The Dead Are Talking......Shhhhh

Chapter One-- I'm not interested

"Run!" He whispered.

The flesh was burned off of this one, the dead corpse rasping at me to run. His eyes were hollow pits, opening into his once burning intensity of a soul. Cold to the glance...if you even dared to look into them. I did. I didn't care what they did to me as long as I'd get my chance to fight back.

I smiled at his small smirk as the Hellhound bounded towards me. Kicking up a dirt shower behind him, showering the particles onto the wet leaves surrounding.

"You really think I want to take orders from the dead?" I snapped.

"You have no choice." He rasped.

"I already told you guys last week that I wasn't interested in being apart of this little 'project'."

"Look, we don't like you. You talk too much-"

"Excuse me!? I talk too much!"

"Yes. Now shut the hell up and run!" He exclaimed.

A tooth fell out of his mouth, and rolled its way across the dried leaves. I felt bile threaten to come up. Why did the dead have to so vile and disgusting!?

"Run girl. It's your only chance." He snapped.

The dead messenger bent down and grasped his tooth between his bony finger pads. I told myself I wasn't going to run because he told me too, I was going to run because he was absolutely disgusting. I turned back for the last time to see the dog bounding forward, pink teeth gleamed in the pale moonlight. I ran the two miles to my house, ripping the air from my lungs with every thrust of my legs.

Running into the house was worse than running from that HellHound. Steep wooden stairs led up to the front door. I had to watch out for the third, fifth, and fifteenth step. The wood had rotted and sunken down. If you stepped on it you'd go down with it. As many times as we had tried to fix it, it just wouldn't work. The next morning the newer wood would have sunken in. I knew why.

From the first encounter with the dead, my third birthday. My second encounter, my fifth birthday. My last encounter before I had one nearly twice a week, my fifteenth birthday. My mother thought I was cursed, I guess in a way I was. She had tried an exorcism or whatever, surprise, that didn't work. The next night I woke up with sticky blood coating my left arm. That night I had been forced to stick my arm in blood, forced by the dead no less. I wasn't aware of what kind of blood, so I just left that part out. I made the excuse that our cat Fefe had brought in a rat, and must have tried to lay it on my arm. That was when I was five. Imagine the horror from my mother, triple that and you've covered my fear by a third.

As I ran inside the house I heard an unmistakable bark from the HellHound outside. Followed by a howl, it had tried to come up the steps. The beast made it to the third stair. I laughed silently to myself as I ran to the kitchen. Grabbing the first knife I could get my hands on I ran back outside. The chill air around the house rose goose bumps like raising the dead. Snatched the air from my lungs, replacing it with something cursed. I had an audience tonight.

The HellHound saw me coming. He leapt over the rest of the stairs, and went airborne towards my still frame. I thrust out my kitchen knife and drove it through the beast's stomach. Twisting the fragile blade I felt it break. The demon dogs blood poured out onto my chest as he collapsed next to me. His deep black eyes looked at me with anger...I knew he wasn't truly dead. He would come back in a week or two. They always did.

I woke up with sweat coating my forehead and my arms. My XL t-shirt wasn't baggy as it was stuck to my torso. My mother was shaking me awake. I looked down at my chest and saw the demon dogs blood.

"What happened to you last night!?" She snipped, pulling off my shirt and tossing me a new one.

"Hellhound." I sighed.

"Enough said." Her voice was violent.

She didn't like that I was practically working for the dead. Well, for now I was in training.

"You know what I don't get, Shay." She exclaimed hoarsely.

"And what would that be, Mother." I sighed.

"Why do you have dreams of what you did?"

"I don't know. I haven't really had time to ask the dead why I have dreams of the creatures they need me to kill."

"What's next?" She asked.

"School." I clambered out of bed and into the bathroom.

The scolding water ran over my shoulders, down my back, and over my chest as I tipped my head back with an elongated sigh. The water ran red down the drains, the real trick was uncrusting my hair. Three treatments of shampoo usually did the trick, but sometimes it could even notch up to five. Today it was five. My body reeked of stale odors from last nights battle, the dead's stench lingered the most. By now I had a real talent of cleaning up after myself. Climbing out of the shower I felt a cold chill wash over my body.

"Would you people leave me alone?" I whined as I fought with the towel to go over my body.

My room was warm for once as I threw the familiar fabrics over me.

"OH HEY MOM!!!" I yelled.

"WHAT NOW SHAY?"

"THE HELLHOUND BROKE THE THIRD STAIR!"

She groaned and I heard the front door slam.

School was always the most challenging thing ever, even worse than being chased by big dogs. Or learning how to fight zombies. I wasn't exactly popular but everyone knew me as the weird girl who always had some blood on her arms or something. I just told everyone that I fall a lot.

Today was going to be interesting...but tonight was going to be 'fun'.