A Tale of Two Earths

Chapter 6: Nestor (Final Draft)

Inside the Bahaia household, Nestor found it to be much quieter than it had ever been. The silence gave him a chill, as if he were breaking into his own home.

He recalled the day his mother gave him a bronze key tied to an old string. "Come straight home from school, no stops," she said. Nestor found out later that he had become what is know as a "latchkey key". After walking nearly two miles, he came home to an empty house. It was something he never experienced before. The silence terrified him. Dashing through the house, Nestor flipped every switch, turned on both TVs, and opened all the doors. The lonely silence still swirled about, yet his fear dwindled.

Over time, his after school solitude grew familiar. The TV was always there to keep him company, and he preferred that, electronics don't talk back.

Standing in the noiseless entryway of the Bahaia house, Nestor was seven again. The quiet pressed in and his pulse screamed into his ears. He wanted to yell and flip every switch, but something restrained him, throttling his urges down to to a squeak.

"Hello," Nestor said. His voice reminiscent of a kitten rubbing against a leg.

Behind him, the other three exchanged comical glances. Myron motioned to speak, but stopped when a Tap, Tap, Tap, emanated from the hall leading to the kitchen.

"What's that?" Vlatko whispered.

Without answering, Nestor unplugged a lamp from the side table. He wrapped the cord around his knuckles and held the long, purple thing like a makeshift umbrella.

"How is that going to help?" Myron asked.

Ignoring the question, Nestor took a cautious step into the hallway.

Vlatko pulled the gun from his waistband and followed.

The woman in the hatchback would have fought to the death and deep down Nestor knew it would've been his duty to fight back. Lucky for him, her face had been crushed against the steering wheel, she made the decision for him. He would not let another one catch them unaware.

"Hello," Nestor called, "Mrs. Bahaia, are you home?" He crept down the hallway leading to the kitchen, there was no reply. Around the corner was Tommy's mom, hunched over the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen island.

Tap, tap, tap. Making dinner, Nestor wondered?

Moving up behind Nestor, the other three gawked at Tommy's mother. Straight black hair licked the top of her floral dress and swayed to the beat.

Tap, tap, tap.

"Mrs. Bahaia," Nestor said, breaking the silence. "Tommy's in trouble, we need help. Where is Mr. Bahaia?" She offered no response.

Tap, tap, tap.

Nestor leaned back and jabbed an elbow into Vlatko's ribs. "Shoot her," he whispered.

"Not shooting Tommy's mom," Vlatko admonished, lowering the gun.

"She just lost her son," Darla added.

"She doesn't know that," Nestor said, wrinkling his brows. "She's definitely a zombie."

"I agree with Nestor," Myron whispered to Vlatko. "She is eventually going to kill us, so you should probably shoot her."

"This is Tommy's mom," Vlatko said, "she is beautiful trophy milf." Vlatko shook his head and tucked the gun back into his waistband.

"No matter how hot she is, Tommy's zombie mom should be dropped and if he were here, he would agree," Nestor said.

"Are you positive she's a Zombie?" Darla whispered. "I'm not fully on board with the zombie theory. I haven't..."

The tapping stopped. Mrs. Bahaia spun around, casting a vacant gaze upon the interlopers. She held a large carving knife in her right hand, while her left, missing all of it's fingers, dangled about her waist. Wet with red, Mrs. Bahaia's dress clung tight to her chest.