Short Fiction: Afterdark

My head.

I had a splitting headache as I woke up to thickly pebbled dirt stuck to the side of my face. I barely took a breath when I inhaled dirt, coughing immediately. I took note of my body, feeling the breeze sweep over my back as I turned my head from side to side. Nothing broken, so far. I braced my hands against the dirt, lifting myself slowly to my knees. Everything else seemed intact. Nothing missing, nothing fractured.

I stayed kneeling, my hands in my lap as I looked around me. The sunlight was dying as the moon was creeping up and the sun was disappearing into the horizon. The line of trees against the darkening sky and tall grass swaying in the light wind as I kneeled in the dirt let me know I was far from home, wherever that was for me. My heart began to race as I felt like something was wrong, but I couldn't remember what it could be. I just felt it in my gut that something bad was happening or about to happen. I couldn't tell what was happening, but I had a sick feeling that I needed to get out of the open.

I took several more breaths, finally deciding to try and rise to my feet to get moving. I stood without pain, feeling hopeful that I wasn’t as badly injured as the headache had me believing for a moment. But even with hope against hope, this nagging feeling would not disappear. Something was wrong. The more I was coming back to myself, the more this sinking feeling kept lingering. Even with the feeling, I knew I had to just keep my wits about me, keep moving as much as I could.

I peered down the dirt path in both directions. The left side was already covered in darkness, the stars sprinkled against the sky while the right was nearing twilight, not yet filled with that night time sheen. And on the right was a little house with a light in the window. I made my way in that direction, praying that the house belonged to someone who was able to help me figure out where I was.

I trudged along, a hole in my jeans at the knee. There was a light sting from a possible scrape, but I barely acknowledged it. I was far too happy that I was able to move my limbs to care about a little cut or whatever it was at my knee as I continued my journey to that little house. I just knew I had to keep moving. Moving seemed to be the most important thing at that moment for me.

I felt the dark creeping, getting closer and closer to true nightfall. I hurried, feeling as if I had to beat the oncoming full night, but why? I couldn't understand why. I also couldn't understand how I got out here in the open on a dirt road, and why I was hurt. Who did this to me and why were questions that were in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t stay stuck on those thoughts. I had to concentrate, get to my destination. As I moved, my steps bringing me close and closer to that possible haven, I tried to keep my wits about me. I took in the surrounding grass on either side of the dirt road... or path. It was too dark to tell which this was for me. Either one was leading me straight to where I was trying to go—needed to go. I had to get out of the open and into a closed space. I knew that much, but I couldn't remember anything more than that.

As I made my way to the cottage, I heard faint screeches. I stopped in my tracks to listen, to stop the crunching of my feet. I bent over to hide amongst the length of the grass, hoping my short stature would be concealed to whatever was out there. I took shallow breaths, trying to keep my racing heart from choking me and giving me away to whatever made that sound out in the dark. Silent moments past and my tongue began to stick to the roof of my mouth, becoming dry and heavy with each passing moment. The dark was fast approaching. I knew that if I couldn’t escape to that house, I was going to be in big trouble. Understanding why was what escaped me.

Then the high pitched sounds came again, stealing me out of my thoughts. This time, the sound was drawn out. It was a squawk more than a screech until I realized there was more than one sound out there in the dark, hidden by the grass. There were things in the grass, hiding like I was, but not for the same reason. The sounds made my stomach drop and my blood turn cold. There was a fear that was building, eating at me with every second that past me by.

I couldn't move. Even if I wanted to (and I did want), I couldn't get my legs to work. They wouldn't listen to me telling them to move and quickly. It seemed the fear had started eating me up. That house was in my sight, so close and still so out of my immediate reach, teasing me. My head began to ache again, but harder as my blood pumped through me with haste. The animalistic noises continued off in the distance, which meant I could make it to that house if I was swift but as silent as possible. I turned my attention back to that house, that light still aglow as I pushed myself forward, bit by excruciating bit, trying my damndest not to bring any attention to myself.

I was lighter on my feet than I expected as I paced my footfalls. I stopped every 20 steps, then listened to see if those strange sounds would be farther away. When they sounded like they were far enough away, I moved again. Every 20 steps. How I knew what to do, how I knew there was danger was another mystery I couldn't wait to get inside to solve. At that moment, all that truly mattered was escaping from the outdoors. I knew that being out was dangerous, that were things outside that were waiting to hurt me or anyone they caught. The pieces were coming back to me the closer I got to the little house. The shroud of mystery was becoming thinner and thinner.

As I neared the home, I could hear those things... whatever they were, moving through the grass on all sides of me. I was close enough to my destination that I made the decision to run full tilt. I pushed myself to move, my feet barely touching the ground as I finally reached the door of the small place. I grabbed and twisted the knob, but it was locked. My stomach dropped to my feet as I tried it again and again. Frustration climbed up into my throat as I groaned. I looked through the window of the place, trying to see if I could get anyone who might be inside’s attention. The only thing I could see was a covering of a curtain that was thin enough, but hid anything inside. I couldn’t see anyone or anything inside. I just knew the light was on. I wanted more than anything to break the window, but opted to knock instead, wishing and praying. Both attempts were futile.

I could hear the loud bellows in the darkness approaching, faster and faster, heading in my direction. Fear had me finally beat my fists on the door, near tears in a panic.

"Please open the door!" I cried out, hoping for anyone inside to hear me, to save me.

As the squawks grew closer, I could see in the darkness the outline of the creatures that made the noise. I screamed as my eyes caught the sight of their decaying features. They moved so fast, too fast, for dead things. That's when it came rushing back to me why I had to get inside. It came back to me why it was so dangerous after dark to be outside, and I was looking right at them. The dead had come back, and were hungry for those who hadn’t turned, who hadn’t reached the fate that these rotten beings had. 

I tried once more to call out, screaming for an answer. “Open the door! Please!”

When I turned to see how close they were, it was too late. They rushed at me. The dead were coming much too quickly. I gave one last try, crying out for whoever was inside to let me in. Except only the dead replied. There was only the feel of nails digging into me, dragging me away into the high grass, away from safety. My screams were all that filled the night.