Birdeater

Chapter 7

A few nights passed. Blair was finding it harder to sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw a woman screaming. Her mouth was a black hole and the screams just got louder, tinnier, until his ears rang. There was blood streaming from her eyes. Bruises cropped up on her throat with the sound of a knife slamming into meat.

Dark circles were getting darker under his own eyes.

Nearly 3 AM and he was back in the kitchen. He stared from his window into Florence's. He searched for any sign that his neighbor might be awake.

Nothing. But ever since their last encounter, he couldn't be sure.

Paranoia made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Even getting a bowl of cereal seemed risky. The fridge sent goosebumps up his arm. The yellow kitchen light chased away the woman with her big, empty mouth.

So he couldn't turn it off. Not until morning. Not until the sun took over the job.

Blair's hand shook as he went to pour milk into his cereal. He missed twice. He kept looking out the window. He wanted to see Florence. He kept seeing his own reflection, instead.

And he was scared to see what was standing behind him.

He looked back down and finished pouring the milk.

His ears were ringing again. Blair rubbed at them with his sleeve and ducked his head as he put the jug back. He kept looking at the window. He was too afraid to look into the living area. It was dark, there. The TV screen had a reflection also. He could see her there, if he looked hard enough.

Don't look.

He had to do something.

If she was right behind him, she would wait until it was dark again. Which meant he only had about as far as the slant of grey right where the kitchen light stopped. The front door felt like it was miles away. He had to dash. He left his bowl of cereal on the kitchen counter.

If he took the time to put it away, she would know.

Even as he sprinted for the door he could hear her. Her wails filled the narrow hallway. He could hear her footsteps. She was gaining on him. Faster. He grabbed the door and his hands shook as he fumbled with the locks. Faster, faster. She was going to catch up. She was going to grab him.

He swung the door open and pulled it shut behind him. It slammed and he nearly broke the screen door trying to get out.

He staggered out onto his porch. His bare toes hit the furniture. Pain shot up his legs and he hopped a few steps. That didn't stop his momentum. He didn't look behind him to see if she was squeezing through the door. If her wide dark mouth had turned into a smile.

He kept running. The hedge dividing their houses did its best to slow him down. A few bush twigs snapped underneath his feet. He just kept going. He ran until he hit Florence's front porch. He flew up the steps. He banged on the door. Terrified. His blood was rushing in his ears. He could hear every thud of his own heart.

At first, no one came to the door. He knocked again. Harder.

The door finally opened. He felt like he could breathe again. Thank god. Thank god. Thank god.

Florence wore boxers to bed and not much else. Or maybe he had thrown on the boxers last minute. They looked backwards, so that was probably true. Blair felt heat creeping up his neck. Fear was replaced by embarrassment.

"Is someone after you?" Florence stepped aside to let him in.

Blair knew he was being sarcastic. He rubbed his arms and stepped inside.