By Kyrsten Su
on the thirty first day of the tenth month, He awoke. years of slumber had left Him cold. and desperate.
so perhaps that is why He, with great difficulty, pulled His rotten limbs out of the earth and set course down Apple Blossom Lane. He was searching for something– no, someone.
He dragged His feet– or foot, rather, because His left leg ended in a festering stump– along the asphalt, leaving a thin trail of blood in His wake. children laughed in the distance. camellia flowers left the air sickly-sweet. stars lit up the sky as bright as they could, as if to warn the residents of Apple Blossom Lane. “look! look! a monster is coming!”
He noticed none of it. His vision was narrow, His breathing loud, His mind set. as He passed the picture-perfect two-story three-bedroom two-bathroom houses, He scanned for his victim. His throat was thick with anticipation.
the first to take notice, young Amelia Adams, caught one glance of His maggot-ridden flesh and took off on her pink tricycle squealing. He watched her go. let her warn them, He thought. let her bring them to me.
the second, Tommy Adams, young Amelia’s older brother, was braver. Amelia cowered behind his slight shoulders. Tommy puffed out his chest, though he thought his heart might stop. he carried his little league baseball bat in his tiny trembling fists.
Tommy stepped into his path. “Get out of here, monster!” he cried. his voice was already high– he was no more than ten years old– but made higher with terror. it almost would have been pitiful, if He had the capacity to feel pity.
of course, He didn’t.
He reached out and hit Tommy in the side of the head. his small body crumpled onto the pavement. He tossed Amelia in the opposite direction. her head hit the curb with a dreadful crack. no, no, no. He thought. not them. it’s not them. He continued down the road.
He made it fifty feet and through three other similarly minded residents before He turned around once again.
He waits a beat. and then He looks directly at You. a sinister smile slowly spreads across His disfigured face. yes, yes, He thinks. You.