Another sleepless night. He thought as his mind was adrift with thoughts. Sleep was just outside his grasp. Laid out the bed, he stared at the ceiling. The sound of rain striking the roof was loud and didn't help. Zack hated the noise. He closed his eyes and sank heavy into the pillow, trying to ignore it. How does anyone think this is relaxing?
The night drifted on, and Zack didn't come any closer to sleep, even as he grew more frustrated and tired. That was how the approaching morning found him. The red numbers off the small alarm clock on the beside table kept creeping forward towards another sunless morning. A day filled with a constant need for coffee and a bigger need to improve his mood. Poor sleep had left him feeling on edge.
Zack ended up tossing the sheets aside long before the alarm ever went off. Discarded in favor of sitting on the edge of the bed as he stared out the window. He moved and looked out to see the damage of the night's storm. The street was still dead and a low fog was rising up. He tried to get a better look, but with the fog as it was and without the aid of a streetlight, he was barely able to see anything.
Zack wasn't trying to be broody. I didn't sleep well enough to worry about brooding. No. The last few days he had been feeling on edge. Something haunted and lingered in his thoughts. A thing in the back of his mind that refused to let him put his guard down long enough to rest. A feeling like footsteps walking across a grave. His grave. I need to stop watching so much television before bed.
Zack shivered. It was cold in the room. The single portable heater in the corner had been turned off to save on the ludicrous electrical bill. Some part of his mind nagged him to go and finish the fifteen hundred word essay that was due tommorow for his World Lit class on the meaning of life. Wrong, he corrected himself. Due today.
"Eh." Zack muttered. "It may come out terrible, but I can at least try to get some work done. It's not like I can do what the trust fund kids do. Copy the smart kid and make a few changes and hope the professor doesn't say anything. He knew better than to give the school another reason to cut him loose.
Desperate times though right? Sometimes he thought about just letting his own rage monster loose and walk away from everything. Sometimes that monster came out anways. During those times, the other, more decent parts of himself pushed those thoughts deep down and away. Where did your temper ever get you? Do you really want to put your family through that? Zack would challenge himself, knowing his mom and sister were all he had, and all they had. Not worth it to lose control.
With a grunt, Zack moved and got out of bed. Not worth it to try to fall asleep when I've got 20 minutes until the alarm goes off. Instead, he decided to make use of the little bit of time that he had while he waited for morning to break.
Down the hall he could hear the creaking toilet fan in the bathroom that his sister Alice left on to her sleep. She needed the white nose of the constant churning. That same white noise helped him to not wake anyone up. Zack carefully stepped over worn weights and grabbed the curlbar from off the floor and started to lift. He lost himself in the rhythm of the mindless repetition. Time drifted away as he curled iron. The weight was light enough that he could take mid rep breaks and keep going. It paused the time and his grogginess wore away.
The window started to shake as the storm started worsening. The rain fell harder now,a constant sound of heavy force slamming into the tin roof over his head. Zack tried to ignore it as sweat ran down his back, leaving wet trails in the thin shirt stretched over his frame. Outside, the wind howled refusing to be ignored by him. The sound sent goosebumps crawling up his arms. That's no ordinary storm.
Their was a loud crash from downstairs like something had fallen and Zack scrambled up. Did somebody just break in? The noise drowned out by a sudden salvo of thunder as lightning struck nearby. He heard the clatter of dishes. Somebody is in the kitchen. Unease stirred in his gut, part of him wanted to write it off as a figment of his imagination. But the animal part of his brain knew better. Zack had grown up in this house. He knew it inside and out. He was willing to bet more than a week's pay at the shipping yard that the noise he heard hadn't just been his mind playing tricks on him.
With arms aching from lifting cold iron as long as he had, Zack slowly walked over to his door, moving carefully as he took hold of his wooden bat and quietly eased the door open.
There it is again. He thought, hearing something bumping into a chair, the stainless steel legs screeching faintly as they were dragged over old tiles. Eyes darting in the near-darkness, he saw both his sister Alice and his mother's rooms were still closed. Stay in there. He nervously licked his lips, gripping the wooden club tighter and hefted it up. Whoever it was, they sure as shit weren't family, and the sort of folks who made unannounced visits before dawn were here for trouble and certainly not for tea. Zack prepared for a struggle.
Thunder boomed once more. Blood pumped through Zack's veins, his body starting to twitch as adrenaline kicked in. He felt every beat of his heart. He moved forward and eased the stairway door open in the darkness, thankful that for once, it produced no groaning creak.
With soft steps, he went down the stairs. His bulky form slowly creeping down the steep wooden incline, sweat trickling down his blocky face and actual fear stirring in his gut. Something didn't feel right. Something screamed at him, gget away from there. The storm outside was muted, and he could have sworn he heard a scratching over the rolling thunder.
The door to the kitchen sat at the bottom of the stairs. It was locked tight from his side. It was an extra measure of security he had installed himself. He stood right behind it, not moving a muscle as he heard someone faintly move in the room ahead. Opening the door would make a quiet click, just loud enough to alert anyone inside. Whoever it is, they probably have a gun. I wonder if it's robbers of a junkie.
They lived in a rough neighborhood, and up until now, his family had gone unnoticed by the virtue of being too poor to bother with. But desperate times made desperate folks, and the sort of person who broke into another's house under cover of a storm was the sort of person who'd shoot first and regret their actions never.
Once more, he swore under his breath for breaking his phone in a fit of anger just a few days ago. Yes, it had been a barely-functioning piece of garbage, but if it was still ususable he might have called the police already, and they might even have bothered coming or driving by if he exaggerated enough to get them to care. But for now, Michael was on his own.
Sweaty hand on the doorknob, he fought down the rising unease and dread roiling his stomach, waiting for a peal of thunder to cover the sound of him opening the door and charging in bat swinging. He had one chance. Go in fast and brain them with a few pounds of hardwood, then sort the rest out later. Zack told himself, trying to help hype himself up.
A massive burst of noise struck his ears, another lightning strike coming down not far away. With a wrench, he twisted the handle, the tiny click of the door mechanism muted, and them he threw it open and raised the bat.
Something other than a man was on the other side, and it was loominig over him.
A thing of darkness. A huge body and dead eyes. A maw that hung open and claws that caught the swinging door when Zack opened it and tore it immediately off the hinges.
Bits of rotting fur covered its massive form as it flexed and it's neck slithered forward, its face hidden behind a mask of bone.
Zack's heart stopped.
The monster's neck shot forward, bearing a shadowed head and stretching maw.
A heartbeat later, gore erupted out of Zack's back and he dropped to the floor dead.
The wooden bat clattered to the ground uselessly next to him.
The monster moved on, searching for whatever had brought it his way.