TORTURE, SUPERNATURAL

ᴛᴡᴏ. ʙᴏʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɢᴜɴꜱ

Early in the morning, I am startled awake by the low rumbling of a car. The engine noise is that of an older model, a classic. It cuts off with a grunt right outside my house.

I sit up. Is my mother back early?

I slip out of my covers in nothing but a singlet and underwear. Crawling along the wooden floor of my bedroom to the nearest window, I peek between the curtains.

A black car sits in the driveway. I don't recognize the vehicle or the two people sitting in the front seats, but they appear to be arguing. The driver throws his hands up, and the passenger folds his across his chest and shrugs.

I can't make out the details of their faces, so I lean against the glass and try to peer closer.

Someone pounds on the front door.

I jump to my feet immediately, my instincts in overdrive. Fight or die, my mother's voice repeats in my mind. I concentrate, take a deep breath, and prepare my senses. Fight, I decide. I am not dying in my own home.

I pull a knife from my side table before tiptoeing towards the door. I am a silent shadow as I creep through the house.

The lack of belongings in this home means I am exposed. Furniture would provide potential shields. Belongings could be potential weapons. Even a pot can do some damage in the most desperate of times. 

I push myself so that I am flat against the wall. Slowly, I move toward the front door. 

A loud crack sends me reeling as the door is kicked in. It splinters into pieces. The monster at the door climbs through, letting out a stream of curses.

"Shit, she's going to kill me for that. Should have asked for a bloody key,"

I stop moving and listen to their heavy footsteps. They move towards the kitchen, and I hear the fridge open. I frown. I have fought endless creatures, but none have eaten from their victims' fridge before attempting to kill them. It must be a newborn, stupid and young, untried in the act of killing.

I move back down the hallway and sneak in from the monster's blind side. I am light on my toes as I approach. The monster has his head buried in the fridge, rummaging through the food. From behind, I try to recognize them, but the shaggy, tattered clothing doesn't ring a bell.

They let out a sigh of relief and hold up two victory beers. I launch myself at them.

I roll across our table and land a kick to the back of their knees.

"FUCK!"

I stand behind them and place my knife on the soft skin of their neck. "Who are you?" I spit close to their ear.

I dig the knife deeper into their neck as they try to turn. That's when I hear a click from behind me. Shit. I twist around. A large gun is pointed between my eyes. But I don't loosen my hold. I don't even blink.

"Let him go," a deep voice demands.

Not taking my eyes off his gun, I step back from the monster and get to my feet. I observe the gun holder, trying to piece together what, and who he is.

But it is a man. Human. I look him up and down. No older than thirty. He has shaven, dark brown hair and a short, stocky build. His tanned skin is covered in cuts and bruises. His bright green eyes tell me he is younger than I first guessed. He is handsome. And familiar.

"Drop the knife."

I do as he says. The knife thumps to the ground between us.

"This is Lacy's daughter?" the man with the green eyes yells at the monster, who gets to his feet and turns toward us. The man adjusts his baseball cap and turns to scowl at me. I pause. Surprise hits me as his aged face and weary eyes grow familiar.