25 Hour Watch

Ch. 1 – Roar

Ch. 2- Growl

David pressed the small triangular bump of plastic with his right thumb, the images on the television suddenly frozen.   The door at the top of the stairs opened, light stretched down each step and across the wall like a deformed, three digit hand.  “David?”  David’s mother called down into the darkness, “Eric’s here.”  Shadows filled and obstructed the light which poured into the lowest level of the house, Eric’s figure joining his mother’s at the top of the stairs.  “Don’t stay too late, dear.  I don’t want you driving home late, with everything that’s be going on…”

The light was replaced by footsteps as the door closed and Eric made his way down to the red hued room, a large television illuminated David relaxed on the couch, video game controller waiting on the carpet within reach.  A giant orange and red explosion danced across the screen, it’s last billow of flame frozen behind the word “Pause.”  Whenever Eric came over, David was always more aware of the fact that he lived at home with his parents.  His twenty-six year old life paused in the front of his mind to focus on.

Eric’s familiar figure moved from the dark stairs and across the room, David tucked his feet in, making room for Eric next to him on the couch.  “So?”

“The Gibbson’s, Mr. McKinney, and now Mr. O’Reilly and two of his staff members.”  Eric slumped into his palms, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his eyes.

“Mr. O’Reilly?  Wow…”  David never liked Mr. O’Reilly, or his angry radio broadcast, an opinion that didn’t feel appropriate at the moment.  “And it was that–thing again?”

“As far as we can tell.  It never leaves any trail, no–no clue that’s even remotely helpful.”  Eric stopped rubbing his eyes, and looked over at David, “Jason’s been acting weird.”

Jason had been teamed up with Eric only a few months earlier.  The two men came from very different walks of life, and had managed a professional relationship.  If Eric hadn’t outranked him, things might not even be as cordial as they were.

Eric leaned his neck against the padded back of the couch.  David looked on unsure.  “Well,” Eric said after a moment, “do you need help blowing anything up?”

**************************************************************

The days passed tensely through the town.  Each man with his own dread, each woman with her own suspicion, and every child with their own, slightly unique, fear.  Free roaming cats, dogs left alone outside in the still night air, and the occasional livestock all began to disappear.

The evenings were worse.  Three attacks, only one of which happened in the early morning daylight.  The darkness made people nervous.

David moved through the fog like a boat on water, leaving a wake as he went.  He couldn’t put it into words, but he wasn’t afraid.  Not any more then usual.  Plus, he couldn’t think of a safer place to be going then a police station.

The fog unwrapped itself from around him as he approached the glass front doors of the station, green fluorescent lights shone through, illuminating from the front desk and outside to the first squares of cement.  David pulled the door open, and caught the friendly look of Jim, who peered from behind important looking papers at the front counter.

“Evening David.  You just missed Eric.”

“I’m looking for Jason actually.  I was hoping to catch him before he went home.”

“Think he’s still here, said he was gonna grab something from his locker.  Haven’t seen him leave yet.”  Jim motioned toward the wooden swinging door to his right, “go ahead an poke your head in.”

“Thanks Jim.”  David moved along the tile, the silence of the building feeling slightly unusual.  He pressed his hand against the wooden grains of the door, “Jason?”  David slipped through the small opening he created, and made his way into the dark locker room.  He reached for the switch on the wall to his left.

“Don’t!”  Jason’s figure was barely visible on the bench in front of him.  He leaned into his hands, knees to elbows, the scattered fluorescent emergency lights spilling over only parts of the room lined with rows of metal lockers.  Like search lights.

“Jason?  Are you okay?”  David moved slowly toward him, an end of the wooden bench coming to his side and pointing it’s slats at the only other man in the room.

“My head…”

David slowed, unsure.  “Can I get you anything?”

Jason muttered something, David could only make out the fierceness of his tone.

“Look, I just wanted to talk to you about Eric… maybe now’s not a good time.”  David turned, half wanting to leave and half wanting to help.  “Should I call someone for you?”

Jason shook his head, hands still attacked to his temples.  David stood still for a moment longer, before turning to leave.  “Okay, take care of–”

“GAAAH!”  Jason yelped, slipped from the bench and slammed his knees against the tile floor.

David turned again, and rushed up the bench to the man on the floor.  “Jason?!”

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

“What’s going on?”  Jim had come into the doorway, unnoticed by Jason or David.

“Call an ambulance, something’s wrong.”  David let a tiny bit of panic enter his voice.

Jim was suddenly gone, and Jason suddenly wasn’t screaming.  Jason breathed.  He panted.  Saliva dripped from his tongue and onto a square, black tile.  Something cracked, making David jump and Jason whimper.  Some more pops filled the empty room.  David looked around, they sounded close.  Like they were coming from–

A deep red line suddenly pushed it’s way along Jason’s scalp as his limbs began to twitch.

“Jason?!  Jason!”  David looked around, the wound on Jason’s head had begun to bleed, to pour, he needed to apply pressure.  David flung open the closest locker and began to rummage.  A t-shirt, anything…

“Rrrrreeeeeeeeett. TTK. TKK. TKK.”

David froze, stopping his search inside the locker and slowly pulling his torso out of the metal coffin.  He carefully pushed the door closed, hearing the click of the simple latch, and the chirps coming from the growing gap.  He turned back to his right, Jason was now lying motionless on the floor.  The top of his head pointed toward David, and the blood was very dark.  A deep red that mated with his short hair, giving a matted look.

Something moved.

It pulled itself, slowly toward David.  Slapping, wet against the tile.  A single, three clawed foot.  Deep in color and covered in hair.

*******************************************************************

Eric pulled his car against the Gibbson’s curb.  He sat for a moment, looking at the broken window, the torn up front lawn, and the yellow tape that lined the house.  He stepped out of his car, locked the door and made his way up the driveway to his right.  David’s light wasn’t on, but the front living room curtain was lit.  He knocked politely on the door, and waited for an answer.

“Oh, Eric.”  Mrs. White said, opening the door slowly.  “Where’s David?”

Eric looked confused.  “I was coming to see him.”

“What do you mean?  He said he went to meet you at work…”

*******************************************************************

Eric’s car sat in the dark lot, driver’s side door open, and tires defiantly ignoring the yellow painted lines on the asphalt.

The glass front doors of the station had been shattered, Eric stepped though the empty metal frame, gun drawn and safety off, a flashlight held in line with the barrel.  Down the hall the halogens sparked and flickered, the front counter was missing a giant piece of itself, the jagged design gave the look of a giant bite mark.  Desks were overturned, and papers fluttered on the smell of gunpowder, drifting back down to a rest on the floor.  Whatever had happened, it happened recently.

Eric moved around the front counter, the locker room door had been torn from it’s hinges.  Part of the door still hung on the frame, while most of it lay across the hallway.  A dark hand stuck out from under the remains of the wooden panel.  Jim.  He knelt for a pulse and stopped for a prayer.

Through the partly exposed doorframe, Eric could see rows of lockers overturned like dominos.  A bench had been shoved through the far back wall.  Eric made his way through the door.  There were only so many places David would have been able to go, the locker room and the empty front waiting room being the most likely.

Up the aisle in front of him, Eric made out Jason’s body.  The top of his head was just like all the others.  Mrs. Gibbson, Mr. McKinney, and Mr. O’Reilly.  Deep red slashes were painted on the tiles, sets of three running parallel in stripes that came from Jason’s body and moved along the floor and around the corner to the far end of the lockers.  Claw marks.

Eric followed them, slowly.  He came to a row of broken mirrors and split porcelain sinks at the far end of the room.  On the floor sat a single tennis shoe, a jagged chunk of rubber bit from the heel. It had been David’s shoe.

“David?  DAVID?”

A small strip of light flashed on, peering along the bottom of the bathroom door on the far end of the wall beyond the mangled sinks.  Water gushed from the farthest sink, spilt across the floor and to the lit crack beneath the bathroom door.  The metal handle turned, and slowly a socked foot spilled out onto the wet tile.  “Eric?”