Bump in the Night

The noise downstairs stirs me awake. Looking at the digital clock, I can see the time in red electric letters. 2:35 am, so I’m already upset even before I fully register the noise. My bedroom is pitch black, so I fumble around for a moment before finding the bedside lamp. Switching it on bathes me in a pale orange glow, and I can see, outside of its immediate brightness, outlines of the room around me.

Nothing is out of place. There are no silhouettes looming over me or fingers tapping at my window -the blinds are drawn anyway- so I think, maybe it was nothing.

I hear it again.

It’s clearer now. Whatever remnants of groggy half sleep I had were quickly removed, replaced with a quickening heartbeat and a dry mouth. The noise is muffled, clearly downstairs, but I understand what it is just fine.

A literal bump in the night.

I have to actively resist the urge to throw off my covers and sprint downstairs. I slide out of bed, keeping low beside it and moving on all fours to the foot of it. The chest is there. When I put the combination into the tumbler lock, the gun is there too.

The bump sounds again.

It is a dull, consistent thing. The same low note each time. I grip my gun with white knuckled hands as I rise to my full height. On my toes, I make my way to the bedroom door.

The upstairs hallway is not nearly as dark as my own bedroom. The doors are all open, save for the closet full of towels, and moonlight wafts in through the open blinds. It’s sight like that which make my moving to the sticks really worth it, alongside the isolation it gives.

I hear the bump again, and I am now cursing the isolation. I can hear it more clearly now. Down the stairs, on the main floor. My fear is dissipating. The cold shock in my heart is warming, boiling even. I can feel red rage bubbling up in me.

This is my house.

Mine!

The bump again, louder now that I’m halfway down the stairs. 

Come into my house? Fuck with my things? Steal my food? I’m gonna rip this ratfuck a new asshole, I think. My tiptoeing descends into full, rapid stomps down the stairs, loud enough I can’t even hear the bumping. I’m at the bottom and pointing the gun around, but then I stop.

I see nothing. Nothing at all is there in the moonlight, nothing that was there before.

The bump again, loud and clear.

Not coming from the kitchen. Not from the living room or the garage.

It’s in the basement

The bump, now clearly a thud, sounds off against the basement door.

Now, whatever fear and anger I have is being replaced with a slow knowing, and, more specifically, irritation. I march right over to the door and swing the thing open, and it was just as I thought.

The food I caught earlier got loose somehow, maybe I didn’t lock the freezer downstairs. It’s all red wounds and purple scabs, hobbling around on the raw stumps where I took its hands and feet. It looks up at me after it falls forward, gives me these big sad puppy dog eyes that around half of the others have given me. Could make you sick if you didn’t have the stomach for it. I don’t even remember if it was male or female when I grabbed it. Weird thought, considering that was about a week ago, but it’s one I have none the less. Looking at it, I see that I’ve cut the skin on the front side of its abdomen completely off, so I can’t check for breasts, and the genitals that were there were carved up good enough that the only thing left is a scabbing, pus ridden hole. Probably getting infected, which isn’t good, because that means the freezer isn’t working properly. It’s cuts and gouges are all looking a little green, now that I’m really looking at it.

Whatever, I’m tired and this thing is getting blood on my floor. I press my foot on its head, thankful to myself for not scalping it just yet and nudge it back down the stairs. It’s doesn’t cry out -it can’t, I took its tongue- and simply slides back down to the first landing, helped along by the greasy blood it was leaking everywhere.

Fucking slipping hazard. I need to be careful going down to meet it. I repeat the process above on the first landing, sending it right back down to the basement floor. Thing passes out I guess, which makes my job easier. I get a good handful of its head hair with my free hand and start dragging it along. I don’t care what kind of stains I’m leaving at this point, I’ll clean it in the morning. At this point I don’t really care enough to hang it up proper again either, so I just chuck it in. I end up hitting a couple of ones that were still hanging, and, of course, that gets them to wake up and start hollering. These ones I did scalp. Cut their lips off with scissors too, I like the lips especially. They tastes like little slices of ham. I don’t enjoy the thighs now because the screaming is starting to give me a headache, so I shut the door and I lock it this time. I really did forget the first time, I’m slipping. Gotta readjust I guess, but that’s for the morning. I’m not going out in this dark just for a practice run, I’m not crazy.

What I do instead is head back up stairs. I head right up to the shower, use it, dry myself off after, and I’m right back in bed.

I listen for a moment, just to be sure. I hear nothing. I look at the clock before falling asleep. It reads 2:43 am, so I go back to sleep.

I’ve got work in the morning.