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She glanced down at herself, worried that
her odd position, with her leg lifted so high, revealed more of
herself than she realized. “What’s wrong?”

“I got up too fast. I’m woozy. I’m not great
with blood.”

“Oh, okay,” said Alma as she hopped toward
the bathroom. “I thought my underwear was ripped or something.”

“No, no,” said Jacker. His voice was weak,
as if he’d grown tired all of the sudden. “I just have a bad habit
of…” He stopped talking and started to lean against the wall.

“Jacker?”

He slumped and then collapsed in Alma’s
direction. She cried out and hopped to the side as the titanic man
crashed down, out cold.

“God damn it, Paul,” she cursed her
ex-boyfriend for his choice of stalwart bodyguards.

CHAPTER SIX

Going Upstairs

Widowsfield

March 14th, 1996

“What are those things?” asked Winnie
Anderson, the owner of the used book store on Main Street. She was
trembling as she held up a letter opener as if it could protect
her.

“I don’t have a clue,” said Walter, the UPS
driver that had stopped to chat with Winnie after delivering
several packages of books that had been sent to Winnie from a
library a few towns over. Walter had pushed his L-Cart, still
loaded with boxes, against the inside of the shop’s door to block
it.

Winnie and Walter had watched the bizarre
green fog roll down the street minutes earlier, and saw the shadows
of child-like creatures running through it. The howls of dogs, and
then the breaking glass, had alerted them to danger. Walter decided
to go out onto the street to see what had happened, but Winnie had
pulled him back in the shop. She had a long-standing affection for
the delivery man, and didn’t want to see him hurt.

Walter had laughed off her concern moments
before the first creature tried to attack them. It had charged
through the fog on all fours, like a dog, but its body was that of
a human. The creature was nude, but its skin was ripped as if
something had been clawing at it. Its hands were mangled, and
looked like they’d been smashed, with bones protruding from the
flesh and hunks of meat dangling off the ends. Worst of all, the
child-sized creature had the head of a hairless dog. Foam and blood
dripped from its maw and the monstrosity was throwing itself
against the glass in a desperate attempt to get into the shop.

More of the demonic creatures appeared in
the fog and started to circle the building. The Anderson Used Book
Store was situated on the corner of the street, with floor to
ceiling windows set in tall arches three feet apart lining the
wall. Within moments, the creatures crowded every window and the
fog thickened around the building, eclipsing the light and leaving
them in darkness.

Winnie’s business was suffering hard times,
and she’d been trying to save money by turning off the lights
during the day, which she now regretted.

“Where’s the light switch?” asked Walter as
he moved behind the counter to join Winnie.

“Near the front door.”

“Forget that.” Walter put his arm around
Winnie’s shoulder as the daylight dissipated. The darkening room
revealed light coming in from up the stairs near the rear of the
shop. “There’s a light on up there. Let’s go.”

Winnie’s modest apartment was situated above
the shop. She was certain that she hadn’t left a light on up there,
but the wooden stairs were indeed illuminated. She followed Walter
as he held her hand and guided her to the stairs.

The wooden stairs flashed with green light
and Winnie pulled her hand out of Walter’s. She took a step back in
fear. He turned, but she could only see his silhouette framed by
the light from upstairs.

“What’s wrong?” he asked and held out his
hand for her.

“What’s up there?”

Walter looked up the stairs and then back at
Winnie. Green light flashed again and was reflected in the oil on
Walter’s shaved head. “I don’t know, but we can’t stay down
here.”

Glass cracked from one of the nearby arches
and Winnie cowered from the noise. She still gripped the letter
opener in one hand while steadying herself against the counter with
the other. “I don’t want to go up there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Winnie.” Walter took a
step toward her.

She swiped her letter opener at his hand and
he recoiled from the strike. Winnie wasn’t sure if she’d hit him,
but apologized anyhow. “I’m sorry, Walter. I can’t go. I won’t go
up there.”

“Why not? What do you think is up
there?”

She shook her head, uncertain how to explain
how she knew that something bad was waiting for them upstairs. “I
don’t know. I think it’s worse up there. I don’t know why. I just
know it.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Don’t go up there,” she said as one of the
windows of the shop shattered. The creatures poured in and their
mangled claws scrambled against the bookshelves as they crawled
through the darkness.

“Winnie!” Walter screamed at her as he
rushed to the stairs.

Winnie curled up on the floor and wrapped
her arms around her legs to pull them to her chest. She was in a
fetal position, staring at Walter as he ascended the stairs into
the light.

“Come on!” He continued to yell at her as he
left her behind.

Winnie closed her eyes to avoid seeing the
light. She was warm and comfortable in the darkness, and didn’t
want to know what Walter was about to see. She would rather let the
demons devour her than witness the truth. She would rather die than
go up those stairs again.

16 Years Later

March 10th, 2012

“He’s out cold.” Alma stood in the frigid
night air in a pair of sweats and a flimsy jacket. She had her arms
wrapped around herself as she stood beside the van where Paul had
been sleeping. “I tried to call you.”

Paul rubbed his eyes as he climbed out of
Jacker’s van. “Sorry, my phone died. Stupid thing can’t hold a
charge for more than a few hours. Now, tell me again, what
happened?”

“Your friend bashed in my door and then I
cut my foot on a knife. He saw the blood and freaked out. He
fainted right in the middle of the hallway.”

Paul smiled. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Stop smiling, this isn’t
funny.” She tried to look stern, but couldn’t help but grin along
with him. She slapped Paul’s chest to get him to stop chuckling. “I
can’t believe you made the poor guy stand guard outside my
door.”

“Jacker didn’t mind. He needs something to
keep his mind off some shit that’s been going on in his life
lately.”

“I didn’t want you to post guard at my
door.”

Paul stretched and yawned comically loud. “I
wasn’t going to leave you here without protection.”

“So you made your friend guard me?”

“I sat down there for a couple hours before
I decided to call to see if he would come help me out.”

“You’re crazy.” Alma started to limp back to
her apartment as Paul closed the side door of the white van parked
beside his motorcycle. It was the only van in the parking lot,
which helped make it easy for her to find.

“Is your foot okay?” asked Paul as he walked
behind her.

She looked down at her right foot, which
she’d wrapped with gauze before putting on her shoes to head down
to the van. “No, it hurts like hell. I cut the shit out of it.”

“Come here.” Paul quickened his pace to
catch up with her. He knelt beside Alma and scooped her into his
arms before she could stop him.

“No,” she said playfully as he picked her
up. “Don’t do this; you’re going to kill us both.” She yelped and
pressed her face into his neck as he started up the stairs to her
apartment.

“Stop wiggling or you’re going to knock us
both down the stairs.”

“I hate you sometimes,” said Alma although
it was clear she didn’t mean it, at least not at that moment. She
wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and enjoyed his smell. His
aroma was fused with the scent of his leather coat, a mixture she
adored. There was no denying how much she loved Paul and she
couldn’t stop smiling as he carried her up the stairs.

“There’s a thin line between love and hate.
Isn’t that what they say?”

“Shut up and take me home.”

“I’ll carry you in my arms through the
threshold like we just got married; and then over the big guy
passed out in your hallway.” Paul and Alma laughed at the absurdity
of the moment.

“How did we end up like this?” Alma asked as
Paul rounded the corner to head up the final flight of stairs to
her apartment.

Paul shrugged and then kissed the side of
her head. His whiskers tickled her cheek. “Like what?”

“Apart, and then together again, and then
apart again. How did we get so screwed up?”

Paul stopped at the top of the stairs in
front of Alma’s broken door. “I don’t know. I guess I’m a sucker
for messed up chicks, and you’re a sucker for idiots who don’t know
a good thing when he’s got her in his arms.” He tightened his grip
around her.

Alma leered at him. “Messed up chicks,
huh?”

He grinned as if gloating. “Oh yeah, like
really messed up. A borderline mental case.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He complied.

“Alma?” said a man from inside the
apartment.

Alma recognized her father’s voice and fear
overtook her. She tightened her grip around Paul as a chill of
terror ran through her body.

“Who the fuck?” asked Paul as he took the
last two steps past the stairs that would allow him to see inside
the apartment.

The door was still open and Alma was
hesitant to look. She couldn’t explain the emotions that welled
within her as Paul carried her to the open door. For some reason,
she was terrified of what lay in wait past the door at the top of
the stairs. She couldn’t breathe and stared at the door as Paul
approached it. Alma knew that her father was inside, and whatever
he was doing would traumatize her.

This had happened before.

Paul set Alma down gently and then pushed
the front door open further so that they could see what was
happening inside the apartment. The moths continued to spin around
the porch light, incensed by Paul’s approach.

Alma’s father was in the hallway, perched
over Jack’s body. He had one hand on the big man’s throat and the
other on his chest, as if he was worried that Jack was dead.

“I heard someone break down your door and I
came to make sure you were okay,” said her father. “What
happened?”

Paul glanced at Alma quizzically. “Is that
one of your neighbors?”

She shook her head as the color drained from
her cheeks. When she spoke, it was hardly more than a whisper.
“That’s my father.”

Paul’s expression instantly changed. His
brow furrowed and he clenched his fists as he turned back to face
Alma’s estranged father. “Oh, mother fucker! You’d better get your
ass out of here right now.” He didn’t pause before charging into
the apartment.

Alma was too frightened to intercede, or to
warn Paul that her father was dangerous. Instead, she cowered
against the wall across the landing from her apartment’s door and
watched Paul confront the old addict. The terror that seized her
was unlike anything she’d felt since her brother disappeared.

A memory was trying to return, and she
glanced at the stairs as if they somehow played a part. The act of
ascending the stairs to find her father seemed horrifyingly
familiar, yet she couldn’t explain why. Her throat was clenched,
her hands shaking, and it was a struggle to breathe. She had no
choice but to watch.

“Back off,” said her father.

Paul lifted the thin man off the floor and
threw him down the hall toward the front door. Paul weighed
significantly more than Alma’s father, and stood several inches
taller. It was like watching an adult manhandle a child. “Get out
of here, you piece of shit.”

“I’m her father! I just came here to help.
You can’t do this to me. I’ll fucking kill you, asshole. I’ll
fucking kill you!”

Paul paused and leered down at the man. He
cracked his knuckles and advanced, savoring the old man’s terror.
“You can try, pal, but I’ve got to warn you, I’m real hard to
kill.”

“You don’t know who you’re fucking with.
You’re dead. You hear me?” Alma’s father staggered away from Paul
and leaned against one of the bar stools as he stood back up. “I’m
not kidding, man. You really fucked up. I’ll kill you for this.” He
still had on the dirty, ragged clothes he’d been wearing when he
confronted Alma at the restaurant. His voice still sounded fueled
by methamphetamine, and the drug was giving him the courage to face
Paul. He held up his fists, and then lunged with a haphazard right
hook.

Paul knew how to fight. He’d been a bouncer
for years in a college town and had learned how to subdue enraged
drunks and drug addicts. He caught Alma’s father’s strike with a
counterstrike of his own. He swatted her father’s arm away and then
waited for another attempt. He was toying with the old man.

Her father tried to punch again, and Paul
deflected the strike with another quick shot to the wrist. The old
man gripped his arm in frustration and started to scream at Paul.
“You think you’re tough? You think you’re a big guy?”

Paul sneered. “Yep.”

“Well, big guy, let me tell you what I’m
going to do,” said Alma’s father.

“No,” Paul interrupted the old man with
authority. His voice boomed loud enough that Alma’s father
flinched. “I’m going to tell you what happens next. You’re going to
pack your shit and get the fuck out of town. Now let me tell you
why.”

Her father stuttered when he asked,
“Why?”

“Because if I ever see you again, I’m going
to bury you. This isn’t an idle threat, pal. I’ve never been more
serious about anything in my life.” Paul stared down at the spindly
old addict. “I will bury you.”