The Monster Apocalypse

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

After Ash landed on the soft bed and bounced to the hard floor surface, the most natural thought of all entered his mind: that he really needed to pee.

But he stood up, stepped forward, and looked inside the miniscule bathroom to confirm what he had seen from the portal opening: a toilet-sized hole merely cut into wood. He didn't see a way to flush, or any source of running water. It didn't look like a device from a poor house or even a jail cell; it looked like an artifact from a hundred years ago.

He needed to further explore the bedroom and try to find someone to talk to, most especially Mr. Barker, but first he had to take care of business: he happily peed into the hole.

Ash zipped up his pants and re-entered the bedroom. The bed was tiny and clean, and the small window in the corner looked out on a town drenched in darkness. Ash wasn't certain he had fallen through a time portal, but he was sure about one thing: he had come across something monumental only seen in his favorite science fiction movies. Even if he hadn't gone back in time, he had fallen into something that wasn't Grisly, Nevada; the bathroom was questionable, but it had also been the middle of the day back where he was, and now it was mysteriously night-time.

He walked up to the window to look out, when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway beyond the bedroom door. He looked for a place to hide, but to no avail; he couldn't even fit under the bed.

The old man walked into the room before Ash had a chance to dash for an exit, but Ash didn't care; he needed answers, and he needed them now. The plump man, wearing a pair of black trousers, stumbled inside, his hair slicked back with grease and his foot-long moustache stretching seemingly all the way up to the ceiling. He hummed to himself as he closed the door behind him. He tossed an object back and forth in his hands, something pink and tennis ball-shaped, something slimy.

The man set the cane against his bed and started to disrobe.

But he didn't get very far. His attention turned to Ash.

"Hello, good sir," Ash said from the corner of the room. "Would you mind telling me what year it is?"

Ash expected the man to run the other way screaming, but the man just stayed put and stared, more perplexed than anything else. "What are you doing in my bedroom?" The man had a thick British accent.

"I'm very sorry about that, but I just needed to ask—"

"And what kind of clothes are you wearing, young man?"

Ash looked down at his get-up: a green-and-red sweater, yellow shorts, run-down tennis shoes. "Oh, yes," he said. "Sorry about the way I look. I was playing golf a little bit earlier with my friends. I'm not very good at it, so I needed a wardrobe that provided a distraction." The man continued to stare at him, his eyebrows narrowed. Ash cleared his throat. "Sir, please. Can you tell me what year I'm in?"

Still no answer. The man's demeanor changed to anger. Ash wondered if he should make a run for it. He thought the old man might try to shoot him. That is, if they had guns in whatever time period he had stepped into.

"I'm assuming I'm in London?"

"Get out of my home," he said. "You hear me? Get out—"

The slimy object between his hands slipped through his fingers and landed with an icky splash against the wood floorboards below. A little bit of blood squirted out of the object. Ash stepped forward to see that it was a kidney.

"I'll just," Ash said, trying not to scream. "I'll just be going then." He started tiptoeing toward the exit door.

The old man didn't lunge for him; he didn't even seem capable of doing so. Instead he just kept his focus on Ash, his visage turning increasingly eerie.