stopped heaving, I attempted to release of the fear, now tingling through me. What had happened to those people?
What if something similar had happened to my mother, or
worse?
Still feeling nauseous, I used the adrenaline from my
fear and walked briskly toward home, realizing that it would
just be dusk when I arrived, and I was right.
Leaving the road for the long driveway, I passed
through a patch of thick trees, where there was not a sound
to be heard. There were no birds chirping, and no sounds of
animals fleeing through the leaves. There was something very
unsettling about it.
Exodus from the darkness of the trees didn’t help
release that feeling. I could see my childhood home, covered
in the same dust as everything else. Picking up my pace, I
quickly reached a full run, and stumbled up the steps to the
front porch. All was quiet. The front door was open, but
the screen door was closed. I called into the darkness of my
mother’s home. “Mom? Are you there, mom?” Something
inside made a crashing sound. I opened the screen door and
entered like a toddler looking for the comfort of his mother’s
arms.
It didn’t take long to find the source of the sound. My
mother lay on the floor of the kitchen, having fallen over a
chair. She looked up at me with cloudy, recessed eyes, and
pale skin.
“Mom?” I asked. “Are you ok?”
She got up slowly, as if all of her muscles were cramping. Releasing an awful moan, she stumbled forward, reaching for me. Her skin seemed to be coming off of her bones,
loose and sagging. Teeth chomping, she continued toward
me.
I backed toward the front door, but ran into something, or as it turned out, someone. A young woman in jeans
and a t-shirt stood behind me, holding a metal softball bat.
“Move,” she told me.
I stood there for a moment and looked deep into her
eyes, surrounded by beautiful ebony