Not My Horror Story

(includes brief description of gore/violence and explicit language)

The boiling tea pot provides my ambiance for supper. I’ve not had electricity for a couple days now, not since the rest of town mysteriously disappeared—again—so I have no way to play my usual noise of distraction. The tea pot certainly tries its best to fill in the gaps music would normally find purchase within, but it is a tea pot, and the sound of bubbles has never been high on my meditation playlist. Not that I meditate either. Neither does my soon-to-be visitor. We’re both worldly that way.

Maybe I ought to leave. It’s a prospect I entertain every year, every time my neighbors apparently do the same—and yet, each time, I remain. In my defense, no one is at the checkout lanes to demand I pay fifteen dollars for a carton of eggs, which seems like a fair enough trade off. The discomfort of abject solitude will always lose to free groceries, at least in my opinion. Besides, I’ve never had an issue before. I’ve never had much of anything before, save boredom and an excessive consumption of tea.

I pour the water over my tea bag now, trying to enjoy the shift in acoustics. Warm wafts of minty steam tickle my nose as I peer into the cup, watching the hot water slowly tint brown as it soaks up the leaves. Anything to entertain myself, right? It is mesmerizing in a way, not too unlike watching the flame on my candles, or the shadows grow in the corners. It is certainly distraction enough, as I don’t notice the strangers outside my house until they barge inside.

Okay, barge is too kind of a word; they kick my door open with an ill timed grunt that suggests teenage incompetence, and sure enough, a group of four kids tumble into my dim house. The first one through—a tall boy with shaggy brown hair and a stained denim jacket—stands aside to allow his friends entry, then slams my clearly broken and splintered door closed again, pressing his back against it and sighing heavily. I cringe for the hinges. One of his friends—a thin, wiry girl with mud all over her—collapses to the ground and starts heaving with sobs. Another girl with a nasty gash across her face kneels beside her weeping friend and pulls her into a hug. The last—a small and wiry boy in a blue and white letterman—rushes to the side and hunches over himself, gasping for breath. None of them notice me, nor my candle, nor my steeping tea and steamed scowl. The girl holding her crying friend looks to the boy against the door.

“What are we going to do?” She asks. Her voice scratches and cracks, like she’s been screaming for hours. The boy doesn’t open his eyes. “Daniel?” She presses again, louder now. “What are we going to do?”

“He’s dead!” Wails the girl in her arms. “He’s dead, Marie, he’s dead!”

Her friend, Marie, hushes her and pets her muddy hair all while still glaring at Daniel, who has yet to respond. He keeps his eyes closed and mouth open, his chest rising and falling with shallow, hurried breaths. The other boy shakes his head madly, providing a reply to his hysterical companion.

“W-W-We don’t know that, Claudia,” he stammers out. “H-He could be—“

Claudia snaps her head up and faces him with bared teeth and red eyes. “Could be what, Nate?!” She practically screams. “Alive? Last I checked, being ripped apart by a demon is pretty fucking lethal!”

Nate starts to stutter another response, but Claudia has noticed me. Her ferocious expression falls in favor of a pinched grimace as she looks me up and down, like her next victim to shove into a locker.

“The fuck?” She demands, all panic gone from her voice, replaced with that unmistakable tone of a mean girl. Her friends turn at her words, finally deciding to notice me and offering varying looks of confusion and terror.

“Oh,” I say, taking a sip from my still-steeping-and-broiling-hot tea, “don’t mind me.”

Daniel pushes off the door and takes a step forward, which earns Marie’s gaze back on him. He’s about a foot taller than me, maybe a football player, but his expression is kind as he says, “You shouldn’t be here.”

I raise my brow. “In my own house?” I glance around my surroundings: the plain log walls, minimally decorated; my grandfather’s oaken furniture; my seven-day candle, now on its fifth day. “Pretty sure it’s the opposite way ‘round, kid. You mind?” I gesture to my door, sitting crooked in its frame, but none of them pay my suggestion any attention.

Nate looks aghast as he shakes his head with an unnecessary fervor. “You need to go,” he tells me emphatically, supporting Daniel’s statement. “I-It’s not safe here. There’s something out there—“

“Who are you?” Demands Claudia, interrupting Nate, who looks rather distraught at the act. She must have something against him to keep cutting him off. Poor Nate.

“I'm not going to tell you that,” I answer her anyway, punctuating my reply with another still-too-hot sip of tea.

Claudia scoffs and rolls her bloodshot eyes, opening her mouth to say, no doubt, a number of prissy things she really has no business saying, but Marie beats her to it.

“Please,” she says, turning to me and narrowing her eyes into a look she probably thinks is confident and commanding. Frankly, she just looks tired and scared. I wonder how long they’ve been out there—I wonder if they’ve taken any of my precious, free groceries. I hope not. They had better not. “It really isn’t safe. You need to go.”

“I’m really fine, actually,” I assure.

Daniel and Marie both frown; Claudia buries her face into Marie’s shoulder; Nate finds my wall and leans against it. In the end, it’s Daniel who takes another step forward and tries to be the voice of reason.

“Listen, ma’am—“

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

“How’s asshole then?” Claudia mumbles.

I send her muddy head a dry smile. “How’s your dead boyfriend?”

She wails again and presses in closer to Marie, who simply sighs and continues to hold her back.

Daniel tries again. “This really isn’t a safe place,” he says. “The entire rest of town is gone, and—“

“Oh, I know,” I tell him. My tea has cooled some, so I take a sip that doesn’t entirely burn my skin off, and smile. “It’s been alright. Usually is. Really miss the electricity, though. Always do. I could use some Bon Jovi in these trying times. Excited for it to come back. You have an ETA on that? You can stay if you do. Just kidding, I know when it will. You can’t stay.”

The group of intruders fall silent again. Even Claudia turns her head sideways to peek at me, though she looks more disgusted than her flabbergasted ‘friends’.

“You…know?” Repeats Nate.

“Yup.”

“Why haven’t you left?” Asks Marie.

I shrug. “Why would I?”

Daniel gestures behind him, to my poor, broken door. “There is a monster out there,” he says pointedly. “Some creature that murders people, that—“

“Is it really murder if it’s not human?”

“It is,” insists Claudia. Tears are gathering in her eyes again, which is just delightful. I would really rather her have a tantrum outside my innocent home, but I don’t bother saying that, not with the chance of these other kids defending her. Still, if I was Marie, I would have tripped her in front of the Bánánach hours ago.

“Regardless of definition,” Marie says, interrupting my lovely thoughts of Claudia falling and dying, “the point remains that you should leave.”

“You keep saying that. Can you take your turn first? Genuinely. Get out.”

“What?!” Nate demands, his eyes going wide like a cornered animal. He wraps his arms around himself, hunching over his own grip and whimpering. “W-We can’t leave! This is the only safe house!”

Out of everything said and done, it is that that finally dries my patience. I set my mug of tea down with a solid thud and face these teenagers with as much sincerity as I bother to gather—it’s not much, I could really care less about most of the happenings around here, but it’s enough to make me frown and cross my arms.

“It probably was,” I agree, “before you broke my door.” Daniel looks sheepishly back towards my aforementioned entrance, embarrassed flush turning his ears pink. “Which really is just stupendous, considering all the carpenters in town are currently indisposed. What’s else: I don’t like her,” I point at Claudia, “I frankly don’t know how you’re still alive,” I move my finger to Nate, who shuffles backwards at my words, “and you two will probably be the only survivors—if you manage to get your acne-riddled asses out of here.” Marie and Daniel share a tensed look when my pointing shifts to them, but neither comment. None of them do.

Well, not for a couple moments at least, and when one of them speaks, it’s not the one I expected. Or wanted.

Claudia stands shakily, ignoring Marie’s protests, and faces me with her grimy chin lifted. I meet her gaze.

“Fine,” she says curtly. “If this washed up wannabe wants to die a sad, lonely, girl—“

“Only right on two of those accounts,” I interject.

“Then I say we let her,” Claudia finishes, choosing to ignore me too. She glances over her friends’ faces. None of them seem keen to agree. “Well? Let’s go, guys!”

Daniel frowns. Nate shifts further away. “Uh, Clauds—“

Claudia cuts him off with a loud scoff and rolling of her eyes. She attempts to toss her hair over one shoulder too, but the effect is lost thanks to its being coated in mud. “God, you’re not in charge anymore, Dan.” She marches forward, towards my door, which makes me genuinely grin in delight, but Daniel steps in front of her. They face off for a couple moments before he relents and she reaches the door. She turns around, giving her posse narrowed looks before fixing me with a glare. “I hope your sad grandma tea was worth it,” she spits.

I nod solemnly, placing a hand over my heart and picking up said tea again. “I hope you learn to admit you’re not a natural blonde,” I respond, matching my tone to my dolesome movements. I obviously cannot see the color of her hair, but I think it’s a fair assumption.

Claudia scoffs again, which means I must have struck gold with my comment. She opens the door, letting it swing crookedly on its injured hinges and encouraging the others to take a step away. “Whatever, you bitch—“

A pitch black and clawed hand latches around her waist, cutting her open with thin slices and spraying bright blood across my vintage fucking floors before she is suddenly whisked away with a howling scream. The others stumble and trip and scream as well, shouting incoherent obscenities and beginning to weep. Nate is next out the door, though seemingly on his own volition. He races outside into the thick fog with flailing arms and panicked noises. Marie jumps up, touching Daniel’s arm only briefly before chasing him—there are tears streaming down her face, but she looks otherwise brave and resolute. Good for her. Maybe she will make it out. Daniel is the last, and he takes a moment to look at me with carefully hidden terror.

“You can come with—“ he starts to suggest, but I stop him with a raised hand.

“No, thanks,” I say and wave him off with waggling fingers. “This is not my horror movie. Toodaloo!”

He frowns, maybe considering an argument, but he must know it’s futile. He shakes his head, then turns and runs after his still (possibly) living friends. My door swings closed behind him, though it of course neglects to actually latch. I sigh. It will be a pain to fix. I ought to clean the blood too, before it dries and ruins my floors. Pity. Blood is never easy to clean, especially from ancient, hand-laid tiles. It is painstaking work that my grandfather always cautioned against. If only he could see it now; he'd be red with fury at Claudia and her indecent blood spatter. The thought of his rage makes me smile again, at least.

In the corner of my kitchen, shrouded in shadows, the dark shape takes form: my daily visitor, now late, and the most definite cause of those teen’s deaths—it, or one of the many others. It is abstract and indistinguishable, but I offer it a bland smile, and hold out my mug.

“Tea?” I ask.

It takes the cup with ice cold, clawed, and pitch black hands.