Alone in the dark...

           Wild doe eyes darted back and forth, scanning the room in front of her, hoping she was alone.  She couldn’t see very well, the darkness had clawed its way through the kitchen slowly, transforming it into an unknown and danger filled cage.  The windows and patio doors were blank, uncaring; the darkness of the new moon outside promising to spill forth more of the unbelievable horrors she had seen tonight.  Her rich and deep brown eyes, usually captivating, were now dulled and watery, the stress taking its toll.  She started and had to stifle a scream as she heard a noise in the room.  Elizabeth held her breath, listening intently, adrenaline pumping through her body, making her shiver.  Fight or flight she thought fight or flight.  She used the words like a mantra, praying to her body not to fail her when the time came. 

   She was an athletic woman, tall and slim with a dancers figure.  She hoped her speed and good reflexes were enough to get her past those things, she’d seen how fast they moved.  A minute past and there was no other sound, just the monotonous, sickening drip of her husbands’ blood.  The worktops in the kitchen were black granite with ash panels and, under the moonless night, betrayed nothing of the life giving slick that coated them.

            The slacks and sweatshirt Elizabeth wore clung to her body like a needy lover, the mixture of sweat and blood forced its way into her nostrils and it was all she could do not to retch.  She loved to wear those clothes around the house, they made her feel safe and warm and secure.  Now that security was shattered, she felt sickened and betrayed by the clothes she wore, smeared as they were with her husbands’ blood.  Her feet were bare but stained red from running through the kitchen and as she looked at them, Elizabeth noticed how one big toe looked painted red, even though she hated painting her toenails.  This thought brought the emotions welling back up, the fear and horror at seeing her husbands mutilated body, the terror she felt now, a fugitive in her own kitchen as those things hunted her.

            She ran a nervous, shaking hand through her hazel hair, now matted with blood and whimpered quietly.  She used to take good care of her hair, wearing it long and straight with just a little curl.  Now it was lank and damp with sweat and was matted in places by her husbands’ blood, sticky and cloying.  She bit her full lips as she listened hard to the sounds of the house.  The whole place had become a carnival of unidentified sounds, scrapes and bumps, far removed from the safe, warm haven she was used to.  She felt a trickle of sweat scratch its way down her spine, she had to move soon or they’d find her.  She started to move slowly but then heard a low, threatening growl next to her ear.  Elizabeth screamed.