Number 667

Chapter Fifteen

Macy rushed furiously around the house, looking for keys. If what happened to Darla was what she thought...
She covered her wrinkled face with her withered, bony hands. She was so tired. So tired. She could feel the tiny fibres and tissues in her body breaking apart. How had she survived in that forest for so long? After all, she was eighty now. She didn't know. But she had to find Darla to keep her from the same fate.
She finally reached her hand into a small leather bag to find a shiny black ring of keys. Two were obviously house keys, as they were only shiny. And one was the car key, branded with the Honda symbol.
And that was it.
Macy hobbled out best as she could to the large, brick garage, unlocking the car with a click and stepping inside to the leather seats. She ran the car, pressing the black button to turn off the radio. She didn't need distactions now. Shutting the door, Macy backed out of the open garage and onto the paved asphalt that was the road.
Then Macy stood stock-still.
She didn't know how to drive.
Oh well, Macy thought. This was an emergency.
The wheels of the car squealed as she whirled the car around, speeding down the street. In the corners of her blue eyes, she could see black marks she had left behind her.
The curves of Twistville hills stretched out in front of her as she sped down the roads. Thankfully, they were relatively straight, so Macy didn't have to worry about particularly sharp curves. On one side, there was the menacing pine forest of Twistville, and on the other there was the stretching field that the Onwell farmers owned. The tires screeched and made black marks as she turned a curve, sharply jerking the steering wheel in her bony, wrinkled hands.
Then something lumbered out in front of her.
It was a tall, bony thing, hunched over and about one hundred feet in front of her and unnaturally skinny. It looked almost like a person, except the skin on its body was sagging and green, as if it was rotting. It's clothes were rags, and its feet were bare.
By the time Macy saw it, it was too late.
The car rammed into the thing and it screeched, the span of its hands pressing against the windshield. The glass shattered. The hood of the car crumpled like an aluminum can as it swerved and smashed into the base of a hill, and the air bag exploded into a suffocating mass that pressed against Macy's face as she gagged. The car tipped over, as it was already diagonally facing towards the ground, and the roof smashed in, sending jagged pieces of lethally pointed metal flying everywhere.
The car was demolished. Pieces of wreckage were splayed across the road, and the thing was scrambling away into the woods on its spindly limbs. Macy could be found inside the ruins of the red Honda.
All she could hear was white noise.
Everything was blurry, the shapes of the car twisting and fading in and out.
Pain was star busting across her weak body, her whole form a wave of unbearable hurt.
She could faintly make out the monster's blood, black and oily, mixed with her own.
Then everything was gone and was replaced with black.
Ten Minutes Later
The police had been notified, along with the fire department and the hospital.
When they arrived at the wreckage, the car was in flames and there was tire marks and crumpled metal splattered across the thin ribbon of road. Blood was pooled in the licking flames of the car.
Firemen stepped out of the truck.
They tossed shards of metal aside, frantically searching for a body.
An old, frail woman was found.
They put her on a stretcher, searching for a heartbeat.
They found none.
They put her in the ambulance and sped to the hospital.
Two Days Later
Macy opened her left eye a small slit.
Everything was blurry. Doctors and nurses were rushing everywhere. One nurse was pushing an IV into the blue vein of her arm, squeezing in clear fluid that was water. She could feel the hard plastic of an oxygen breather pressed to her mouth and cheeks. The latex bag by the side of her firm white bed was moving slowly up and down with her weak breaths. She could feel pain, but not much, like a muffled voice. Painkillers, she guessed. Then she stopped. Thinking made a spiking migraine enter.
She felt numb. She couldn't move. Electrodes and IVs were attached all over her body, which was covered only by a thin white hospital gown. She weakly glanced at her heart monitor, which was faintly bleeping. Though there was much movement, there was relatively no noise. Ghosts of whispers. Medical equipment. Nothing else. The air in the stark white hospital felt stressed, solemn.
Macy could see her frizzy grey hair splayed around her on the pillow as she turned her head, croaking, "Where... Am I..." Her voice was faint, pained. The nurse looked at her with kind brown eyes, saying, "Don't talk, ma'am. The doctors will be here soon to discuss your... Condition." She turned away, back to the IV. Then a blank-faced man in a white coat rushed in, the door swinging behind him. His name tag was too blurry to read.
"Mrs.... Err..." "Macy." She croaked. "Just Macy." The doctor furrowed his brow. "Mrs. Macy. Do you... Have any family that you would like us to inform of the... Incident?" Macy shook her head, a small motion, but it still send waves of only slightly muffled pain sweeping through her neck down.
The doctor sighed. "Well, while we work things out, you'll need to recover here. Let us know if there's anything we can do for you." And with that, he left, his hand brushing against the thick wood of the polished door.
Then the nurse looked at Macy with a kind face. "You need some rest. I'll leave, I'll be back in about an hour." Then she left, softly closing the door behind her.
Then Macy blacked out again.