Paul had never felt more sorry for himself in his life as he sat next to the phone. He had placed it on the wooden dining table, away from the crowded bookshelf on which it had recently sat. Hope was beginning to dwindle. Maybe that hope never had even existed. Before she had walked out of the door, suitcase in hand, she had whispered, “I’ll call later.” The kids were already in the car, probably pulling at their fingers in anxiety.
I’ll call later.
Those three words tore him apart. He was half tempted to call Sarah’s cousin, where Sarah and the kids were staying the night, but he knew it would be a failed attempt. If Sarah didn’t want to talk to him, she wouldn’t call.
Paul glanced at the refrigerator. There was some of that cheap crappy beer Sarah had bought him a few days ago. It was a difficult decision to leave the phone and get some of the alcohol, because God knew he needed it now. In the end, he glanced at the phone one more time, waited for it to ring, waited for it to do something, and stood up. The refrigerator seemed so far away. If he walked away from the phone, it might ring. The draw of the alcohol was much stronger now, and he risked it. Pulling open the refrigerator door, the smell of Sarah’s revolting egg salad punched him in the stomach. He grimaced and reached inside; his fingers fumbled with the neck of the bottle and pulled one out.
He returned to his seat and uncapped the beer. The cool and refreshing liquid felt nice in his mouth—and instant relaxation, and he knew he needed one now. Paul wondered what Sarah was doing. Perhaps she was talking to Laura about him. Laura could be telling her that Paul was never the right husband for her. She could be telling her that she should file a divorce immediately, just as Laura had done, what was it now? Six marriages? That seemed about right. The little whore.
What were the kids doing? Tyler wouldn’t be able to sleep. He most likely was fretting, fretting, fretting. He would be lying on the floor, sheets encasing his body. He would be close to his sister Debbie, who would have tears crystallizing on her precious and freckled face. Would his arms be around her? Would her arms be around him? Would they know what was really going on?
Paul hadn’t cried in years, and he wasn’t about to. He was a rock—that was what he told Sarah the night they shared their first kiss. Was it really twenty-one years ago? It seemed much longer. Much, much longer. Her lips were freezing. They were holding hands on her doorstep. Her ice skates were set down beside her, after being used and tripped in. She had never gotten as good as Paul had at skating, even after the many lessons he had given her. Sarah was talking about what? Something about college classes the next day or something or another. He hadn’t paid attention. Instead, he focused on her lips. Her pink lips. It was a secret fetish he always had. Lips, that was. The way they moved, the way they plumped. The more he thought about it, the more he forgot about the first kiss. The words, the snow, the ice skates were so long ago. Those days were long past.
When was his last kiss? When was the last time he had kissed Sarah? It seemed like months, years. He suddenly hungered for her kiss one more time. Just once more. He would do anything for the feeling of her pink lips over his, crawling into the hidden tunnels of his mouth, seeking more. Always more.
The phone rang. It took him completely by surprise, and he jumped. Without even checking the caller ID, he brought the phone to his ear.
“Hello?” Anxious.
“Paul?” It was Sarah.
“Sarah, what took you so damn long to call? You left four hours ago!”
“I’m sorry. Lots of traffic on the way. Listen. The kids and I are gonna stay over here for tonight. I’ll swing around tomorrow to pick up some more things. Paul, we need to talk face to face. There’s something that I need to tell you that I can’t tell you on the phone. Please, Paul, please find that suitcase—you know, the one we took to London for our anniversary?—from downstairs and pack me some clothes. At least for two days. We’ll be staying here ‘til Friday. Laura’s fine with it.”
“Sarah, how are the kids?”
“Paul, not now. It’s nearly midnight. I need to go.”
“Please, Sarah. Tell the kids I love them.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a few moments, and then—
“Do you really, Paul? Think about what you just said.”
“I love them with all my heart. You know that.”
“But do they know that?”
Sarah severed the line, and Paul was left with an empty buzzing in his ear and a lump in his throat.
*
She used to cook him midnight eggs whenever he was having a rough day. Now that he was attempting her famous midnight snack, he didn’t feel nearly as hungry. He had finally persuaded himself to set the phone back on the receiver three minutes after Sarah ended the call. The eggs had sounded delicious. Nothing sounded like better comfort food than eggs and beer. But the cooking wasn’t going so well. It was clear he had burned something (had she sprayed the pan with grease before cooking?).
Paul glanced at his snack. The edges were crisped to the point of them being charred black, and the yolk in the middle wasn’t as perfect as the way Sarah used to do it. It was also unseasoned, because he didn’t know which seasons she used. He was afraid of spicing it incorrectly.
“Screw it,” he muttered, and put the pan of burned egg in the sink. He flowed cold water over it, and it steamed.
He sat next to the phone again, and clasped his hands together. He didn’t pray. He didn’t believe in God, Buddha, Santa Maria. Whatever you want to call it. He just sat there. Eyes closed. Fresh air. That was what he needed. A little bit of fresh air.
*
His house was located at the edge of a small wood named Jordan Forest in England. He had moved from Carson City, Nevada to Jordan City, England back in 1989, when the flowers still bloomed, and love was still blind. In other words, he moved to England when he married his wife, who had lived her whole life there. Most of her family still resided in Jordan City, such as her mother and stepfather, and her two cousins, Laura and Madison.
The house wasn’t large at all, but not small either. The owners who had sold them the house had sold it to them for around two hundred grand. Paul had even installed a wooden porch around the entire exterior of the house, which is where he was currently standing. The fresh air felt cold against his bearded face. He could smell the spruces and pines, and the moon was currently crescent. Because he lived far enough away from Jordan City, the stars were always shining brightly. It was almost a dream home.
He leaned against the banister on the porch, sighing.
“What’ve you gotten yourself into, Paul?” he asked himself.
In that moment, he heard his front door fling open, and slam shut. His heart nearly leaped out of his throat as he spun around.
“What the hell?”
His muscles tensed up as he hurried through his kitchen and to the front door. There, her back against the door, was a woman. Blonde, thin, and panting, she screamed when she saw Paul. He stood in the living room, his mouth hanging open.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Please! Oh my god please help me!” Her voice was hysterical. She turned around and tried to lock the door, but her fingers were spasming. “Oh oh oh!”
“Who do you think—”
Something crashed into the door from outside, and the woman cried out again and pushed her back against the door.
“Please help me! Oh my god oh my god please please!”
“What is that?!” Paul yelled.
“Please,” she cried, “just help me secure this door! How do you lock this—got it!” Her fingers were able to lock the door with a bolt, and she backed away from the door.
“What’s going on here? Who are you?”
And again, something crashed into the door from the outside. The door seemed to whimper under all the pressure.
“Lock all the doors! Hurry! Hurry, oh my god please lock all the doors!” She took off into the house, and Paul followed closely behind her.
“No!” he yelled and grabbed her by the arm. “Tell me what in God’s name is going—”
“No time! Please! We must lock every door!” she said, and pried herself from Paul’s grip. She ran into the kitchen, where he had left the screen and glass sliding door wide open. The woman slammed them both shut, and locked them. She even drew the blinds over all the windows.
“Are there any more doors leading from outside to inside?”
“Just the garage..” Paul muttered, pointing down the hallway. The woman took off, wasting no more time.
“Are you going to tell me who you are and what just tried to break into my house?” he yelled after her. The woman returned from the garage, locking every door.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. God, this is all my fault. I didn’t want to drag you into this but—”
“What are you talking about?” Paul was on the point of exploding.
“Where is the safest place in this house?” she asked, eyeing the front door and the kitchen sliding doors.
“Probably my bedroom, upstairs,” he said, and they both took off up the stairs. Paul tripped over one, but regained his footing.
“Which door is it?” she asked once up the stairs.
“The far left,” he said, and they both entered his bedroom. There were clothes scattered on the king-sized bed because of Sarah’s hurried packing. The woman didn’t seem to mind. She quickly went to the far wall—to the window—and closed the blinds. The room was completely dark.
“Should I turn on a light?” Paul whispered.
“No. No, please. Don’t let it see we’re in here.”
The woman stood by the window, and occasionally peeked outside. Paul stood by the bed, unsure of what to do.
“Start talking. Now,” he commanded.
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“To hell with you. What’s going on?”
“I was walking in the woods, alright? I don’t remember why. Don’t ask me. I don’t even remember my name. I don’t know why this is happening, but it is. This… this thing began following me—”
“What in God’s name is it? Is it a man?”
“No. Not possible. A man couldn’t have pounded the door in like it did. No, this is something else,” she muttered.
“Like what? A wolf? A bear?”
“I don’t know. We need to keep quiet. It knows I’m in here, and it knows you’re in here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Me either,” she concluded, and suddenly gasped. “It’s right there!”
“Let me see,” Paul whispered as he began making his way over to the window.
“No!” she said. “No! Please. It can sense movement.”
“It can’t see me!”
“For all I know, it can.”
“This is absurd.”
He stood in silence for a few moments longer, but couldn’t hold it any longer. “What does it look like? What animal is it?”
“It’s not an animal.”
“What?”
“Shush.”
“Listen. I keep a shotgun in my closet. I am going to get, okay? And then I’ll shoot the little bastard. And then I want you out of my house,” Paul muttered, and opened his closet door. He couldn’t see anything, but knew right where the shotgun was. As soon as he touched it, he froze.
No. Don’t think about. It never happened.
But it did.
“Is it loaded?”
“Yes,” Paul replied and took it out of the closet. “Now, stay here. Keep watching the window. I’m going downstairs and I’ll kill it.”
“Please… what’s your name?”
“Paul. Paul Edgewood.”
“Please be safe, Paul. I can’t get away from this on my own.”
Paul stood by the doorway for a moment, considering what she just said. The way she said it made a chill crawl up his back.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, and exited the bedroom. He closed the door behind him.
*
The house seemed eerily quite. He hated it. But most of all, he hated the chills he was getting. For some reason, he knew he didn’t know what he was getting into. What was this beast? What kind of an animal could chase a woman through a forest and almost tear down a door? A bear, most certainly. But a bear in these forests? That seemed highly unlikely.
He creeped down the stairway, painfully one at a time. He figured, if he moved quickly, he might provoke the animal.
Slowly. One stair at a time.
He wished he was wearing something other than a T-shirt for protection. Something. A coat. A jacket. Another shirt. Anything.
Paul stopped on a middle stair and listened. He didn’t hear any movement from outside. Was it still out on the porch, or beside it? That was where it was when the woman had supposedly seen it. The window she had been looking out was a view of the backyard, and to get to that section of the porch, he would have to travel through the kitchen.
When he stopped on the bottom stair, Paul was aiming into the kitchen. He slowly, very slowly, stepped down from that last step, and treaded into the room. The screen and glass sliding door were still locked. He quickly unlocked the two doors and pushed them to the side. The chilly midnight air kissed his face.
He stepped out onto the porch, and aimed down below it, into the backyard. If the woman was still watching the window, she could surely see him. He peered down below the porch, heart pounding. It felt like it wanted to break out of his rib cage. There was nothing. Nothing at all. He stole a glance up at the window, and saw the woman’s pale face.
He mouthed the sentence, “Where is it?”
Something behind him roared, and Paul screamed. He dropped his shotgun and tripped back into the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of something—some massive shape—move out in the backyard. It was running. It was running toward him!
He screamed again and scampered up onto his feet. The gun was lying on the porch. If he could just reach it—
It was bounding closer. God, that thing was huge!
His fingertips brushed the edge of the gun, but he couldn’t put his fingers around it. He pulled his hand back in time to slam the two doors shut and lock them. The animal crashed into the porch, and there was loud snap. He felt the house shiver under his feet. Paul took off bounding for the stairs, but something in the front room caught his eye.
The front door was hanging ajar.
“How the hell?” he cried, and ran for the door. He slammed it shut and locked it. No use. The lock was broken. The bolt piece was broken in two pieces, lying on the floor.
“Ah, crap,” he muttered, and looked for something—a chair! He ran into the kitchen again, grabbed one of the dining chairs, and spun around with it in his hand.
The door was open again, and this time, the thing was standing just outside of it. He could now get a clear look at it. Massive lumps of big, black fur covered its body. It looked disgruntled and angry. Its eyes, if there were any, were black. Paul didn’t take enough time to look for a mouth. Instead, he dropped the chair and tripped up the stairs. The animal took a step inside the house. Paul climbed the rest of the steps, ran through the hallway, and crashed into the bedroom.
The woman screamed when he entered, and watched him lock the door.
“Paul! You’re alright!”
“We need to move the bed over to the door. Now! Hurry! It’s inside the house!” he cried, and grabbed and edge of the large bed. It was extremely heavy—it took two men to bring in the wooden frame, not even including the weight of the mattress. The woman pushed the other side, but to no prevail. It was too heavy.
“We need to get somewhere safer!” Paul said, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t think of anywhere in the house safer than his bedroom. It had a lock, but that monster broke the bolt on the front door clean in half! There was the factor of the stairs. Maybe the animal couldn’t climb the stairs. They were rather steep—something Paul never liked about the house.
“I feel sick,” Paul suddenly said, and walked to a corner of the bedroom. His knees were failing him. He sat on the floor and shivered. The woman stood next to the bed, breathing quickly. There were noises downstairs, but for the time, they were safe.
“We need to call someone,” the woman said.
“Can’t. The only phone is the one in the kitchen, and I’m not going near that thing again.”
“Then what can we do?”
“Wait until it goes away. We can’t do anything else. I don’t want to attempt to escape. It’s incredibly fast. We wouldn’t be able to outrun it.”
“What is it?” she asked, scooting closer to Paul, who was still on the floor. She knelt beside him.
“I don’t know. It can’t be an animal. I haven’t seen any animal like that in these forests at all. That’s… not an animal, I think. I don’t know what it is.”
“Where is your wife?”
“What?” Paul asked, looking up.
The woman pointed to a picture on the nightstand. It was the picture him and Sarah had taken last fall.
“She’s… she’s at her cousin’s house.”
“Do you think she can help us?”
“Her cousin lives two hours away. And she is planning on—wait. She said she was going to come by tomorrow. If that thing is still here—”
“Listen.”
“What?”
“Listen!” she whispered.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly.”
-
Pt. 2 coming sooner than you think.
-Jared
