Mine

Splat

Splat

Splat

Measured is the first word that comes to mind when describing the footsteps that came from behind me in the torrential downpour. The calm patience, the cold calculation, they led to a very…measured gait. Of course It had every reason to be patient with me, I had nowhere left to go.

My head had been buried in paperwork when the lights went out, not all at once like a blackout but room by room and light by light. The study lights were the last to snap off, the dread settled over me like a blanket of ice. My tie was a gag, a snake that wrapped itself tighter around my throat. I ripped the tie from its collar with a violence borne from terror and reached for the phone on my desk, the receiver shook as my trembling hand brought it up to my ear.

An incomprehensible sound slithered into my ear, whether it came from the darkest recess of this planet or the coldest corner of the cosmos it was utterly alien. I gasped in shock and tossed the receiver upon the desk, as if it had suddenly become the coldest block of ice on the planet.

From the receiver came a most foul sounding laugh, it was as if I could smell the decay over the line. Even as I gaged in disgust, fear gripped my heart as if it were in a vise. My eyes darted to the study entrance, the door that I had left open. The same smell of decay assaulted my nostrils, and then a burst of lightening lit up the room. What I saw in those few seconds I do not know, I do not think I ever will know. Some things on this planet are not for men to understand with their minds, only fear in their hearts.

Even as understanding deserted me, my reflexes compelled me to action. I burst from my chair much as a gazelle bursts from its water hole when pursued by a lion, and ran for the other door to my study. The oak portal yielded to my furious attempts to open it and I bounded into my bedroom, even as my feet raced across the carpet I could hear It behind me. Its pace was not one of frenzied pursuit but of a calm, almost indifferent nature.

Splat

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My wife had left many years before but my housekeeper was in the house, I tried to shout for her, scream her name but my voice would not come out. It was though an external force had silenced me, a muzzle that let only my frenzied exhalations of fright. Maybe It had nothing to do with my silence, maybe I didn’t want to know if she could respond or not, they never did find her dead or alive.

The candles that adorned the walls gave me just enough light to see by, like beacons of hope in a sea of despair. As I ran past them I could see their tiny flames being snuffed out, the stench had become overpowering and I could hear the noises made by It. They were not the noises of annoyance, excitement, or even rage. They were cold, methodical grunts of exertion, the kind made by a hunter when he has to lengthen his stride to keep pace with a wounded stag.

I turned the bannister, and propelled myself down the stairs. The wooden planks boomed like gunshots, the slap of my slippers added to the cacophony. I slammed into the front door and tried to wrench it open, unlike upstairs this wooden portal would not yield to my frenzied pulling.

I gave up with a sob and raced back through the house, as I passed by the stairs I heard it start on the first couple of steps. I scrambled around the couch in the living room and slid into the kitchen, and slammed into the island. Even as my breath left me in a sharp oaf, the pots and pans hung up around the island rained down around me with a series of clashes and clangs sure to wake up the whole house…if there had been anyone else to hear it.
I clenched my side and continued on my desperate sprint, Its inexorable pace never changed.

Splat

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I shoved the back door open and staggered out into the rain, it slapped me hard in the face and stung me in the eyes. Within seconds it had soaked my hair and after a few steps it had soaked my clothes; the muddy turf of the yard gave way under my feet.

The muck held one of my feet fast and I fell to the ground with such a force that I slid for a brief distance. When I was able to push myself upright I saw what stood in front of me, the tombstone of my son. Tears joined the water on my face and a great sob escaped into the night, he had died years ago but I felt the pain daily. My belief that he had gone to a place free from sickness and suffering did nothing to ease my anguish.

Splat

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It was in the yard…behind me. I rested my hand on the slick granite, its roughness no substitute for my son. As the sobs continued to wrack my frame, I resolved that I would die here, with my son.

Splat

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It was right behind me, I could feel its fetid breath on my skin and hear its soft, squishy breathing. I locked my eyes on the stone and waited to die; instead it spoke, the first and only word I ever heard from it.

“Mine.”

At first I did not understand but when I did, a new horror ran through me. I spun to face it, ready to die with its horrid face the last thing I see.

It was gone but its horror has never left.