What Hides in the House

I've made many mistakes but the first was not believing my mom about the demon.

Dotted with crimson fingerprints and claw marks, the cabinet sat otherwise unassuming in the ransacked kitchen. My fingers shook as I reached for the blood-speckled handle. My other hand tightened around the blade held high, prepared to fend off whatever hid within the wooden confines.

I yanked the door open, the knife at attention.

But, it was another empty cabinet. The dishes my mother kept in there lay in porcelain shards scattered around the tile floor and granite countertops. Something cleared them out with the fury of a tornado, but for what?

Not a hiding place.

It was still in the house, somewhere.

My shoulders dropped. The blade drooped to my side, feeling like it weighed a hundred pounds. Exhaustion ate at the corners of my vision and I ached to curl up in a corner and sleep. But I couldn’t do that. I knew what happened to those who fell asleep while it still lurked in the house.

My gaze wandered to the chunks of tainted food ground against the kitchen utensils, all sprayed with a fine mist of red. I couldn’t bring myself to finish the exploring gaze, stopping short of the body of my brother slumped over the kitchen sink.

I needed to get out of the kitchen, and find a room not painted in my family’s blood. But where could I go? The weight of the evening stripped my last ounce of strength and I slid down until I squatted with my knees against my chest. Still holding the knife, I raised my hands to my forehead and rocked back and forth on my heels.

Before I could give into full-blown hysterics, the muffled sound of a door sliding shut interrupted from the back of the house.

Adrenaline surged through my worn system, reinvigorating me. Not realizing I even moved, I rose to my feet and stepped toward the sound. My arm rose with the knife ready to slice. I glared at the dark hallway, willing the broken light to magically turn on.

When only silence and darkness continued to greet me, I took another step. I thought of the shredded flesh of my mother in the first bedroom, her body mutilated beyond recognition. A shudder of terror clamped my insides.

Not for the first time that night, I thought about running out the front door and leaving my family home behind me forever. Just like the other times the desperate hope crossed my mind, I dismissed it. It would never stop coming. I couldn’t look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

No, this ended now. I needed to find it, even if I wanted to do nothing more than run away.

With the decision made, I braced my shoulders and stalked toward the hallway. Halfway down, the bathroom night light lent a faint glow, just illuminating the limp, fluffy foot of Tootles sticking out into the hall. Tears burned my eyes again. If only it weren’t just his paw on the gore-soaked carpet.

The only sliding doors were in my parents’ room, but I didn’t trust it hid in there. The kitchen proved how sneaky the bastard was. It made noise, allowed me to pinpoint it, only to bait me into an empty room save the remains of my loved ones. I didn’t want to fall for it again, but what choice did I have? All I could do was hunt it until either I chanced upon it, or it attacked me.

The doorway loomed before me like a hungry mouth. I reached my hand into the inky blackness. My fingers groped the wall until they found the switch, bathing the room in a golden yellow light. My father lay on the bed, his head tilted back so his eyes gazed unseeing at the spattered family portrait, his entrails hanging out in a fleshy mess beside him.

It took every ounce of willpower I had to step into the room. As I inched towards the closet doors, my eyes kept sliding over to him even though I didn’t want to look. I moved towards the mirrored closet doors. The reflection revealed a full view of my haggard appearance.

Blonde hair hung in crusty matted strands, framing my crimson-streaked face. Blue eyes bugged out of my face, like saucers, while my mouth pulled into a tight-lipped frown. I didn’t recognize the old lady my sixteen-year-old face had grown into. My gaze dropped to the knife clutched tight in white-knuckled fingers.

As I stared at the blood drying on the blade, something caught my attention behind me.

The lacy dust ruffle fell back into place at the base of the bed.

My chest tightened and my feet rooted to the spot. Mom always told me monsters didn’t hide under her bed, but even at sixteen, I’d never been willing to check. The mammoth king-sized bed stood well off the ground and could harbor anything in the shadows below.

Once more, the front door danced across my mind. A sweet refuge compared to the horrifying choice before me. A soft moan preceded my question. “Why? Anywhere but there.”

Visions of lifting the dust ruffle and being dragged screaming under the bed filled my head. Another groan escaped me and my quivering knees threatened to collapse beneath me.

The ridiculous terror clenching my heart made me shake my head.

I could face a dark hallway lined with rooms of my butchered family, could look inside blood-spattered cabinets, and still meet my own eyes despite surviving the evening's horrors. Yet, under my parents’ bed made me want to panic.

Such a foolish childhood fear, even if this time, there was a monster under the bed.

For one brief moment, I debated trying to hang over the side of the bed to look under it, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t climb up there with my father’s body.

It was just too much.

Instead, I squatted before the lacy dust ruffle and reached for it with the knife ready to chop down.

Right as it registered that the tiny bloody footprints couldn’t be anything other than our cat, Muffins, the bed squeaked. I glanced over my shoulder at the mirrors. The reflected scene in the closet doors dropped a hard knot into my stomach.

It rose from the emptied stomach of my father, covered in chunks of flesh and bathed in blood. The tiny smile I once thought cute leered hungrily at me, its eyes holding my reflections as it crept to the edge of the bed. I turned to face the beast as I slowly rose. My heart pounded against my ribcage.

It stood at about waist-high with the aid of the bed, but I knew from killing its twin, small did not mean weak. The blue eyes, so similar to my own shade, glowed out of the gore-streaked face. They held mine, unwavering, full of dark humor and hunger.

Monster or not, killing it would be difficult.

Besides me and the cat, it was the last surviving member of my family. My hand reached out as if I could placate it with love instead of slaughter.

I knew better.

With an inhuman shriek, the monster in baby disguise leaped off the bed and launched at me. I sliced the air in front of me, stumbling backward to avoid the attack. Muffins streaked out from under the bed, tangling up my feet.

My arms wind-milled the air in a futile attempt to regain balance. Time narrowed to my baby brother flying through the air, miniature needle-sharp teeth bared in a fierce snarl. Cruel claws extended from the tips of its fingers, stretching for me.

I fell on my butt hard enough to knock the breath out of me, but I didn’t let go of the knife. Its impact slammed into the closet doors, splintering the glass in a spider-web fracture where my head connected.

I jammed the blade deep into its side, but it had the advantage.

Talons dug deep into my chest. Pain all but blinded me as it dragged its claws over my sternum. Tiny teeth gnawed the bone of my chin, trying to get to the tender neck beneath. How could something so small weigh so much?

Feeling my strength draining from me with every drop of blood, I managed to wrestle the knife from its side. When I drove it down again it bounced harmlessly off its writhing body. I didn’t have the ability to lift it again. The force of its frenzied attempts at getting to my vital organs tilted me to the side until I fell over.

As its teeth and claws opened me up, burying me in a world of searing agony, I recognized my death.

The doctors told us my mother was delirious with fever when she claimed she'd been raped by a demon. We believed them over her.

That was my first mistake.

I made my second tonight.

I never should have gone looking for it. Now, the front door was too far away and I couldn’t do anything more than die with a raspy wheeze and juicy rattle.