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Thriller Funny Horror

Tap.

Refresh.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’ve been waiting for a reply since April and it’s damn near Halloween. I draw both hands down my face, contemplating social murder—of myself. Right, that’s suicide. Maybe that’s the reason they haven’t accepted my piece. I’ve tarred myself, waiting for them to add the feathers. And why would they want to be complicit in my murd—suicide.

I need sheep.

Sleep.

Easing around towards the window, I stare into Harry’s (my once rancid rat of a neighbor’s) yard unabashed. Harry’s long since departed, rest his grizzly old hide. But his house has been on the market for years, so it’s still Harry’s to me. As it is, it’s close to three a.m, who’d think I’m still up playing voyeur?

But here I am, damning myself to death and pondering the length of his grass. It’s dead. No, it’s worse than dead. His realtor mowed it seven times over this week—it’s mutilated. With a scoff, I press my laptop shut, preparing for the long trek to my room.

Something flashes.

Blinking back my confusion, I hazard a second glance at the wilted stalks. Now I’m seeing things. Add that to my list of defects, and I just might never receive the attention I conceitedly believe I deserve. Yeah. I’m not getting it anyway, so what does it matter.

I tuck my computer under one arm, lifting my empty coffee mug from the desk with my other hand. To glorious sleep. After the shuffle of my movements dies, I hear ringing—not of the ears. No, it’s a jingle—a cell phone. Who’s outside our houses answering suspiciously late calls? Ah, curiosity, the wedged blade in my sternum. Just one peek.

Nothing. From Judy’s to the Marrison’s, nothing. But then Harry’s. The flash wasn’t my sleep deprivation-induced brain fog. Hidden in the illuminated grass, I can see a phone playing the most dastardly merry tune. His realtor must’ve dropped it earlier today. A fine story that almost made for my next script. I snort. 

Boring.

All this intrigue has me famished, but the exhaustion is overwhelming any other bodily needs. I maneuver one last time towards the lure of my flannel sheets before pausing. Is that—? Not five feet from the phone there’s now a shadow of a man—sort of. In the depths of my mind, I bark a panic-driven explanation: nyctophile! He’s just as much a nyctophile as I am. That’s it.

But the way he moves is…downright inhuman. Sheep, the word maunders through next. Yeah, sleep. I need that. But I’m melded to the floor now, drawn into his animalistic motions. He kneels over the phone, dangles it in confusion, and then shatters it in his miraculously pointy fingers. Even I have pointy fingers, they’re called fingernails.

He’s just a man. Just a—

Slam! Slam!

My skin about loosens itself free from my bones. Well, that confirms their answer—they really went for the feathers. I’m dead before I’m even known. Bittersweet irony leave me be. But really. What idiot is beating down my door at three a.m? I should be warier, but two days of insomnia have me several stripes short of a full candy corn.

I cross the hall to the door, not a speck of fear in sight—save for the trembling in my knees, the sweat perspiring on my temples, and the now headless sheep singing Sweeney Todd on my frontal lobe. Fear? Scriptwriters don’t have fear, just exhaustion. So I whip my front door open, only to be met with a flood of liquid.

It douses me. Is this...silver?

“Okay, thanks.” My glare travels from my clothes to the man standing across from me, fumbling to hide a vial in his jacket pocket. Leather Oxfords one size too big followed by a 1940s pinstripe suit and knee-length trench coat, he’s walking history. And his transatlantic accent laces up his look neatly.

“I apologize. My friend just moved in here”-he lifts his phone, pointing at it-“but he was…unavailable.” Or had extremely long nails. “And I wasn’t positive which house was his so I’ve been asking—”

“—Here’s a clue. Next door, you fuck-all,” I snarl, jabbing a thumb toward Harry’s. I am tired. And drenched. And from Sweeney Todd, I now have the ting of the Halloween theme. It’s not wrong. This guy is creepy, he must delect in deformed candy corn the same as me. Okay, I admit I’m a tad unfriendly. But look at the time—and what I’ve been enduring for seven months. Six. Seven? Six.

He doesn’t answer nor does he move. His head twitches slightly like he’s got an itch he’s dying to scratch. There’s a distinct vibration to the action; his neck must be stiff. With a sickening snap, he stops, looking almost relieved. And then a thin smile spreads over his unnaturally red lips. Is this man wearing lipstick? I squint at him, against my better judgment. As soon as I pass the threshold with a single bunny-slippered toe, he snatches me forward.

My mug shatters, my laptop hits the porch with a thud, and I scream.

His heavy breath moistens the skin of my neck as he drags me into him. I thrash against his strength, kick at his ankles. But he doesn’t budge. He draws his tongue along his bottom lip until it’s replaced by two protruding points that sink into the scarlet flesh. In the dim glow of my motion light, Walking History—W.H—could be no more enticing. Nor frightening.

Bang!

My body jerks back and W.H with it. I expect him to cry out or fall to the ground bleeding. But he just sighs, patting at the hole now ripped through the breast pocket of his suit. There’s nothing. No blood, no ooze, no stain.

“Expensive injury,” he announces, tossing me to the grass. Free, I scramble. I don’t care who he’s talking to, I’m getting the hell out of here. Dashing back onto my porch, I slam through my front door and fumble to lock it.

Bang!

Nope, I’m not looking.

Bang!

“Son of a bitch! You flea-bitten mutt!” W.H’s shout is loud; I can hear him perfectly. Murderous curiosity tugs at my collar. And only grows as another voice finally answers him.

“If only I were.” Deep, gravelly, steady—perhaps the owner of two hands worth of finely manicured fingernails? I’m not looking. Taking several steps away from the door, I try to will myself not to turn around. But I bear this wedged blade in my chest for a reason. Spinning on my heel, I face the door just as the glass shatters in at me.

W.H meets my shins. And the man hulking over him is—is…

I dance backward. My fear is consuming my voice. I can’t shriek. I can’t even think. But my tired legs wobble beneath me, so I plummet to the hardwood floor. The sheep aren’t singing anymore. The bleating in my head is a panicked-rendition of Run, Rabbit, Run. But it’s soon drowned out.

W.H wails. Then there’s tearing. A muffled whimper. Stretching fabric, stretching flesh. 

“I’ll teach you to kill my brothers.” Like heavy boots crunching over gravel, leaving deep indents. Gravel—G.

“Please, please.” W.H’s voice is gargled. Nope, that’s not blood in his voice. I haven’t heard that sound a million times in films. I drag myself across the floor until it feels safe to stand and then I half throw myself to my feet. The kitchen’s just a few feet away. A spoon, a fork, anything.

And then he laughs.

“I know you like when I beg.”

My hand meets the countertop. Then drawer—towels—after drawer—placemats—after drawer—napkins. What was I thinking? When did I rearrange my kitchen to be baby proof?! I don’t even like children. There’s a grunt from behind me. A cry. A gasp. And then I feel moisture spray over my shoulders. Please don’t be blood. Please don’t be blood.

It’s blood.

My stomach turns. And with it, my head. W.H is ripping into G., tearing at his fur-covered flesh. His fangs gleam. Anything. My hand fumbles over the counter, latching onto the first thing it feels, and I brandish it. I get about two feet forward. W.H meets me the rest of the way, welcoming me into his embrace. So I stab him.

Protruding from his throat is an AA battery. Damnit.

“Run, G.!” the exclamation leaves my lips before I know what I’m doing. The sheep are crescendoing, now there’s a tap dance. Run, rabbit! Run, run, run! The men won’t even know who I’m talking to.

“No.” Four thick claws dig into W.H’s forehead. I watch the skin split. It peels upward with the movement of G.’s…paw. And then they’re twisting. The battle is unreal. From the oven to the table. They wreck, they crumble, they destroy my house. My curiosity will no longer allow me to run.

So I watch; the early morning voyeur that I am.

My hand grazes the silverware drawer. I want G. to come out victorious. But if he does so only to betray me…I’ll be ready. I lift my silver salad fork. From the reflection on the surface, I can see the men struggling. They’re fumbling for higher ground. G.’s blood is coating my floor.

Crash!

Another wolf?

He bursts through my kitchen window. And this time, I can’t help but yelp. His pearly teeth peel back in a wicked grin. And his soulless eyes swallow me. My brandished fork will do nothing.

No.

No.

“I will kill you!” I roar at the top of my lungs. But who would believe me? My hands are quivering. There’s a distinct shiver present in my breath. I’m a pitiable scriptwriter waiting to be noticed.

And I’m human.

He lunges. I heave myself out of the kitchen. But his teeth still graze my ankles. With a whimper, I throw a slipper. I can get new slippers, not new legs. Those massive teeth clamp down on the furry little bunny head, and then he squeals it dead. Air hisses from within.

Sssssssss.

Is that a demonstration? Is that my fate? The bunny slaps against the wall, flopping helplessly to the floor. His teeth are now free. They’ll shred through me faster than the sheep in my head can chant. With lumbering strides, he corners me. There’s not even a small chance I can fight him. He knows that. He’s just enjoying my fear.

Even so, I lift my fork in both hands.

I rake it down as his mouth closes around my ankle. It barely grazes his cheek. But his teeth rip through my pant leg. Gnawing. Chewing. Mangling. Don’t think about it. I can’t take my own advice. I just hope the agony that soils my plea for help is enough to startle the other two.

“Please,” I gasp. “I don’t...know him."

Yank.

My body slides along the wood floor. He’s drawing me closer, slashing through my leg. The desperate kicking of my other is nothing to him. I’m about to pass out. I’m about to surrender myself. But then I hear a crack. His jaws release. Where his teeth leave, my skin is burning. 

“Down.” G.’s order is loud, clear. He’s standing right over me. “Tend to the pale one.”

Gentle, human fingers trace down my knee. “Not too deep. You’ll heal,” he promises. Is he out of his mind? My hand swings the silver fork with all my remaining energy. But he catches my wrist with his other hand. Blinking my eyes open, I meet his. The sheep have long since forgotten their tapdancing, reliving a tribal drum dance instead.

It's the only thing holding in my bawling. I take back wanting a story tonight, I’d rather have the boring. Let this scriptwriter live.

“You got an e-mail.” He holds up my phone, but the words are so foreign, I barely comprehend them. What? I’m bleeding to death, and he’s reading my emails? “Sorry. We read through your submission carefully, but we decided to go with another project. Thank you for your interest and best of luck submitting with another company.

“I think I hate you,” I mutter in response.

“Sorry to hear that”—he pats a hand down on my head—“neighbor.”




October 24, 2020 16:43

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26 comments

Leilani Lane
20:36 Oct 28, 2020

"I should be warier, but two days of insomnia have me several stripes short of a full candy corn." Brb, going to find a way to work this into a conversation every day. "he’s walking history" Such a short phrase, yet packs an incredible punch! Love it!!! "Protruding from his throat is an AA battery. Damnit." This would be me in an emergency. XD You have such a knack for comedy, this style reminds me of Lou!! (Part 4, anyone???) I don't even have any edits--I think Lina touched on some already! I just enjoyed this story too much to fi...

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Molly Leasure
18:29 Oct 29, 2020

Hahahah! Yes, it is kind of Lou-esque. Maybe a little more refined ;)? Lou is kinda brash. ALTHOUGH so is this girl...she does call him a "fuck-all." Which, technically, probably isn't a lie. I could see this guy being very good with the ladies. I'm getting side-tracked. HAHA thank you. I'm glad I could add to your daily vocabulary xD!

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Ray Dyer
18:06 Oct 26, 2020

Action-packed, Molly - wow! There were some lines in here outside the action that definitely spoke to me, too. This one in particular: "But look at the time—and what I’ve been enduring for seven months. Six. Seven? Six." Anyone who has spent time waiting for a response has gone through that tapdance! The line at the end was also great. The ending as a whole was just the right mix of hope and inevitability. Speaking of tapdances that we've all attempted but not always handled successfully... Thank you for sharing this story!

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Molly Leasure
03:45 Oct 27, 2020

Haha! I'm glad that you found some of the lines relatable! I was hoping she'd be a more relatable MC than some of my others have been. Thank you so much for coming over and reading my story!! It's a bit of time that I appreciate you sharing :)

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Lina Ozz
15:57 Oct 26, 2020

"I stare into Harry’s (my once rancid rat of a neighbor’s) yard unabashed." "I should be warier, but two full days of insomnia have me several stripes short of a full candy corn." "When did I rearrange my kitchen to be baby proof?! I don’t even like children." Haha. Hahahahahahahahaha. I'm crying. That candy corn line SLAPPED; hilarious. I love this piece so much; it's frightening and honestly disturbing as hell and that is exactly what made me laugh while reading it. The description is so vivid and real. Bring on the nightmares. ...

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Molly Leasure
17:02 Oct 26, 2020

Yay for nightmares!! Funny/disturbing is the best genre xD. Let's all laugh at the darkness...You have made me realize I used two "full"s in that candy corn line though. I must eviscerate one of them, hold the line. DANG killing it with the edits. Thank you much! I have a distinct lack of semi-colons in my writing, it's time to change that! I wasn't sure about the "a" vs "an" thing for AA battery, because I read it as "double-A battery," ya know? So then my brain was like "an double-A?" But you're certainly right. THANK YOU for the lovel...

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Lina Ozz
17:06 Oct 26, 2020

I always laugh at darkness. Muahahaha. And I didn't even realize the two "full's" because that line was so damn funny. No worries! Also, feel free to view the semicolon edits with a grain of salt; I know that some writers have distinct ways of writing using commas specifically. I'm just a HUGE fan of the semicolon (I worship it, frankly). Lol. I love dots, too.

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Molly Leasure
17:26 Oct 26, 2020

Same, except when I'm yelping in fright and surprise...Haha! Well, one of them has been ripped free from the sentence, so no more! I took a random moment to count how many semi-colons I now have in my story...with your edits, three. That's it. I guess I'm just weird about them, but I don't mind trying them out. And I think they work well where you placed them, so I'm keeping them! :D (I worship em dashes...)

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Lina Ozz
17:31 Oct 26, 2020

Haha awesome, glad I could help. I don't mean to convert you to a semicolon fanatic (except that I do, muahaha). But I definitely understand the avoidance of them too; they can be a little choppy at times. Damn. I'm noticing that I use them a lot, though. Even in these comments. Perhaps I'm a little too obsessed...

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Molly Leasure
03:43 Oct 27, 2020

No such thing! Grammar obsessions are but a wonderful thing enticing us to return—and stuff.

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Claire Lewis
16:59 Oct 25, 2020

"two full days of insomnia have me several stripes short of a full candy corn" had me DYING 😂 I love that this whole piece reads kind of like a fever-induced dream, just lucid enough to sort of feel real and suspend disbelief but one of those where you get to the end and you're not exactly sure what just happened. Your narrator's whole "I need sheep" thing also cracked me up because my roommate and I jokingly say that we're sheepy instead of sleepy. Little edits: "Run, G.!" instead of "Run G.!" "My body jerks back and W.H with me"...

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Molly Leasure
03:57 Oct 26, 2020

Thank you so much!!! I'm glad the lucid dream came across well :). And I'm glad it served to bring out a laugh! AND thank you so much for the fixes! I already went in and fixed them! (The second fix is an archaic style of grammar, but I fixed it to flow better. It sounded weird because I was using weird subjects. BUT, thanks to you helping me notice it, all wrapped up ~) I appreciate you taking the time to come through and read my story :)

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Rayhan Hidayat
14:40 Oct 25, 2020

God I love the narrator's voice here. And how batshit crazy everything is. And how the protagonist equates sheep to sleep. This was sooooo fun the whole way through. "Penetrating from his throat" <-- Ignore me if I'm sorely mistaken, but does the word "penetrating" makes sense in this context? Maybe "protruding" was what you meant?

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Molly Leasure
16:27 Oct 25, 2020

My crazy friend, it already is "protruding!" ;) Kidding, I fixed it! Thank you!! I'm glad you found it fun :D! That was most definitely the goal. And crazy. Definitely batshit crazy, haha. The sheep thing actually happened because I was explaining my story idea to someone and my tired mouth kept saying sheep-deprived instead of sleep-deprived ~ the official story of the day...

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Rayhan Hidayat
21:05 Oct 25, 2020

Oh lol. “Sheep-Deprived” could work as a title 🤔 Not that I don’t love the current one!

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Molly Leasure
03:58 Oct 26, 2020

Oh. My. God. You're SO right...I may need to change it now! Darn you and your good ideas...!

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Tanja Cilia
03:47 Oct 25, 2020

Ah! A fellow insomniac. Do we see things, or are they really happening? I any case, what we see (or not!) makes easy work of 'research', and story becomes fodder. Well done!

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Molly Leasure
04:19 Oct 25, 2020

Thank you! Yeah, all the things my insomnia-induced brain sees are...good for stories I suppose.

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03:00 Oct 25, 2020

Yea, I'm not okay. Now I'm dreaming of dancing sheep with wool made of candy corn singing to the tune of Sweeney Todd. Thanks, Molly. It made my day a whole lot better haha. You managed to portray the characters very well. The narrator's voice is hilarious and I loved seeing the bloody fight between the vampire and the werewolf through her eyes. Please check out my latest! Thanks a bunch!

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Molly Leasure
03:29 Oct 25, 2020

You are SO very welcome ;). There is nothing better than sheep tap dancing to Sweeney Todd unless they're tapdancing to Halloween. Honestly. I appreciate the kind words :). Thank you so much. I'll head on over ~

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19:15 Oct 25, 2020

Haha, for sure! Thank you!

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Molly Leasure
16:44 Oct 24, 2020

This is another one of those "yeah, I don't know, either" stories. I wrote it while I was also wallowing in sleep deprivation. She's just me and my unhealthy obsession with candy corn. Title suggestions are welcome!

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A.G. Scott
19:20 Oct 24, 2020

The sleep deprivation is PALPABLE. You do a really good job (consciously or not-- I guess half-consciously?) weaving that in and building the character with movie references. As the battle developed, I was like, this is so insane, I wonder if it's really happening. She's mad or needs sleep, or both. For what is a dream, except a willful delusion? (I did like the candy corn line lol. Fun read). Title suggestion: Borat 3: Cultural Learnings of Bitey Monsters for Make Warning Sleepings-Diminished Writers Guild of America Nah I can't th...

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Molly Leasure
03:25 Oct 25, 2020

Good! Haha! I'm glad it's just as crazy as my mind was at the time of writing it. Writing distraction is easy when your mind is already doing it on its own...who knows if it's all real or not ;). HAHA yesssss. Literally fantastic xD. "Bitey Monsters" is now in my head for use later... Nothing says cute horror like bitey monsters.

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Salem Milhomens
13:48 Nov 18, 2020

After reading "Aichen't Do This", I wanted to read another of you're stories. The name of this story was hilarious to me so I checked it out. I love the wording of the beginning, explaining the exhaustion perfectly. I love the extremely detailed action scene, I love how every time the word sleep was supposed to be used, it was sheep, and then the character corrected themselves. I especially love the continuous mentioning of the sheep in the character's head, but my favorite part are the name. Walking History (W.H.) and Gravel (G.). I really ...

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Molly Leasure
21:58 Nov 18, 2020

Hahaha, thank you so much!! I'm glad you enjoyed it ;)! I have to say, of my stories, I think this one is probably my favorite. And I may or may not be in love with my own character? (G) I've been considering an odd sequel to it where she's ACTUALLY had sleep and sees the world completely different. We'll see, we'll see.

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