Kafkaesque Life

Ziggy's Corner: This is one of the very few attempts I have tried to write a story from the top of my head without writing things down at all. I guess I owe this inspiration to my friend, TheShoelessOne's own attempt at this in her story, Through Heaven and Hell. Those of you who like zombies, government conspiracies, and otherworldly creatures will enjoy this story.

David Spencer walked to the back door of his parent's house and opened it, his eyes heavy will with sleep and not much else. Turning to the clock over the stove he read three little sea green numbers. Four thirty . . . in the morning. The thirty year old man blinked and read them again, and then sighed. No wonder he was so tired. He groaned and looked at the bag in his hands, full of cat poop.

"I had to get a cat, didn't I?" he asked as he tiredly chuckled. Opening the latches of the door and opening it, he stepped outside and tossed the bag into the darkness, turning to enter the house, when he heard the sound of person groaning. A shiver ran up his back and he blinked. David frowned and shook his head with a chuckle, "I've got to stop watching all those midnight movies, while I eat Codfish."

David walked into the house, and began to close the door when he heard the sounds of moaning again. The balding red headed man cocked his head, and looked outside, switching the lights on, and peered both right and left. "Hello?" More moaning answered him, and now he could hear the scuffle of feet.

David pushed his glasses to his nose and grabbed a flashlight, walking outside. He stood there for a long time, and then went back into the house and roused his Bishon Frisee from his sleep, and had the small white dog walk out with him. What's this Q-Tip with eyeballs going to do? Lick the intruder to death?

Like a flash of lightning, the dog raced into the back yard, past the large black metal gate, which creaked like an old soul who bemoaned the loss of Heaven. David called the dog back, but the animal did not respond, and the sounds of a person moaning grew stronger from the encroaching darkness. David swallowed his mind racing. His father slept in the backyard, in his old trailer, perhaps he was hurt. Their house was in a bad part of the neighborhood, perhaps a gang banger had finally decided to leap over the back yard gate, and mug the man in his sleep?

Bringing every bit of courage he had, David rushed to the backyard, flashlight in hand, and began calling for his father, and the dog. Once every few seconds he could hear the dog barking, and hear louder groans, as he approached the desert dirt near the trailer. He flashed the nightlight around, narrowing his eyes as he could see movement far to the bushes and cacti.

"Dad?" he began to walk to the shadowy figure, and stopped. Its head was slumped down, as if it was trying to inspect the plants as the young man walked over to it. David stopped and frowned again, his eyes catching a glimpse of the big backyard gate, which was wide open. Then he could see the hearse. He knew his father worked for Waterman Mortuary and would get calls through the night to pick up a body. He also knew his father would bring the hearse to the house from time to time, but never with anyone else but himself in it.

The shadowy figure moved toward him and stopped moaning. It stared at him for a moment, and then he could swear that it was growling at him. His frown grew even wider and he took a step forward, "Excuse me, can I help you?"

Though it was nearly dawn, the sky was darker than midnight, blackness enveloped them both, and David had a hard time seeing the figure inch toward him, all he could hear was the sound of shuffling boots against hard dead dirt and rocks, and what seemed like the heavy breathe of the person coming ever closer to him. David took a few steps back and rose his flashlight, to face the oncoming person, perhaps hoping to blind him in case he head to escape, and then gasped.

The other individual wasn't a person at all, at least not anymore. His face was shrunken in, lined with dark gray and black etches on his skull like face. His eyes were dead as coal rocks, and his mouth slanted to an arch, half open half closed. His head was full of black hair, which hung tightly on his grayish forehead, and his head itself was bent over, as if someone had taken a mallet to it, and was only half successful to knock it off.

The thing, the man, whatever it was, blinked and inched a few millimeters away before growling yet again. Yes, it was in fact, growling. Its upper lip rose, and David could see blood stained teeth, rotting away in decaying gums. It seemed to sense his apprehension and moved forward, its arms rising as it reached for him.

David raised his flashlight and then crashed it into the other "thing's" face, sending the uneasy body reeling for a few precious seconds. David used those seconds to grab the flash light, spin around to the front of the hearse, and shine it in the vehicle. No dad, okay so then where? He turned and rushed to the trailer, but the door was locked shut, so that meant his father hadn't entered it. The door locked on the outside, with a pad lock. The man frowned and stroked his chin, where was he then?

Behind him, he could hear his dog yapping at the body, as it recovered its footsteps and moved toward him yet again, its horrible arms reaching for him as if he were a ham sandwich, as if he were the fountain of youth, or in this case, the fountain of life. David reached down and scooped up a few rocks, and tossed them at the body, each one hitting a different body part, but doing nothing to stop this thing's snail like advance at him. It growled and grunted and moaned, its dead eyes never leaving the man's position, ignoring completely the small dog's teeth as it tried to tug it away from his master.

David's mind raced and he considered for his options for a few seconds. There was a shed behind him, but like the trailer, it too was locked at night. He had nothing but rocks to try and bust it open, but by that time, that damn thing would be on him, and he doubted he would win a tussle with this body. He wasn't very athletic, in fact the one time he had tried his sister's walking exercise machine for a very short minute, and his heart rate soared to over one hundred and sixty. So then all that was left for him to do was race to the house, lock the door and alert his mother and call the police.

The thirty year old man called for his dog, and they took off running, speeding past the backyard, and into the house, slamming the door shut, and latching every lock he knew that existed on it. He rushed over and locked the windows too, what good that might do. If that thing wanted in badly enough, and if it was smart enough – somehow he doubted the thing's intelligence – it would bust through the windows.

Once he had done that, he ran for his mother's room and turned on her light, bracing himself for harsh words, and bracing himself to use harsher to get her to understand their predicament. But when he had turned on the light, he was horrified to find that while the bed had been used, there was no mother there.