Private Universe

Into the House

Not me, thought Jack and whirled to see where she was looking.

Across the kitchen, just coming through the door, was a lurching horror. No, thought Jack, I killed you. I know I did. His eyes swept the room for weapons, lighted on the knives in their rack. He spun from Bridie’s embrace, leapt to the rack, snatched one of the big kitchen knives out and faced the thing, left hand extended, knife in the right, held blade down, ready to punch and slash. Remember, you’ll have better control while slashing with the blade back. Blade forward is best for stabbing.

‘What are you? What do you want? What are you doing here?’

The thing gave no answer, but raised its one arm as if reaching for Jack, then lurched towards him.

‘Stay back.’

The white, dripping nightmare ignored him and came on. Fear profits a man nothing. Jack exploded forward, slapped the thing’s arm down and slashed the knife across the side of its throat, aiming for the carotid artery. Half an inch below the skin. Five seconds to unconsciousness, twelve to death. The knife bit in, but no blood flowed. Jack slammed the blade backhanded into the other side of the throat and ripped it forward. It came through the windpipe as though cutting cheese. Still the thing was standing and moving forward. It’s dead, it’s dead, the fucking thing is dead. How do you kill them when they’re already dead? Jack side-stepped and hammered his right heel down against the outside of the knee joint. The thing’s leg buckled and it went down to both knees, steadied itself with its one hand on the ground and then started up again. Jack tossed the knife in the air, caught it by the handle in a reversed grip and stabbed to the chest. Damn, missed the heart. Does it matter? The thing’s not pumping blood.

The creature went backwards with the force of the blow, taking the knife from Jack’s hand as it twisted against the ribs. Then it turned on the ground, got its hand behind itself and started to push up to its feet again.  It ignored the knife as though it weren’t there, stood and lurched towards Jack again, the arm extended, the hand grasping.

Jack snapped his fist like a whip against the thing’s biceps in a move that should have paralysed the arm. It didn’t. To buy time he kicked the thing’s leg out again, putting it to the ground and vaulting over a table to put more space between them. Bridie had moved backwards until she was hard up against the sink, her face frozen in horror. Beside her, Jack saw a cleaver she used for disjointing rabbits. He ran up, grabbed it and turned. The creature was rounding the kitchen table.

‘Haaaaa.’ Jack launched himself at the thing, swinging the cleaver in a double-handed downstroke that impacted the front of the skull and split it clear to the level of the eyes. Did the thing pause for a second to look at him with its one good eye? He didn’t have time to tell.

‘Get out of my kitchen, yer feckin demon.’ Bridie’s clout with a rolling pin used the strength of an arm that had been kneading bread and wringing out wet clothes since the age of 14. It drove the cleaver so far in, the blade completely disappeared. And, with that, so did the creature.

The pair of them looked at the space where it had been. Nothing but the ringing of the cleaver and kitchen knife falling on the ground to show anything out of place.

‘Bless me,’ whispered Bridie, in a voice too close to hysteria for comfort. ‘But that’s easy to clean up after, now isn’t it?’

He went to her and pulled her close to him.

‘We’re alright, Bridie. We’re alright.’

‘Jesus, God, Jack. You might be, I know I’m not. What the feck was that? Wait a minute. Wasn’t that like the thing you said you saw?’