Short Thriller Stories

Where Has It Gone?

(887 words)
Darkness had engulfed the land like a greedy lion devouring its kill, savoring every moment it plunged these mortals into a world of terrifying unfamiliarity.

The towering skyline of Seattle fought defiantly against this prison. Many of the buildings were still lit brightly, including an apartment building in which a haggard looking, black haired man in a suit and tie was entering, trudging up the stairs.

He raised a fist to knock on the door marked 2B, calling out the name of a woman.

"Sylvia, it's me, I'm home." his voice droned slightly. Someone moved about inside, obviously coming from the other end of the apartment. In his impatience, he started to look for the key in his pockets, failing to notice the door had opened slightly in front of him.

"Allen!" A woman cried and threw the door widely against its hinges when the presence was confirmed. With a look of surprise, quickly followed by relief, Allen hugged the woman, who donned a white skirt with a crazily clashing the dye tee shirt and bare feet. Her red hair hung loosely down her back.

"Nice to see you to Sylvia." Her presence seemed to put a new spring in his step, and he allowed himself to be dragged inside.

* * *
"So you had to work over time?" The two sat huddled next to each other in a living room adorned with paintings and strange pieces of art.

"Yeah, but I got payed quite a bit"

"You must be exhausted! My big strong man has to earn his rent, and now I need to make him a coffee." Sylvia teased and removed her partners arm from around her. Every step she took was quite literally a bounce, causing Allen to chuckle. As he was feeling a bit daring, he reached over and patted her butt a few times. this was met by a light slap on the cheek and a 'stern' thirty second lecture on perversion.

"What's wrong with having a little fun? I've had a hard days work earning the money that puts bread on the table!" He called after her. Sylvia turned around and gave a mock salute before retreating to the kitchen, still turned to face him.

There was silence as Allen removed his own shoes and Sylvia busied herself by the coffee machine. Then hell spewed forth from the oven.

Sylvia screamed and ran back to Allen, clinging to him. "t-the oven! I didn't... I wasn't using it! It's going crazy Allie!" Tears were forming in her eyes.

"Calm down, it's probably nothing." With a casual shrug he got up and led her back to the kitchen. She was always breaking something, even if she tried really hard not to, it still happened. Nothing prepared him for the shock that only proved she was right.

The oven door was opening and closing rapidly, spewing sparks all over the tiled floor. Every repetition seemed to... to enrage it more and more. All he could do was stare in jaw dropped fascination.

"What... The hell is going on!?" He ran over to the metal flap throwing a fit in his kitchen. Sylvia let out a cry of protest, but once his hand touched the oven door, it stopped. Before they could breathe a sigh of relief however, it started again, this time the whole kitchen pitched a fit.

The folding chairs surrounding an oaken dining table folded in on themselves and began to choppily crawl towards Allen. Cabinets flew open and spewed forth mugs, china, and glasses. Meanwhile Sylvia is screaming herself hoarse as the oven caught her husband's white work shirt in its maw.

The stainless fabric began to scorch an ashen black. "Is this some kind of joke?!" He screamed in blind panic, latching onto Sylvia's wrist.

"I don't know! I want it to go away!" Tears began to really pour down her face in this sudden escalation of heir evening.

"Quick! Go hide behind the sofa! It's the farthest point away from here!" He let go of his wife and pushed her away. As if it disliked being ignored, the oven door flew open, hit Allen's ankles, causing him to trip with a meaty thump onto the floor, his head rested on the door.

"ALLEN MOVE!" Sylvia lunged seconds too late and was forced to watch his horrified expression as the door took it's prize upwards, crushing his skull between door and frame.

Blood squirted in all directions, as well as grey bits of brain. Plenty of the sickening mixture found it's way onto Sylvia's once cheery tye dye.

All out of a voice to scream with, she took one glance at Allen's mangled, headless body, her eyes glazed with fear. Then she sprinted like a scared antelope to the living room, where she took refuge behind the leather couch.

"Please God, if there is any mercy in this world, let this be a dream, please, don't let Allen be dead." Sylvia prayed in a fetal position behind the couch where they had first made love, where they spilt an entire gallon of soda on it, where they shared memories and laughter.

Her prayers for mercy were answered in a much different way than she expected, when the leathery material of the couch began to squeak against itself, eminating a low moan.