Calm

Calm1

I hate washing up, I really do. 2

It's nine o'clock at night, and there are so many things I would rather be doing right now. Instead, I'm in my kitchen, there's nothing on TV and two of the three light bulbs in the little chandelier thing are gone, making the room shadowy and dingy. The TV is on, despite the fact the best programme is Eastenders, and the whole thing is very confusing. I have to wonder just how all this crap can happen on one little square, and why the hell anyone ever moves there. 3

My cat dashes across the room, and brushes by my legs so fast I almost fall over. I curse heavily after him as he continues his mad dash up the stairs, and it doesn’t help me catch my breath, which I really need to do, as air moves in shallow gasps through my mouth.  I brace myself up against the dishwasher for a minute, then grab the keys to lock up the door so I can get out of this room. 4

The light of the one remaining bulb doesn’t quite reach the back door, leaving it enveloped on velvety shadow. The door is panelled with lots of little windows, and each pane of glass is a mirror, and as I walk towards it I can see myself, and the room, and the cat crouched low at the top of the stairs. I press my face into the glass to see the outside, and see dark, and see the garage open. Which means I have to close it. 5

As soon as I open the door, I wish I hadn’t. I stand frozen on the threshold and feel very hot and very cold at the same time, but the night is only pleasantly balmy. Someone is watching me, I now it, but it takes a good minute to work up the courage to look back. 6

He’s turned towards me, but his face is obscured by long, lank tangles of hair, unkept and wild. His clothes are dark and unremarkable, but at his side something shines dully. Claws. He has foot long metal claws, jutting obscenely out of his knuckles. He’s just standing there calmly, and those claw are just calmly reflecting the moonlight.7

I feel like I should scream, but instead I turn and run, slamming the door behind me. I don’t dare turn back, but I instinctively know he’s following. My fears are confirmed by a screech of nails on glass. I glance back to see those claws carving through the window, and the glass falling forward as one shard. It falls slowly, then crashes into a thousand colours. I turn back and run again, faster this time, and now I can hear his footsteps behind me, steady like a heartbeat, only my heartbeat’s nowhere near steady anymore, it’s jack hammering and making my chest hurt, and if I was out of breathe before, I’m barely breathing now. His feet are steady as ever, and he exudes calm, as I panic. Even though I’m running, and he’s walking, I can hear him catching up with me, and a detached part of my mind tells me that makes no sense, but most of me is thinking of those claws. The detached part adds that I need a plan. Those claws. I need to do something. Those claws. Those claws.8

I stumble into the front room, and slam that door. I’m barely inside when those claws calmly slice through it , and the wood falls in, a mimicry of the shattered glass downstairs. I remember that I had wanted to scream, and decide to go ahead. I scream, and throw coasters at him, a mug left on the table, a magazine, anything that comes to hand, but he’s calmly looking at me, calmly raising those claws, and I’m screaming, screaming, screaming.9

Then I’m back in the kitchen with Eastenders on the TV, and the cat rushes in past my legs, and I know he’s outside. 10