He was grateful. Even after cutting himself on rusted nails clinging to dilapidated window frames, and scrambling into a rancid smelling bathroom, trying to stop the bleeding, he was thankful for the roof over his head, the walls that protected him against an undead horde that had long since stopped following him, for a semblance of warmth away from the frigid rain. He cradled his hand in pain, all the while shifting through fabled treasures hiding away inside a medicine cabinet.
He ripped open a box of bandages, all of which manically burst forth. He unscrewed the lid of a brown bottle and poured iodine directly onto his wound. He winced, the scent making its way to his nostrils. He unfolded the bandages and wrapped them around his arm. He tightened the ends before sighing in relief. He sank to the floor, his weary body melting on the icy surface. He was tired.
Where are you?
His head was pounding. Now, he had to rest. He was safe here.
Jonah?
He covered his ears.
Jonah, mommy’s scared.
He slept.
This house was a mess.
Dishes were filthy, lying in the sink for God knows how long. Rotting food thickened the air with putrid pride, and flies gathered around a rust colored spot that sinisterly embraced the floorboards. The cracked, flat screen TV was mounted against a wall full of holes, with the plethora of movies lying on the ground, many of which were completely destroyed. Nails lay listlessly on the floor, rolling around as if they had somewhere else to be. There were a lot of clothes on the floor. Cobwebs graced the walls and corners, intertwining with dust bunnies to create a gossamer nest only dead insects and spiders could navigate. Jonah was sure that if he opened any of the closets, he’d find bodies.
He had already boarded up the window he’d broken to escape the horde. The cabinet doors were ripped open, and the dining table was torn asunder. The front and back doors all need to be repaired to the nth degree. There was running water but no electricity.
But he didn’t know how much longer he could take surviving out there. Even though it was risky being in the suburbs, he had somewhere to stay. Much of the food stored in the pantry was salvageable, and besides, he narrowly escaped the last attack; he wasn’t about to risk anything right now.
Your father’s a slut who’s been slinging his dick on the side.
Without much fanfare, he grabbed the nails and separated them gingerly, carefully placing each one in the palm of his hand. He started screwing the door frame in. Every squeak made him jump. Every rustle gave him a goddamn heart attack. But it had to be done. His dad showed him how to install a door when he was younger. And the windows? Well, he wasn’t going hammer anything in right now, was he? Especially with the strange, swaying silhouettes in the background.
And mommy’s a bitch who’s been fucking all the neighbors.
He seized the blouse lying on the ground and covered the openings. It will have to do. It’s not the best, but it’ll provide some sense of comfort. Tomorrow morning, he’ll see if he can find some wood in the basement. Or the garage. Perhaps Gorilla Glue will magically appear while he’s searching.
Sweetheart?
From the corner of his eye, he saw a large bedroom door at the end of the hallway. The masters, he figured. Should he knock on the door? Maybe there were supplies he could use. But when he took a step forward, scratches tore through the silence. Animalistic grunts maimed the calm Jonah started to feel.
Baby.
But it didn’t matter. As far as he could tell, the door was locked. As long as all the other entrances were covered, he was fine.
Daddy’s a bastard, and Mommy’s a whore.
The doors were fixed, and wood replaced his makeshift curtains. Miraculously enough, he found Gorilla Glue, and proceeded to patch the house’s weak spots. No need for hammers or loud noises. One day, he may change his mind and refortify, but until then.
Jonah, where are you?
Next on his list was the kitchen. The smell was getting to him. But it’s not like those monsters can smell. And he hasn’t seen any of them in days, so he should be in the clear for the time being. He might even get a head start on the den. There was another bedroom in that hallway, one right next to the master’s, a little girl’s room, from what he could tell. With a cursory glance, he could tell it was moderately hygienic.
Boy, get yours back here now!
He rolled up his sleeves.
I’m not telling you again.
He got to work.
He liked the girl’s bedroom. It was soft and pink, and it reminded him of a time he liked pink things. Not on him, of course. But good things came in the color pink: birthday candles, wallpaper filled to the brim with ribbons and teddy bears and nail polish that decorated his mother’s nails.
There was a white dresser seated next to the bed, the surface, similar to the master’s bedroom door, covered in butterfly stickers and glitter. An ornate vanity mirror lay next to a closet with a golden jewelry box against it. The box reminded him of his mother’s things. It comforted him to some degree.
He shifted in his bed, gazing silently at the ceiling. He placed his hands on top of his stomach. Despite his imposing stature, he didn’t like sleeping in the open. No, he’d rather be cramped, hide, lying somewhere he could blend in like he did when he was little.
See? All you have to do is shut up.
He hasn’t gone to the master bedroom. Smelled bad. But he’s been here this long, and it hasn’t given him any problems.
Suddenly, there was a crash.
Jonah!
He couldn’t move. Thunderous noise erupted from the hallway. In the room next door.
Jonah! Get your ass down here!
His breathing was shallow. He was fighting. Something wrapped around his throat. There was pressure on his chest.
He grabbed his hair. He was screaming. His mother was screaming.
It grabbed his hair. He was screaming. A little girl grunting. A woman moaning.
Can’t do anything right.
More blood on the floor that night. Another body was dragged into the master bedroom. And a loving family gleefully watched the end of yet another tragedy.
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Author bio: Laurie Nguyen has been a writer and book reviewer since 2017. She has a particular fondness for writers such as Anne Rice, Edgar Allen Poe, and authors of dark romance. You can find her work on Your Impossible Voice and Midwestern Book Review, as well as her website, The Ugliest Sinners Book Reviews, at https://theugliestsinnersbookreviews.wordpress.com.