short storys

That night

I stumbled past a tree, clutching my blood-drenched arm. Six long, deep gashes covered my whole arm. I would periodically glance behind me, my eyes meeting nothing but pitch black. I stumbled on, fear and adrenaline coursing through me. At the time, I had no idea what was out there. I still don't

My breath came in short, uneven bursts. My legs slowed despite my protests. Soon it was all I could do to maintain a jog. I was exhausted. My arm continued its unrelenting gushing. I was undoubtedly loosing too much blood. My mind became sluggish and foggy. 

Most events from there on are hazy. I know I made it home, though it took a while. I remember stumbling up my back porch. Grasping the worn knob in my hand before wrenching the door open. A paper laid on the deck, torn in my haste to enter.

Once inside, I yelled, desperately calling for my family. A deafening silence had been my only answer. I assumed everyone had gone out, the fact that it was three A.m. not registering in my frenzied state. I stumbled to the bathroom, slipping on a puddle in the living room. 

I don’t actually recall making it to the bathroom. The rest of my journey is a blur. When I did get there, I desperately scrounged for the first aid kit, growing weaker all the while. I found the kit under the sink. Dust coated its undisturbed surface. I fumbled with the latch and hurriedly reached for the gauze. My long-sleeved shirt was already in tatters, so I had no qualms when I attacked it with scissors. Peeling the material away from my wound had been excruciating; but, I figure, better than bleeding to death.  My patch job was sloppy and rushed, but would work until my parents took me to the ER. 

How I wish that night had ended with a frantic trip to the ER. I rushed out of the bathroom, calling to my family. No answer. 

“Mooom!” I yelled, listening. Silence

“Dad!?” Again, no answer

I stumbled to the living room, the silence deafening. Again, I slid on the puddle. As I was no longer in such a rush, I began to question why there was a puddle. What was that copper smell? ...Why was the puddle sticky? Panic seized my heart like a vice, squeezing me like a stress ball. I must have spilt some… juice. That must be it. I HAD to have spilt it. It… it HAD to be juice. I.. I… I couldn’t look down. Deep down, I knew what it was. I knew what it belonged to.. WHO it belonged to… I knew that their throats had been slit, blood quickly fleeing from its stilling prison. I knew that their slimy eyes and impossibly warm hearts were gone, ripped out without a protest. I knew that life had left their eyes slowly as they tried to staunch the blood. Their eyes had... Pleaded, yet held no anger. Just- just pain. I knew all of this without having to turn on the lights…

I did eventually get a trip to the ER. I never went home again though. I miss my family. The new one I was placed in is crowded and too quite. I’ve never liked the colour white, but my new family has a strange obsession with it. I never did find out what attacked me in the woods that night…