(A late, nearly too late) Short Story Saturday: PB&J

PB&J

I've lived in this house for going on twelve years. This is my home, but I always seem to get roommates. They're always unwelcome, uninvited. I don't care for having them, never have. Luckily, they never stay too long.

These new people moved in last week. They are nosy; of course, people always are. Always going through my things. Always moving my shit. I can't wait until they're gone. Who the fuck do they think they are? They come into someone else's house and act like they own the damned place.

I watch them. They don't even accept the fact that I'm here. Ignoring me as if I'd not exist if they just don't pay attention. These people have got to go. They eat my food, keep rearranging my furniture. Hell, they even locked me out of my own house yesterday. Fortunately, I have a secret way in for such occasions.

But tonight, it's quiet. They went to a movie and are going to grab something to eat while they're out. Well, by what I heard from their conversation. It would have been nice had they actually told me to my face instead of me having to eavesdrop like usual.

They can have their fancy dinner. I've decided to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk. Simple suits me just fine.

I sit here at the table alone, just as I like it. I've left the jars and the loaf of bread open, in case I want another sandwich. The knife I used to cut the bread with is by my plate. It's coated in the purple glaze of grape jelly.

I hear the front door open. They're home early. Part of me wishes it's the parents that left me behind nearly a decade ago, but I know it's not. I'm sitting here on the cushioned chair, chewing on a bite when Sherrie walks in. She stares at me like it's the first time she's ever seen me. I swallow and smile.

“John, there's someone in the kitchen!” she hollers.

“What?” he says, more questioning what she's said and not as a response to what she's said.

I grab the knife. I note that it's still covered with the contents of my sandwich, and I think about licking it.

“There's someone . . .” She turns to run. “. . . in the—”

Jumping at her, I stab her in the back. She screams and falls forward, and I straddle her, sitting on her back—my knees are pressed against the sides of her breasts—and slit her throat. John runs into the room. His breath hitches, and he freezes in horror, for a moment, then he turns to flee. I slice through the tendon above his heel. He falls forward but quickly turns over and begins to crawl backward on his elbows. He's saying something, but I can't hear him over the thudding pound of the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

I jump and begin stabbing him erratically. The knife plunges everywhere from his stomach to the top of his head. After a while, I finally stop. The blade in my hand is bent and unusable, so I toss it to the side, and it clatters behind the refrigerator. John's left pretty much unidentifiable.

Standing up, I walk back to the kitchen island and close all the makings for a PB&J. I grab the stuff and put it away before walking to the stupid rocking chair they put in front of my bedroom door. I move their crappy furniture and lift the duct vent. I drop to my hands and knees and crawl into the wall, heading for my room.

Snippet Saturday: Slurp, Scorch, Shower a slice from Halfborn

“Make this next right. It'll take us directly behind a little shack,” I said.

“And you're sure there's someone here?” he asked with suspicion.

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

“Well, it doesn't look like it,” he said as he turned down the dirt road. His suspicion boiled through him.

“Really, Marshall? I swear your meal awaits you in that shack. It's not like I brought you here to put you down. As if I knew how to. He's a hobo. It's not like he's going to be in a mansion. He's probably lucky to be able to stay in an old, rotting shed.” Marshall flinched when I mentioned putting him down, but his suspicion faded.

I hoped that the man inside the shack was passed out drunk and didn't hear us pull up, or at least didn't care that we did. I wanted some kind of surprise on his part. Surprising him meant he couldn't run and alert other people to our presence. I mean, sure someone could’ve seen us turn down the road, but we were out-of-towners in a recreational vehicle who could’ve just been lost, for all they knew.

Marshall brought the Winnebago to a stop and turned off the engine. I cracked my window and listened. I heard the soft drone of snores. They were slightly off, but I paid it no mind. I didn't roll the window up fast enough and knew the exact moment the man's scent hit Marshall. His bloodlust smashed at my mental barriers. There was no turning back.

I rose from the seat and ran to the door. Barely slipping past Marshall's grip. I threw the door open and stepped aside. He jumped out behind me. It seemed that he'd almost turned at me, but then he stalked, nearly cat-like, toward the shack. He circled the rotted structure, while I stood idly by the Winnebago. He found a makeshift entrance at the corner and slipped inside.

I listened carefully, wanting to know exactly when I needed to go and get Marshall out of there and back inside. That's when it hit me. Why the snoring sounded off. My mind registered the second heartbeat at almost the same time the woman started screaming.

“Shit!” I shouted.

The woman ran out of the shack. Marshall ran out behind her, dragging the man. In my panic, my mental barrier dropped. I was consumed by bloodlust. Marshall's? My own? It didn't matter. I was its slave.

I ran to the woman and grabbed her. Putting my hand to her mouth, I quieted her. I glanced at Marshall in time to see him rip into the man's throat. Through the haze of bloodlust, I felt both horror and awe at Marshall's actions.

My mind was my own, but my body was driven by the need of blood. I struck. My teeth sank into the woman's neck. My mouth drew upon the fluid that filled it. I closed my eyes as the warm blood slid down my throat.

Fear tugged at me. Sweet delicious fear. I smelled it. Tasted it. I felt it. My mind swam in a pool of emotions. Bloodlust, satisfaction, fear, and worry. The worry was mine. But the fear was all her. I couldn't do it again. The transformation Marshall undertook was too much, too powerful. I didn't want to do that again. I really didn't want my psyche split three ways, either.

I drew harder at the blood coming from the woman's neck wound. Willing every drop into my mouth. I felt movement at my side and opened my eyes in time to see Marshall grab the woman's arm. He brought her wrist to his mouth.

With every pull of blood, the woman's fear faded. With every slowing beat from her heart, her fear died a little more. Until her heart had no more beats to give. Her body, no fear left.

I dropped the lifeless body to the ground. The woman's fear being snuffed out broke something in me. The brief connection we shared, left me empty. I walked to the Winnebago and stepped inside. I went to the set of cabinets by the stove and retrieved a small torch lighter and a container of lighter fluid.

Upon my return, Marshall had moved the bodies inside of the shack. Somewhere along the way, he realized I intended to burn the place. I opened the lighter fluid and squirted just enough to start the flame. The rotted wood lit quickly and began burning much faster than I had expected it to.

Marshall grabbed my hand and led me back inside, closing the door behind us. “Coral, we've got to get out of here before someone shows up, okay?”

“Huh? Oh, right. Um, you drive. I'm going to clean up.”

He stood there, looking at me. Concern oozed from him. I shut it out, trying my hardest not to feel anything. He opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him by holding up my hand.

“Marshall, drive. Now.”

I walked to the tiny bathroom. The Winnebago's engine came to life as I shut the door. Standing in front of the mirror, I didn't find the blood-soaked face I thought I'd see. All there was to be seen was a thin, jagged stream that started at the left corner of my mouth and went towards the middle of my chin. I took a tissue and wiped the blood away. I tossed the stained paper in the trash.

I turned on the shower. Before stripping my clothes, I took one last glance in the mirror, taking in the monster I had become. My eyes were wild, the pupils fully dilated. Though it wasn’t visible just by looking, a part of me had changed, and I'd never be the same.

I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water scald my skin. My back slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. I opened my mind, reaching out and felt Marshall's concern. That one emotion caused the emptiness in me to flood with so many other feelings. I pulled my knees to my chest and as the water from the shower scorched my skin, I wept.

~~~
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