled at her, and waved.
Gram looked up and met her gaze directly, not so much as if to stare her down, but as if she were deciding. Then she tipped her head and smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth. “Why do you think I’ve been sharing all my old horror stories with you, Missy? In this day and age, when you’re protected from everything that the higher-ups think might damage you, you still have to learn about your heritage.”
“And Billy?” Missy asked. Hearing the truth wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be. In some ways, it explained a lot of things.
Gram’s smile faded, and that stern expression came back into her eyes. “He was out of control, and there’ll be a reckoning for that. Going after his own sister!” and she tsked as though utterly disgusted. “You finish your bath, my dear. Take as long as you like. When you’re done, I expect you’ll have more questions.”
“Mom and Dad?”
Gram nodded once, her expression grim. “Yes, them too.” Then she left with Missy’s ruined clothes and closed the bathroom door behind her.
Missy soaked in the tub until the water cooled and her skin pruned. Search as she might, she was unable to find sign of a claw, fang or any unexpected new joints that would make her limbs bend the wrong way. But she suspected it was only a matter of time.
Rose Blackthorn lives in the high mountain desert with her boyfriend and two dogs, Boo and Shadow. She spends her free time writing, reading, being crafty, and photographing the surrounding wilderness.
