Tale of The Kihmera (Prologue) "Filler"

Tale of The Kihmera (Prologue) "Filler"

Rated R: for graphic descriptions of gore

All critiques and comments are more than welcome. Be brutal, I really don't mind at all

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Every life consists of moments, and with each that passes, we make decisions that ultimately change the course of our existence. Some moments are trivial; we may not even notice them as they weave in and out of our lives. Others are almost comically neon; they stand out so well, if life were a horror film, we would hear the audience screaming, “No, don't open the door!” In each lifetime, hundreds of millions of these little moments pass us by, and if we are lucky, a handful of the big ones as well.

Then there are people like me. Once in a great while someone is born out of place. These people seem to pop into existence out of nowhere, and the most remarkable thing about them - is that there is nothing remarkable about them. For whatever reason, they have no big moments. They go through their lives, one day blurring into the next, until they grow old and die. Nothing in the world changes because they exist. I am one of these invisible people.

Until I turned eighteen, nothing ever happened to me. In fact, I was possibly the most unremarkable person ever. Even people we think are ordinary never are. Everyone has these moments that define why they are different from everyone else: maybe their parents had a divorce; or they met some rock star, perhaps they broke an arm - anything noteworthy. Nothing like that had ever occurred in my life.

I was born Kihmberly Anne Morgan - an only child. Everything about me has always been the epitome of average. I grew up with both my mother and father in a small but clean house, and our neighborhood was like any other middle class neighborhood. Like all newer communities, we never interacted with our neighbors other than to return mail that had found its way into our mailbox instead of theirs, and even then, we sometimes threw it away instead. Every day I woke up, drove to school, came home, rinse, and repeat. Life was one big endless déjà-vu. Nevertheless, it was my existence, and as lackluster as it seemed, I was grateful for it. There are far worse things than to lead an uneventful life.

The day after I graduated high school, I moved out of my parent's house. I figured, if I moved out, I would have an adventure - maybe even one of those big moments everyone else seemed to have. I never felt like I had fit in the world. I felt numb - hollow. I had my parents, but even then, I did not feel like I belonged. It was as if someone had removed me from my life, the one I was supposed to have, and had dropped me into this one. I was filler. Then, one particular Tuesday, everything changed.

*****

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Like every day that had come before that one, I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock. The shrill tone pierced my dreamless sleep, and ripped me from the darkness. I groaned and groped around; my eyes still closed, and finally hit the flat gray snooze button. I buried my face into my pillow, took a deep breath, and inhaled the scent of sleep to bolster me through the morning. I hated my job - but mostly, I hated that I had to get up at 5 a.m. Opening shift sucked.

Crap. I sighed aloud. Okay. I rolled out of bed, and then rubbed my face in an attempt to wake myself up. I never drank coffee, but at least once every morning I seriously reconsidered. Today was no different. I had never liked to rely on caffeine to get me through my day. I stretched to ease my stiff muscles, and stumbled down the hallway and into the bathroom. I winced at the sight of the 1960's foil flowers that plastered the walls. It was wallpaper - or so my landlord had informed me, but I still had my doubts. I had lived here, in my tiny one bedroom house, for almost four months already, and still the sight of gold stylized poppies in the morning made me want to gag.

The faded linoleum was cold under my bare feet as I padded over to the bathtub. It was an unfortunate relic from several decades before my time, and a nasty stain settled into the deeper end of it. I had decided never to ask what had caused the stain. To tell the truth, I was a little afraid of it. Old hammered glass doors on aluminum tracks encased the tub, taking the place of a more modern shower curtain, and I slid one aside.

I pushed my shoulder-length hair back behind my ear and turned the water control knob to adjust the temperature. As the water ran, I waved my fingers through it and gave a silent prayer to the water heater gods. My water heater had been on the fritz as of late, and I was not enthusiastic about another cold shower for the third day in a row. I stood up, shook the water from my hand, and wandered over to the one window in the small bathroom. I kneeled atop the toilet's lid as I waited for the water to warm. My bare knees grew numb from the cold porcelain, but I hardly noticed as I pulled down the yellowed mini blinds with a still-damp finger and peeked out at the waking world.

The small window radiated with cold, like an ice cube pulled straight from the freezer. What little sun had started to peek above the horizon came filtered through gray storm clouds. It was more night than day, and through the dew-covered window, I could tell it had rained overnight. The grass between my neighbor's rhododendrons and my house lay wet and trampled by morning winds. The somewhat crooked picket fence was dark where the weathered wood showed through the peeling paint.

After a few moments, I let the blinds spring back into place and slid off the lid of the commode. I shivered as I closed the bathroom door all but the last four inches. I had never liked to close the bathroom door all the way. I figured that if I could keep the steam of the shower from filling the bathroom like a sauna, I probably would not feel as cold when it came time to leave its warm confines. I crossed to the tub, and then held my hair back as I pulled the pin below the water control to set it to 'shower'. I slid the shower door closed with a quick push before it soaked my bathroom rug.

I peeled off the faded Curves gym T-shirt-shirt and panties I had worn in lieu of pajamas then kicked them into a heap in the corner of the bathroom. Some day I would consider buying a hamper. I slid back the shower door and climbed in, then closed it behind me. Mentally I ran over my schedule for the day. I was not obsessive compulsive about schedules, but I hated to be late for anything. There was something about the thought of being late that made my heart skip a beat.

I checked off my to-do-list in my head as I rinsed my hair, and attempted to figure out if I had enough time to stop by the grocery store after my shift ended. It was then, as the lukewarm water cascaded down my back, and the roar of the shower filled my ears, that I heard the faint melody of The Itsy Bitsy Spider. Now, I am not crazy. I am not one of those people that hear voices often and claim to see ghosts and demons, but when I heard a little girl's voice as she sang in my bathroom, it made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

I wiped the water from my eyes, then stilled. The melody of the child’s song wafted above the clamor of the water, and I searched the blurry shapes beyond the shower doors for movement. I could barely see through the soap-scum-covered glass, but I jumped when a small form moved to stand only inches from me. Her features were blurry, dark globs of color mutilated by the dimpled glass. Her hair was dark and lay in stark contrast to the white dress she wore. She continued to sing over the din of the water. I stood as if frozen. My heart beat a heavy thump-thump-thump in my chest, and I struggled to muster up the courage to open the shower door. Seconds ticked by like hours until at last, I took a step forward. My fingers trembled as I pressed them to the glass and cautiously, slid the door to one side. It was difficult to breathe, and my body was tense with anticipation and fear. In one fluid movement, I shoved the shower door open. A loud crash resonated in the small room as it bounced back off the opposite wall. The girl was gone, and I gazed down at my bathroom rug where two small footprints matted the pink fibers.

It took a moment, before I could compose myself. I groped behind me to turn off the water, and then grabbed a towel that hung on the rack nearby. My gaze swept the small space. The door was still propped open as I had left it, and I could see that the room was empty. Shaken, I stepped out of the shower. The pink rug at my feet was cold and soggy from the moments I had let the shower spray over it. I stepped around the small footprints, careful not to disturb them.

“No… way…” My brain bounced back and forth between 'ghost' and 'half asleep', and I took the lesser of the two evils. I decided today was a good day to start my coffee addiction. Paranoid, and with the thought that I might be half-crazy, I rushed through my morning routine. I grabbed the first clean clothes I could find and dragged them on with jerky movements. As a last minute thought, I seized my brush and my car keys from an end table in the living room, and then scrambled out the front door.

Someone is watching me.

My skin crawled and my heart raced as I locked my front door. I was numb, and small goose bumps rose on my skin. It felt as if someone were watching me, the air felt thick, and I half-jogged to my car in a nervous rush. The wind was cold and as time wore on the sky grew darker. My fingers trembled as I unlocked my car then threw my brush into the passenger seat. I had seen too many horror films in my life, and as I climbed in and shut my door, I was not brave enough to check my rear-view mirror. Instead, I prayed aloud as I sped my silver Camry out of the driveway.

“Please God, don't let there be any children behind my car, because, if I run them over - I am not stopping.” I floored the gas as I fled the small, dilapidated neighborhood. I slowed only after I believed I was far enough from home that the little girl could not follow. I pulled up to an intersection as the light turned red. I sat back, and took a deep breath to calm myself. I watched out my windshield as people sat in their cars, oblivious to trauma.

This is what a big moment feels like.

The red light seemed to drag on forever, and I bit my lip as I let myself check the rear-view mirror. I was relieved to find the back seat empty and everything, as it should be. My knuckles were white with strain as I clung to the steering wheel like a drowning woman clings to a life raft. I turned back towards the front of the car. Out of the corner of my eye, a small movement caught my attention. My heart skipped a beat. I turned my head. Sure enough, standing at the corner to my right, was the same little girl who had stood outside my shower.

She was seven or eight, pale, and thin. Her hair was a deep chocolate and fell to her knees in wind-blown locks. The sky let loose the first few drops of rain as the clouds writhed overhead, and I gaped out at the barefoot girl. She wore a thin white summer dress that whipped around her legs as gusts of wind battered her still form. She stood silently, and watched the cars as they sped past. Something about her seemed unnatural. She was solid enough, like any other child I would see heading off to school at that hour, but there was something about the way she did not move, that made my skin crawl. An ingrained part of me knew that children fidgeted, they scuffed their shoes as they glanced around, always waiting for the next interesting thing to see. She did not. It was not like what I saw in the movies. She did not twitch and jump about like some ancient black and white film. She sat motionless, like a deer as it waits for the hunter to pass. She knew I was there, we both knew it, and yet she stood at the crosswalk and waited until she had the attention of every driver. She moved then, a slow turn, and faced the intersection. The move was calculated, graceful, like a choreographed dance.

Like so many others that morning, I watched in horror and fascination as the little girl turned her head to smile in my direction, and stepped out into the middle of oncoming traffic.

Breaks screamed in protest and the metallic crunch of cars as they collided drowned out all other noise. The semi-truck closest to the girl swerved and ran into the car next to it. Dozens of cars barreled into each other, and my car was no exception. With a sickening crunch, my chest collided with the steering wheel. I could hear my ribs crack as they fragmented under the impact. Air burst from my lungs and for a few terror-filled moments, I could not breathe. A blinding pain erupted in my head as it bounced off the windshield, and dark spots danced before my eyes. Glass splintered and cracked around me. Horrified, I screamed as other terrified drivers sped towards my vehicle like a fatal round of bumper cars. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced my hands against the dashboard. The ground gave way beneath me as my car lifted from the pavement and hurtled over the car in front of it. The world flickered through my eyelids as sky and asphalt hurtled past my window. Then… there was nothing.

Darkness greeted me. The thump-thump-thump of panic in my chest was the first thing I heard when at last I awoke.

I am alive.

I twitched a blood-covered finger involuntarily and listened to the people around me scream and sob. I could hear sirens in the distance. My head swam dizzily. Vague memories and half-muted sounds replayed in my head. The accident was a blur, but I remembered my head had hit the windshield.

How long have I been unconscious?

My body was numb; the kind of numb felt when I had cut my finger and my brain had yet to catch up to tell me about the pain. It was cold, and with a great deal of effort, I opened my eyes. I was groggy and my eyelids felt like lead. My breath came in shallow bursts as I lifted my head to glance around me. My chest throbbed, and I felt drunk, my movements slow. I closed my eyes as the world pirouetted before me and only opened them again once it had stopped. I could not see much from where I lay. A heavy weight pressed against my back, and I knew I must be pinned.

A few inches from my face, the mangled remains of my car door sat still attached to the structure of the car. Jagged edges of blood-soaked glass jutted from the frame like a gaping mouth, and beyond that, wet pavement. I watched as people ran past my window to the other cars somewhere nearby - I could see only their shoes as they streaked past. The rain fell in heavy drops outside my car and the air was hazy with smoke and water. Farther off in the distance I could see the semi-truck that had started this mess. I had not hit the semi, but the large hole in the side of the trailer told me that someone had.

Feeling returned to me in a slow creep, and with it: pain. A half-choked sob escaped my lips as I attempted to lift myself onto my elbows. I needed to get myself out of the wreckage. I had seen too many movies where cars exploded and caught on fire, and at that moment, I could not imagine a more painful death. Bile rose in my throat as I pulled myself forward a half inch, and then laid my head back down atop my arms. I felt an odd, painful, tugging sensation in my stomach that stopped me from moving again.

I can’t feel my legs. Not good.

“Come on Kihmi - stay awake. You can't go unconscious.” I coughed mid sentence and did not need to look to know I had coughed up blood. I could feel it all around me, smell it in the air, the unmistakable stench of gore. I felt its wet warmth as it matted my hair, and made it stick to my skin. I longed to wipe the blood from my eyes, but I did not think I could. It was only after I had set my head down that I began to notice other things; the first was that there was wet pavement under me where the car roof should have been. I did not stop to wonder why.

I lay with my arms under my chest and my forehead to the pavement. I could see a little more out my window from this position. I spotted one of my high-traction work shoes beyond the frame of the car. I stared at it, as my eyes traced the pattern of the non-skid sole, and I let it lie there even though I could have reached it with little effort. It was not important. I watched as the rain struck the skin of my leg, and as it soaked into the sock that was crimson with blood - it still lay tucked into my scuffed shoe. I was not going to wear them again anytime soon.

I glanced back then, a slight tilt of my head. I could see beyond the twisted remains of the interior of my car to where the driver's seat protruded from my body. A great pool of blood and intestines formed a macabre trail that led beyond the compacted rear window. The remains of my lower half sat motionless in the rain beyond it. It was a credit to my state of shock that I laughed, a clipped humorless outburst. It was at that moment I understood why people ran past and did not stop to help.

Why is it taking so long to die? Surely being severed in half is one of those injuries you die nearly instantly from. Resigned, I watched the rain fall outside my window and listened to the people as they screamed and shouted. They skittered about like waterlogged rats. My eyes grew heavy again, and as I waited for the darkness to claim me, I saw two small bare feet step up to my window. I studied the little legs covered in goose bumps. I wonder if she is only half-dead too.