This is a story about a creature. A creature that caused havoc and terror throughout the eastern suburbs. Now listen, and most importantly:
be quiet.
Mum and dad were supposed to be home an hour ago. They’re okay, right? Like, I’m obviously overreacting, there’s probably just traffic on the highway. But I remind myself it’s 9:00pm on a Wednesday. Why would there be traffic? Maybe there was an accident. They would’ve called, right? Worry shoots up my veins like a junkie shooting heroin through a needle. The hit is all I need to reach for my phone and call them.
The phone rings out.
Okay. Okay. Maybe they lost track of time. But why wouldn’t they pick up? Hopefully their phones are just on silent. Or they’re distracted. Those thoughts serve as plausible enough explanations to shut up my brain. I return to my position on the couch, the cosy cove in the corner with blankets and pillows populating. I’ll give it an hour. Maybe it’s the worry about my parents but something doesn’t feel right. Whether it’s the odd quietness of everything or having to slightly turn up the volume on the TV and my phone. Maybe it’s the rumble in my ears that won’t go away. I try to lose myself in the joy of mind-numbing TV shows with mediocre and unfunny characters that over twelve long and mundane seasons you learn to love. Droning out the worry like I drone out the eerie quiet. There’s something about sitcoms that just makes my brain not think. It’s probably the shitty humour encouraged by a laugh track. But every now and then, between episodes while Netflix loads or when the humour is especially bland, my mind wanders back to my parents. I can’t help but think that they are dead in a ditch somewhere, their phones ringing out with my calls as they lay there. I shut jthese thoughts as quickly as they occur but the damage is done. Somehow I fight them off for long enough that my mind quiets, eventually there is a change of authority on the battered ship that is my brain, and sleep takes the wheel. The promise of pushing the emotions down and dealing with them later compels me to close my eyes and drift off into sleep.
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‘Oh Valerie, of course you would do that!’
The laugh track snaps me back into reality. My shirt is soaked in sweat, clinging to my body, making me uncomfortable. I’ve always hated waking up sweaty, I really should’ve learned by now not to sleep with so many layers on. I get up, the surging annoyance of my sweaty state causing the sudden urge to move and punch a pillow. Normally I just let it pass but this time with all my might I throw my fist. It seems to do the job. I look down at my watch.
12:03am.
The feeling returns. It creeps down into my stomach and there it sets up camp, agitating a fire of anxiety and pitching a tent of panic. I jump off of the couch and aim for my phone but the blanket catches my left foot, pulling my ankle and me down with it. My heartbeat growls, I lurch back up and snatch my phone off of the table. My breath shakes as the phone rings out once again. Fuck. Okay, okay think. Should I call the cops? I mean they could just be having fun. Or they could be dead. The fire in my stomach grows. If I’m wrong I guess this can be a thing we laugh about afterwards during family dinners. Oh my god, do you guys remember the time I called the cops cause you didn’t come home that night! I joke to myself. Okay, my mind is made up. I dial 000…
‘Honey! Don’t do that,’ the front door says to me, the line completing its first ring, ‘we’ve told you that triple zero was for emergencies only. Now let me and your father inside.’ I quickly stop the call and rush to the door with a ripple of relief.
A realisation forced its way into my head; I’ve heard my mothers voice millions of times, this time it sounds off. “Curiosity kills the cat”, I try to persuade myself as I unlock it and inch it open just slightly. Well I guess curiosity will kill this cat.
Standing there is my mother, dressed in the same clothes she left the house in. Her smile is carved into her face as she peers down at me. She seems taller. Her eyes are darker than usual. Her telltale gold eyeshadow is smudged ever so slightly. Her hand reaches up slowly to the handle of the fly-screen door.
There’s dirt underneath her nails.
‘Open up, come on!’ Her voice is sharp and strident. I stay silent, something in me tells me not to open the door. Something is off. She peers down at me with her almost black eyes, her lip trembles as she inhales and her hand slams on the door.
‘Jesus fucking Christ just let me in!’
Her hand strikes again. The voice that belongs to my mother is twisted, shaping its way into something else. At the end of every sentence it deepens to that of a man’s.
‘Where’s dad?’
Even I can hear the shake in my voice. Her smile somehow widens even more – anymore and I’m sure her face would rip.
Instead of a response I get a series of bangs on the door.
‘I told you to let me in you dumb fucking child.’ It says, the words slither out like they’re coming through clenched teeth.
It bangs and bangs and bangs. The door whines with the tings of the metal frame falling apart. It’s coming in.
My feet pound into the porcelain tiles as I sprint down the hallway, passing the living room, passing the kitchen and study, passing the door that will act as my shield, protecting me from whatever that thing is. I slam it shut and lean my ear next to the gap, my back pressed against it. The door is still whining but now faster and sadder, until one significantly louder slam results in the wail of the door falling apart.
Shit.
Quick. Think, where would be a good place to hide? My mind runs frantically as potential spots arise and then fall with obvious flaws. Finally, the rapid scuttling coming from the other side forces me to make a decision – the spare bedroom. I rush in and quietly close the door and run behind the curtain which conceals the window and the window seat.
I hear its breath, leering just slightly.
It breathes in slowly as it creeps in front of the curtain producing a shadow. The shadow. The previous head of my mother has turned into a long snout with two teeth extending from its mouth, passing further and further out as if they were tentacles reaching to grab me. A revolting smell that resembles gasoline mixed with off-meat flowing into my nose, flowing into my body and retching up my insides. It continues moving past, revealing more and more of its… fucked up body. Its hound-like head is connected to a thin torso jutting out with bones. Its paws are webbed between six claws with extending blades, each claw is longer than the other as it heads to the middle claw which is three times as long.
It starts to mumble.
‘Around, around, around the darkness we come, To snatch we are, here to do, For those who smile, those to some, Who trusts me, who also trusts you.’
It’s not my mother, it’s now a young girl.
‘We want your smile, you’re not complete, I know where you are, hiding there, You can’t run, you can’t cheat, You will always be in despair,’
As it speaks, the shadow in front of me morphs and contorts down, and down, and down into a little girl. The silhouette displays a dress hanging with the wind as it dances around in a circle. It laughs and laughs and laughs. It doesn’t stop. Until it stops – stops facing directly towards the curtain. The shadow starts shaking… violently. So fucking violently.