Jack Stocker
I do a lot of stuff. Mainly though, I write.
Not Like Most Girls
Author's note:
This was written during a bout of writer's block not too long ago - I was getting nowhere with my other two projects, so I decided to take a prompt from a forum. The stipulations were to write a short story that contained snow and/or the words 'they'll eat you alive!"
“I’m not having this conversation every time. It’s absolutely out of the question.”
“Why? It’s been almost two years.”
Cara turned to him. “David. You categorically cannot meet my parents.”
“Do they have something against solicitors?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing to do with that.”
David scowled. “What then? Puritans?”
Cara unbuckled the seat belt, and fought the urge to smile. “Not exactly. Look, just trust me on it.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
The half-smile vanished like a fox down a hole. “What?”
“Not many women in their thirties still live with their parents, Cara. Look, if the situation’s delicate, just tell me. I don’t need to know details. But only dysfunctional couples keep secrets.”
She stared at him, suddenly furious. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No, I don’t.” He said coldly.
Cara got out of the car, her heels sinking into the snow.
“That’s the damn problem!” He shouted after her.
“You’re not meeting my parents, David!” She screamed, stamping her foot. A pair of passers-by let their gazes hit the floor, markedly increasing their pace. “They’ll eat you alive!”
“Whatever.” David waved a hand dismissively as she slammed the door, and the car peeled away from the pavement.
“Doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Cara repeated to herself, storming towards the house. Her long black dress swept across the drive, contrasting starkly with the driven snow. As she reached the door, she unconsciously pushed her glasses up her shapely nose – a teenager’s habit she’d never been able to suppress.
As she fished her keys from her coat, she fancied she heard movement from inside. But that was impossible – nothing would be moving at this time of night. Beyond the frosted glass, there was nothing but darkness. She put the key in the door, turning it carefully.
Cara stepped into the gloom, her heel just barely catching on the doorstep. She swore quietly, closing the door with a gentle snap.
“Mum?” She half-whispered.
Nothing.
Satisfied, she fumbled for the hall light, turning her back for a split second as a skittering noise echoed down the hallway. She started and spun back, her eyes attempting to pierce the blackness.
“Dad?”
A figure was standing at the end of the hall, framed by the feeble light leaking in from the kitchen beyond. Cara felt her heart pulse in her chest, and her fingers clumsily slapped the wall behind her, searching for the switch.
“Dad?”
Click.
Light flooded the hall, and the figure was gone.
Cara leaned against the wall for a second, waiting for her pulse to return to normal. She knew she needed to sleep. She was probably a bit drunk – she’d known that as she’d had her third glass with David earlier. After a few moments, she straightened up, striding down the hall. A glass of water would do the trick. Maybe a sandwich. Then bed.
She reached the kitchen, and stopped dead.
It had been utterly destroyed. Pots and pans were strewn across the room, and the plates had been pulled from the cupboards, their smashed remains scattered across the counters. The cutlery drawers had been launched across the room, and pulverised into splinters. Only an iron chair sat untouched at the table, gaffer tape hanging from the arms in ribbons. Amongst it all, a pool of red was spreading slowly over the floor, slipping over the smooth tiles.
Cara stared.
“...Mum?”
She said the word softly, as if scared to break the silence.
“MUUUM!”
As if in answer, an inhuman shriek echoed from behind her.
The figure sprinted down the hall, long unnatural legs eating up the distance faster than Cara could process the sight of what was happening.
It slammed into her, still shrieking. Her heels collapsed instantly underneath her and before she knew it she was on the floor, the cutlery and broken plates digging sharply into her back. The pain caused her to arch her body sharply, instinctively throwing her attacker off. It slipped in the pool on the floor, and its head connected with the table with a loud crack. It gibbered, thrashing.
Cara pulled herself painfully up, spotting the bread knife that had she’d missed landing on by bare centimetres. She grabbed it and quickly got to her feet as the creature recovered. It launched itself across the table, turning it over with a crash as it jabbered and spluttered.
She caught it by the throat, thrusting the knife deep into its shoulder. It screamed. An eyeless socket glared at her, and the creature’s remaining bulbous eye rolled. Dark splotches of black matted its grey face, which was missing a nose. It gabbled incomprehensively through broken teeth as its outstretched arms swatted her desperately.
Cara gritted her teeth, driving the knife deeper until she felt bone. The creature let out a single squeal, and then went limp, falling forwards into her expectant arms. She grimly dragged it to the chair, ignoring the pain as she walked across the broken crockery on the floor. Its foot brushed a piece of broken glass, and it whimpered quietly. Cara didn’t bother to glance, stopping briefly to scoop up her handbag from where she’d dropped it.
Wrenching the knife from the creature’s shoulder, she dumped it unceremoniously into the iron chair. Cara unzipped her handbag, taking a roll of gaffer tape from inside. With practised, deliberate movements, she wound the tape in ever-decreasing circles along the creature’s arms, using the bread knife to sever it from the roll.
She straightened up, hands on hips, and surveyed the figure in the chair. Its hands hung limply, and its head rolled on its neck. The tattered remains of its clothes were still attached to parts of its body, and a simple yellow face smiled from the white T-shirt it still partially wore, its broad grin contrasting sharply with the creature's hairless, ugly head.
“Right then." Cara knelt carefully, so she was at eye-level. "Now where’s Dad?”