The First Attack
I wrote this about 2 years ago and thought I'd lost it. It's actually Chapter 4 of a big story I had in mind. I read it and it sounds just like me, with big pretentious words and plenty of adverbs and adjectives:) Still I'd appreciate any opinions on it
The front door smashed open and slid across the hall floor into the kitchen, slowing to a stop at the dinner table. David and Marie looked up from their suppers in total shock, but nothing could have prepared them for what they saw standing in their doorway.
Two eight-foot-tall monsters were staring right at them from the dark street. Their green eyes glowed like traffic lights, except they were narrowed and angled upwards. They gnashed their razor-sharp teeth in hunger, their massive fists clenched, ready for the kill. For what seemed like an eternity, they just stood and glared at their intended prey.
Then one stepped into the house. It stunk of blood.
David reached across the table and gripped Marie’s hand. He grabbed her chin and practically forced her to look at him. “Get out of here. Get Ben and go. Now!”
But Marie was ashen, trembling uncontrollably. She was shaking her head, not just to say No, but in pure disbelief.
The beast took another step. Its talons clicked on the wooden floor.
David jumped out of his chair, reached up above the glass cabinet behind him, and retrieved the sawn-off shotgun he’d only recently purchased. The tag was still hanging off the firing end. Standing tall and proud, David pointed the weapon at the slowly-approaching intruder, then turned to his wife and hissed, “Marie! Get him and go!”
This time she broke free of her trance and nodded numbly. She whimpered as she fled to the rear of the kitchen and up the stairs. He counted the thump-thump-thumps until he reached fourteen.
Okay, she’s at his bedroom. Time to nail this freak.
David braced the butt-end against his shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bang was deafening, and the recoil was so powerful he half expected his arm to be ripped off, on the floor, still clutching the gun.
As for the hellish creature, it let out a piercing screech and fell down hard on the hallway floor. Thick green mucus was gurgling from between its spiked jaws. It thrashed around for a moment, then lay still.
David let out a wavering sigh.
One down.
From behind, he could hear his wife running down the stairs a little heavily, as if carrying a heavy sack.
Or a heavy son, David thought with an inward smile. Ben had been getting bigger and stronger lately.
“David!” Marie cried out, and instantly he knew something was wrong.
The second beast was moving towards him, much faster than its slain comrade. But David had to see if she was okay. He kept his shotgun trained on the intruder’s head, as he turned and saw Marie toppling to the floor before him. Blood was seeping from her stomach. She was mumbling incoherently.
“Marie!” He wanted to run to her, to scoop her up in his arms and run out the back door. Ben was still upstairs though. Marie hadn’t made it.
Which meant there was someone, something, up there with him.
Hot breath gushed against his ear. Even as he swung to face it he knew it was too late. Searing pain ripped through his chest. He moaned in agony, lost the feeling in his arms. The gun clattered to his feet, and he crumpled to his knees, trying to keep his senses. All he could see was the beast’s torso, now mere inches away.
It let out a cry of victory, then swiped at him again, this time scoring the flesh from the left of his face.
The pain was unbearable. Hot lava—or was it blood?—oozed from his temple. In the chaos of fear, rage and torture, he reached out blindly for the shotgun, searching sightless for the cold steel, hoping against hope that he would grab it and send this monstrosity into the abyss.
A horrible fist smashed him in the head, and he was thrown flailing into the wall of hanging plates. The last thing he saw was the animal crouching low over Marie, one hand stretched out, reaching for her neck.
Marie. God, no, Marie. I’m so sorry…
Then, everything faded away. All his hopes died, and then so did he.
Marie cradled her lacerated stomach, crying as the pain consumed her every thought. Yet even as she felt unconsciousness swallowing her up, she heard “Mom Mom Mom!” being called out, over and over again like some terrified chant.
“Ben, run!” Her words were gurgled. She could taste blood in her mouth. She knew she was dying. The slimy mess in her hands was most certainly her innards. But she’d be damned if she saw her son die at this hell-sent giant’s hands.
She looked up at the green eyes. She spat in them.
“You will not take him.”
A voice, unmistakably human, replied, “No. It will not. But I will.”
It came from behind her. The stairs?
You’re not getting my child!
Marie attempted to clamber to her feet, but the beast coiled its claws around her throat and squeezed hard. She looked into those awful eyes once more.
With a crunch, her neck was broken, and she saw no more.
“Mom! Mom!”
Ben slammed his fists against his bedroom door, tears streaming down his cheeks. He tried again and again to open the door, but it would not budge. The door wasn’t locked. It wasn’t even that strong. Any other day, he knew he could punch and kick his way out.
But today, the door possessed more strength than an iron slab.
Ben cried out to his mother again, all too aware that she was in terrible pain. The screams, the gunshots, the violence…it all echoed up to him, just as the front door being thrown open two minutes before had broken his dreams and thrown him awake.
Why can’t I get out?!
And then, the door swung open. Ben gasped, and waited for one of the burglars to burst in and kill him. He dropped to one knee, just as his dad had taught him, and brought one fist up behind his head.
No-one came in. The landing was empty. The house was silent.
Both relieved and really nervous, the young boy got back to his feet and tip-toed to the top of the stairs. Down he stared, to the kitchen floor.
Blood was everywhere. A pale arm stuck out from the left. It was moving.
She’s still alive!
He raced down the stairs so fast that he nearly broke his neck. One foot landed in blood and sent him skidding across the room. That was lucky, because he barely dodged an out-swept claw. Scraping to a halt, Ben twirled to see the beast still crouched over his mother’s dead body. Its fangs were bloody, thin tendrils of flesh trailing from her throat to its incisors.
The body was twitching, because the thing had been tugging at it with its mouth.
Eating his mom.
In a heartbeat it was on him, its claws digging deep into his shoulders. Its breath made him want to retch. Its eyes narrowed to slits. If it were possible with such a distorted mouth, Ben was pretty sure it was grinning.
Ben sucker-punched it in the left eye.
That caught it off guard. It hobbled back a few feet, apparently disgusted at its own ineptitude. Then it crouched low and snarled, baring its teeth. It resembled an overly long hyena. Its shoulders bunched up, and it pounced.
A voice roared out from all angles: “Verik Tyrannok!”
A millisecond before it landed on Ben and ripped him apart, it stopped in mid-air. It hovered, its head swinging this way and that in total confusion.
From the hallway, a tall man stepped in. He wore long robes, and bore a ragged grey beard down to his kneecaps. In his hands he carried a five-foot withered cane. He pointed it directly at the floating animal, and whispered something too quietly to be heard.
When he was finished, the dog-thing looked around, still baffled. That look quickly disappeared though, when it exploded in a rain of fur and fangs and flesh. Green phlegm-like liquid spattered everywhere, and its death cry echoed throughout the house.
It was gone.
Ben stared at his Mom and Dad’s dead bodies for a very long time.
He dropped to his hands and knees and retched. He could see white padded shoes coming quickly towards him, and prepared for another attack. But when he looked up he met the eyes of the same strange man who had ripped apart the animal with a wooden stick.
Those eyes…
The old man rested a hand on his feverish forehead and soothed him, “There, there. You poor young man.” His warm smile was genuine. “You must come with me.”
Ben croaked, “I…know you.”
The stranger shook his head. “I highly doubt that.”
He hoisted Ben to his feet, looked him up and down, then urged, “Come.”
Placing one hand on the boy’s shoulder, he guided him out into the shadowy midnight street.
Ben shook his head. Pain racked his whole body all of a sudden. His shoulders ached most of all. Drums raged in his head. He felt so weak. The night seemed to close in on him. The shadows overpowered the light, and he felt himself falling.
As his eyes closed and his mind gave way to trauma, one name rose from the seething black hole.
Ryad.
