A short story from me to you.
Call me paranoid, but i never publish my short stories on the Internet for fear of Plagiarism and things like that. But today, i think i will suck my stomach in, take a deep breath and take the bold step of sharing a short story i wrote sometime last year.
Have fun reading!
The Story of the Deaf One
I peer from behind the curtain. Pupils wide. Seeing something every day, but always seeing with new eyes.
Vibrations. In the air. I feel them, almost snake-like. They sound…angry. Eyes wide open, staring at an invisible fighting ring. Two opponents. One tall, the other taller; anger adds inches to people. A violent rip. Right across his cheek, nails scratching against skin as if chalkboard, drawing lines of blood behind them. His hand shoots out to grab something, anything, on her. She grimaces, then shudders almost invisibly as he grabs a clump of her hair. He pushes her against the wall. Inches her closer, closer to the gaping hole that’s a room. I stare unblinkingly, as their bodies cover the hole…and the door slams shut.
Nothing but residual tension left behind. I wait. Wait some more.
Vibrations. In the air. This time, there’s…a scream. Screams. High, then broken, then muffled. I get on my feet. It’s never gone this far. What if…
I spread my fingers over the door. It reminds me of Abe from Hell Boy. I move my palm, my fingers dragging along, trying to feel what’s going on in the room beyond. I hear nothing. I try pushing the door. Something’s blocking it. Something heavy.
I look around, behind me. The kitchen table, to my left, is strewn with the remains of a microwaved lunch, plates and cutlery set down randomly. Dust swirls rise up from the graying sofa in the reflecting sunlight on the extreme right. The telly’s tuned into travel channel. Everything seems fine. A slice of life from a normal family.
I don’t know what to do. So I go back to the sofa, dispersing the shimmering particles, obstructing their ascent. I stare at them, following their movement. A shadow behind me blinds the motion for a moment, and then the particles are back in view.
I turn around. The door to the room is open. I scan my surroundings for… there he is, slamming the fridge door, a bottle of water in hand, and a kick ready to fly at the kitchen table. Other than that, everything’s normal. Nothing’s wrong. Like always.
I wait. Wait some more.
She’s still in the room. I get up and walk towards it, keep my movement as slow as possible to not draw his attention. Almost th… I feel his eyes on me. I turn around.
He looks at me. I look back. He looks away, sipping water. I enter the room.
She’s sprawled against the bedside table. Her left hand rests at a weird angle, there are tears randomly making their way down her face. I go closer. Swing my finger under her nostrils. I can’t tell if it’s her or the ceiling fan. I feel a shiver coming on; a shiver; a rumble then, from deep inside me, rising, moving up up up. Frustration.
I must have passed out. My head hurts. Groggy. My hands feel stiff. I get up as slowly as possible, feel a stab of pain in my right hand. I look around. He’s on the suede carpet, a little distance away. Eyes wide open in surprise, shock framing the ‘O’ of his mouth. There’s an inch of a fork sticking out of his neck, red goo trickling out wherever it finds an escape.
I look away. I want to throw up. I try holding it off, but can’t. Hastily, I try to cover my mouth before I…
Why is there blood on my hands?
The last thing I remember is the rumble. Always the rumble.