Authors: Christopher Cox
The room was quiet and still, with only the spiders watching from their silent webs. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out the shape of a bed against the left-hand wall, and a wide chest of drawers against the far side. A television sat alone and silent on top of the chest, and the bedroom door had been left open. I couldn’t see into the pitch dark hallway, but the room itself was eerily quiet. I pulled the flashlight from my bag and shined it inside, careful to use only as much battery life as I needed to. Still, the room was empty.
I killed the beam and slid the light back into my bag, then pushed the remaining planks to the floor with the other; the clatter of wood echoed violently in the empty room. Still nothing moved as I pulled myself from the lattice and over the windowsill, clattering off of a low shelf and falling onto the plush carpeted floor. The room was plain and sparsely decorated; I ran the flashlight beam against the wall, and saw a neatly made bed and noted the lack of family pictures or personal affects. The sliding door was open, showing the closet to be empty. Most likely this was, at one time a guest bedroom, making the closed door to the right the guest bathroom.
The first of many doors. I still hated doors.
I turned the knob, trying to be as quiet as possible and hoping that there was nothing that would hear it inside. I inched the door open, ready to jerk it shut if anything moved and shone the light ahead, which reflected off the mirror and lit up the half-bathroom with an uneven glow. Everything was in a very exact place, evenly and neatly, as if company was expected. I started to close the door when I heard the slight ‘thump’.
I strained my ears, I had to be sure. I wouldn’t have Madi in the same home with one of the ‘stalkers, and needed for it to be clear. I heard it again. ‘thump’. Louder this time. I pushed the door open all the way; it hit the wall. Nothing behind it, but the sound was clearly coming from the bathroom. It was hard to hear over my beating heart, which had found its way into my throat, but I could hear the noise again, louder. Another sound echoed in the small room. I noticed then that the cupboard under the sink was moving; it pushed out slightly, and then fell back with another hollow thud.
I began to hear a faint, pained wheezing and wondered what could possibly be inside; it couldn’t have been any worse than what I imagined. A child? A starving pet? I reached over the sink and picked up the decorative hand soap dispenser; when I opened the cabinet, I didn’t want my fingers to be directly near the opening and that slight bit of distance would give me an extra moment to get away if I needed to.
I have to be sure
, I convinced myself, steeling my resolve
.
I took a breath and hooked the lip of the counter with the tip of the dispenser. I focused the light on the widening crack as I slowly pulled, showing the unidentifiable trace of movement inside. Suddenly the door burst open forcefully; as I jumped back, I dropped the dispenser, which caught on the cabinet door and skidded across the floor and into the wall. A writhing mass fell out of the open cabinet and shattered across the floor. Rats. Literally, rats; dozens of them. Some ran screeching towards and past me, while others tried to find a way away, settling behind the toilet or back in the cabinet. A few tried to climb, panicked, up my leg and I kicked them off before I pressed myself against the door, feeling the knob sink into the soft plaster wall, while I waited for the mass to pass. Shortly, they were all gone, either hiding or having dispersed into the home.
My heart slowed down and I let out the breath that I didn’t know I was holding. One room clear.
From the bedroom door, I carefully peered into the dark hallway. My finger hovered over the button as I strained to look for movement in the home, anything that may have been interested in the migration of rodents. Nothing moved; the house was once again silent. I shined the beam down the hallway, to the right, where there were two other rooms on opposite walls. The end of the hallway was a wall with two picture frames, each showing a circular series of school pictures progressing through time, surrounding large images of smiling school-aged children- a boy and a girl dressed in their finest school clothes. A small half-circle table was pressed against the wall and held a clear vase filled with blue stones and colorful flowers. The flowers were crisp and blooming; they were either recently placed or made of silk.
Directly ahead were the stairs that descended to a landing with a short bookshelf, and then folded back into the darkness below. There was a door directly to the left of the stairs; from my angle, I could see a tiled bathroom counter, and past that door was another- the only one that was already closed. I closed the bedroom door behind me and started to the right.
The first bedroom was a young boy’s room. The bed was neatly made and covered with a spaceship comforter. Toys were precisely placed on shelves, with conspicuous empty spots- that was a common trend when parents took their children away, hoping to find somewhere safe. In the corner, the boy had a low writing desk that was stacked with papers and crayons. It was the only area in the room- and, so far, in the house- that was untidy. Curiosity drew me to it. I shined the light on the papers; this child, Robert, according to the juvenile scrawl at the bottom of each drawing, had drawn frightening scenes of death and terror in deep hues of reds and grays. While not entirely photorealistic, what was represented in the drawings were terrifying, if only for the reason that Robert was aware enough to know what had happened to the world and close enough to the dangers that he felt the need to represent it. Hundreds of papers, hundreds of drawings, hundreds of violent and bloody depictions. I left the pictures where they lay, but face down.
Nothing in the closet. Nothing under the bed. But propped in the corner was a t-ball bat next to a ball. At least I was armed, if only with a child’s bat. I closed Robert’s door, too.
The opposite door was partially closed, and I peered into a pre-teen girl’s room, feeling uncomfortable with the inherent wrongness of the act. Pictures of the latest teen heartthrob decorated the walls, although the subjects were probably long since dead, and smiling pictures of friends stood in frames on the bedside table. This room, too, was empty, except for the cobwebs and rat droppings covering the feminine colors.
I closed her door, too. I
wanted
to be done with the search, but I also
had
to be right when I let the girls in.
The second bathroom was larger than the first, with a tall mirror running the length of the counter. I jumped when I saw the figure inside, before realizing that figure was me- I looked as badly as I felt, my eyes having sunken and my beard untrimmed and matted. Carefully, I cracked the cabinet door and peered inside. Nothing moved. I crossed to the bathtub, wishing that the shower curtain had been left open. Using the bat, I drew the curtain, relieved to see nothing inside, but puzzled by the sound of water when I moved the curtain. I looked down into the tub. Either it was intentional, to store up water before they had left, or there was a leak before the water had stopped, but the water that filled the tub was undrinkable now. The surface was coated with a layer of floating mold, which climbed over the other surfaces of the tub. I could see, barely, a solid form just below the surface, only partially visible in the murky water and through the moldy surface. Clearly, though, something was there.
Died in the bath?
I wondered.
Can the ‘stalkers drown?
The tip of the bat broke the surface, causing the mold to retreat as if aware of the invasion. I pushed further down, just under the water level, until I felt the soft give of whatever it was in the water. Slowly, it rose up as I drew back the bat and my breath at the same time, the former raised in a striking position and the latter with a sharp hiss. The thing was still, only partially above the surface. After a tense moment I moved in closer, searching the tub with the light. A beige bathmat floated harmlessly on the surface, unable to consider the fear it had caused me. Regardless, I whacked it with the end of the bat, splashing rancid water over the surface of the tub and onto the floor.
A second door connected the bathroom to the master bedroom. The master bedroom. The largest of the rooms. The one where someone would most likely remain if they had stayed behind after falling ill.
I opened the door, the bat leading as I entered. The room was carefully decorated with a rustic theme, with natural wood furniture and faux wood paneling. Unfortunately, there were several places to hide, although I doubted that the undead had the foresight to conceal themselves in dark corners for dramatic effect, but I’d seen enough horror movies that I couldn’t overlook under the bed or behind the dresser. I was relieved that this room, too, was empty. I left through the bedroom door that led into the hallway, closing it, too, behind me. I froze. The girl’s bedroom door was open.
I closed it… didn’t I close it?
I asked myself.
Is the girl still in the house?
I pressed my back against the far wall and inched along the hallway, the bat clutched in front of me like a comforting stuffed animal for a small child. I began to sweat in the otherwise cool home as I approached, peeking around the corner and down the stairs before crossing the top landing. I stopped outside of the bedroom, straining to hear any sound from within. Nothing, except the overwhelming silence. Cautiously, I peered into the bedroom, sweeping the darkness with the flashlight. Nothing moved. I crept inside- nothing in the closet, nothing behind the bed, nothing under the desk. Even the cobwebs were undisturbed. Again, I closed the door, making sure it sunk into place.
“Please, stay closed,” I mumbled, wondering if I were sincerely hoping that the door would listen to reason.
The other doors had remained closed, as they should. One floor done. I looked over the banister then slowly started down the stairs, looking for anything out of place in each slice of the floor that came into view. From the first landing, I could see the living room, dining room and a kitchen, each decorated in the same clinical motif that characterized the rest of the home. I believed, however, that the cobwebs and rat-gnawed furniture was part of the post-human remodeling. The living area was the opposite of the preacher’s home; the large television dominated the room, with the recliners and couches arranged to encourage comfortable viewing. The dining area, too, was positioned so that each diner could watch what was showing on the massive screen. The kitchen flashed with the occasional rat, as they fought over the last of the accessible food. The smell of rodents and their droppings wafted out into the other rooms; it was suffocating in the enclosed space.
I hastily searched the rest of the home, wondering if I would find a little undead girl with a vestigial memory. I made my way through the rest of the floor. There was an alcove under the stairs that was cluttered with boxes and other articles, but nothing else. The downstairs bathroom was empty and still, as was the garage. Thankfully, this time the car was gone. I was alone in the home.
Only slightly more comfortable for having searched the home, I walked to the back door and knocked as Lisa and I had agreed.
Three knocks, then silence, the one more.
I waited a tense moment before I heard the response.
One knock, then silence, then three more. They were okay.
The door was secured by two thick boards that were nailed into the frame and were too secure to pry off with my hands alone. I returned to the garage, looking for anything that I could use to remove the boards. I imagined that I would have felt betrayed by my usual fortune if there had been a crowbar or a hammer- perhaps the family had taken such useful tools with them- but I looked through what had remained and settled on a well-worn pair of gardening shears, which hadn’t seen use in some time. I pulled it from a tangle of cobwebs and brought it back to the door.
I leaned the bat against the wall and started working on the frame. It took time, and left my hands sore, but one at a time I pried the boards loose, pulling them from the door and tossing them carelessly to the side before opening it for two grateful ladies. I scanned behind them as they came inside before closing and locking the door. None of us spoke, but we each visibly relaxed as Madi clung to my hand as if it were a precious lifeline.
“It’s safe?” Madi asked, finally.
“It’s safe,” I answered with a confidence I didn’t feel. But confidence is one thing that I hadn’t felt in some time. “I’ll tell you what, I’m going to find something for us to eat; you girls stay here and sit tight, okay?”
Lisa nodded solemnly; Madi’s eyes opened wide. “You’re going outside?” She stammered.
I kneeled to her level, feeling the dust shift beneath my knee. “Yeah, but I’ll be back real quick. You know what you can do while I’m gone, princess?”
“What?” She asked.
“You can clean this place up- you left it a mess.”
She giggled and landed a kiss on my cheek. I stood and leaned in close to Lisa, “keep your eyes open, okay?”
“Okay,” she answered, worry creeping into her voice. “Brad…” She paused. “If you find a razor, can you pick it up?” A year or so ago, that would have been a simple request; more of a penciled-in addition to a shopping list. Lisa knew anything specific was a long shot, and carried with it a certain risk.
“Sure thing,” I smiled. I meant it, too, both the smile and the promise. I grabbed the bat that I had left propped against the wall and was ready to head out when I reconsidered. “You keep this,” I told Lisa, pressing the bat handle into her hand. I didn’t want to, couldn’t even, leave them unarmed.