I have occasionally participated in a weekly flash-fiction challenge in the Writer’s Discussion Group community on Google-Plus, sponsored by one of the community’s moderators, Amy Knepper. It’s usually based on a picture or an image (I don’t have permission to post the image here, so if you want to see this week’s you will need to go to the site). I haven’t usually cross-connected the flash-fiction I’ve done on Google-Plus to my WordPress blog, but this week’s challenge kinda tickled me and I thought I’d share it here.
Horror, it seems, can lurk anywhere…..
Copyright 2016 Douglas Daniel
I’ve sealed myself in. I had no choice. The chaos outside has become too great. I nailed my door shut and piled furniture against it. Otherwise THEY will break in, and it will all be over.
I have supplies to last me several days. Hopefully the chaos will be over by then. Judging by the horrifying sounds coming from outside, it surely cannot last long.
I try to focus on my work. Perhaps it’s pointless, now, but it’s the only thing keeping me sane– a bit of normality in a world gone insane.
There was moaning outside my door last night– evidently someone in severe pain. A sound of tremendous suffering– it tore my heart. I almost opened the door to rescue whoever it was, but I stopped myself just in time. Perhaps it was a trick– THEY are ruthless, and will stop at nothing to keep me from completing my work. I steeled myself and ignored the moaning. I think I was right to do so, because soon after, before dawn, the chaos resumed.
It’s worse than ever. Surely no one can survive the madness out there. It sounds as if all the furies of Hell have been unleashed and have ridden down on us upon a whirlwind.
In the morning I heard THEM. They were just outside the door, pounding on it, whispering, shrieking– “Jimmy…come out…we want to see you, Jimmy…come to us….”
I put a pillow over my head and strove to ignore them. I’m safe in here, as long as I stay resolute. As long as I don’t open the door. I just have to keep the door closed.
This morning THEY resorted to a new tactic– they drilled holes in my door, letting in the watery, smoke-filled light from outside. The appearance of each hole was accompanied by maniacal laughter. I would have thought even so simple a technical feat would have been beyond THEM in their current state. THEY proved me wrong.
I retaliated by spraying pepper spray into each hole. This brought shrieks of agony, but gales of fresh hysterical laughter as well. THEY are too far gone to care, I suppose.
It is over. At noon the cacophony outside my door became too much. I think my mind came unhinged at last. Suddenly I had to end it, one way or the other.
I pushed away the book case and the furniture. I ripped away the boards. I shoved it all aside and pulled open the door. The scene that confronted me was as bad as I had imagined, or worse.
Beer cans littered the living room floor. Ashtrays were filled to overflowing with cigarette butts. Boxes of half-eaten and mostly stale pizza covered the tables. The room stank of cigarette smoke, spilled beer and pizza sauce.
My housemates lay scattered all about. Hollis and Young slouched in easy chairs, watching a basketball game on the plasma TV, its volume cranked to the max. It had to be, because Gary and Wesley were in the adjoining family room with Limp Bizkit blasting away. Terry looked passed out on the coach, and on the divan Cheryl and Bruce were approximately the same position in which I had last seen them five days before, all twisted together and lip-locked.
“Goddamn it!” I shouted. “I am trying to write a master’s thesis here!”
Billy, standing in his underwear in the middle of the room and wearing his dual beer-can hat, blinked at me. “Dude, chill,” he said. “Spring break’s almost over.”