Choke / #TheGrudgeContest

Choke

Nails scuttling against wood. Windows creaking on a windless night. The drain gurgling when I'm home alone. Just a few things I've noticed since moving here a few months ago. Though my realtor mentioned a possible murder before going AWOL, investigations lead me nowhere. Any trace is long gone, and this one bed, one bath house leaves little room to hide.

The town library holds everything but clues, a dilapidated, brick establishment older than some townsfolk. That's where I am now, nestled away with a century-old newspaper and two meals.

The couple a few miles back pointed me to the date. A series of three days, all blacked out and redacted. Pictures marred. Faces scratched. Campy horror tropes I laugh at to ease the eyes boring holes into my skull.

They've watched me for a while now, their skittering nails following me anywhere I go. They flee before I catch their sight, leaving nothing but this putrid scent to prove their existence. It sends me sprinting out the doors, my sandwich abandoned and puke on the floor.

Paper stabs my palm, a crumpled page of black stripped from the newspaper I was reading. I dab my tears with it, black ink tainting my face as I run. It oozes onto my clothes and paints my hands.

My front door slams shut, and I flatten my back against the carved wood. Eyes wide. Chest heaving. Hands fisted so tight they start losing blood.

The echo of claws rapping on wood stops my heart, breath hitching in my throat. Grey streaks across my vision. Rats, I tell myself, just rats.

Unfolding the paper, redacted bars bleed to reveal scattered words.

Under. Husband. Home. Toddlers. Wife. Found. Rage.

The appended picture clears, four blurred faces standing in front of my house.

Time stops. Fear freezes me in place, my eyes pinned open in terror.

Bony fingers coil around the newspaper, sharp-tipped nails millimeters from my grip. A low pitched death rattle rasps my ears, then silence.

Stiff and shaky, I lower the paper.

Nothing.

Wet, black sludge stains a trail of hand and foot prints towards my room. Instincts scream at me to run. Fingers wrapping around the doorknob, it turns, but the door won't budge, not even with me throwing my body against it.

Heavy breathing twists my head, and paralysis kicks in.

Black hair and a pointy smile. Rotted skin that sloughs off from blackhole eyes.

Mouth opened wide, gurgling erupts from her throat, black globules bursting on her decayed tongue.

I bolt, but dead-ends force me back to the start.

A pool of sludge replaces her. Silence settling over the air depicts a false sense of security. I inhale, and liquid catches on my throat, launching me into a violent coughing fit.

Black drains from my teeth. Spluttered slabs of skin splatter the floor. Hair knots around my tongue.

Her death rattle scrapes my ears as thin fingers dent my temples.

Nails plunge into my eyes.

I scream into darkness.