Cold Blood

It’s a crisp December morning. The air is dry and cold; one step outside would result in frostbitten fingertips. I sit by the window and watch the snowflakes silently drift towards the white sea that was once green earth. As I sip my lukewarm tea and gaze out into the colorless abyss, I become aware of a sudden shift in the trees a ways away from my house. I squint my eyes to get a better look and notice a tall figure step away from the tree line and into the clearing between my house and the woods. 

The grip on my mug tightens as I watch the figure move. The figure walks slowly with a limp in its right leg and its left arm pulled close to its body. The being seems to sense my observation and looks in my direction. The figure stops and stares through my window right at me. My hands begin to grip the mug even tighter while the figure tilts its head to the side, attempting to get a better look at me through the veil of snow.  I squeeze the mug even tighter, and as the being starts towards my house, the mug shatters. Tea spills and ceramic shards scatter across the wooden floor. I begin to step backwards towards my bedroom door as the creature picks up its pace towards my house. 

On my way to the door, I step on a large piece of ceramic, and with a muffled shriek, fall to the ground. The blood from the arch of my foot begins to drip towards my heel and the floor. I watch in momentary fascination as blood hits the ground and seeps into the cracks between each piece of intricately-placed wood, staining them. Coming back to my senses, my eyes flicker between the creature coming towards me, then my foot and the floor.

Glancing up at the window, I shudder to see a man about seven feet tall, staring at me. His burly appearance makes me imagine his potential for violence. 

The man begins to tap on the glass, trying to get my attention. I slowly creep towards my bedroom door, hoping to get somewhere I feel safe. He then begins to pound on the glass, hard, as if angered by my fear. The man begins to shout from behind the glass, his breath fogging up the window.

“Hey! Come back!” he yells, “Please come back!”

I remember his limp. I begin to stand up slowly, trying to be mindful of my own injury. As I hobble towards the window, the man looks at me with hope in his eyes. “Help!” he mouths. I point to the right, gesturing towards the front door. He begins walking towards the porch and I prepare to meet him at the front door with a knife.

I open the door with my sweater pulled over my hand to hide the knife I’m holding. As soon as the door swings open, a huge gust of frigid wind is blown in my face. I step back and wave the man inside. While trying to keep a four-foot distance from the man, I ask him to follow me to the kitchen.

Suddenly, a deafening, blood-curdling roar floods the air. The man whips his head around and looks through the window beside the door. Once again, my hands begin to shake.

I throw open the doors on one of the dark-stained cabinets in the kitchen and grab a leather bag. “What is that?” the man asks.

“First-aid kit,” I explain. I gesture for the man to follow me and I begin to limp quickly towards the basement door. “Down here!” I say to the man. We quickly descend the staircase into the poorly-insulated basement.

The monster will be here soon.

I throw the bag down and sit on the cold, concrete floor. The man does the same. “That bag is pretty heavy duty,” he says.

 “I like to be prepared,” I say. “You never know what could be lurking in those woods.” The man and I make eye contact and his eyes seem to send a message of thanks. As he takes off his thick coat, I pull out the knife from under my sleeve and stab him in the stomach. The man yells, clutching his abdomen to try and stop the bleeding. The blood soon begins to slip through the cracks between his fingers. 

The ground begins to shake, the monster’s footsteps signaling his approach. I start to grin. The man attempts to scramble towards the staircase.

“Don’t do that,” I say. He doesn’t respond. He focuses all of his attention on getting out of the basement.

I watch him crawl to the stairs. “I’m trying to kilI you,” I explain patiently.

“That’s what I thought!” he shouts. “I just wasn’t sure!”

Suddenly, the monster’s hand busts through the wall next to the basement window, flinging wood and drywall everywhere. It reaches down and snatches the man off the ground. He lifts the man up towards his mouth and bites off his head. Once the man’s head and part of his neck is out of sight, the monster’s grip loosens and the headless man falls to the floor. His blood begins to pool on the concrete and it slowly spreads towards me, a sea of red inching closer and closer.

I can hardly contain my hunger around the scent of blood. I watch the monster as he begins to merge back to his human form. Every inch of his body simultaneously sheds long white fur and shrinks down to his original shape.

“You took the best part,” I yell as he jumps down through the hole in the wall to join me on the basement floor.

“You’ll live,” he retaliates. My mouth begins to salivate when I see his knife slicing the headless man’s flesh. I rush over to join him. 

For 100 square miles, it’s just him and I: Bonnie and Clyde of the cannibal kind. We look at our feast, and with a long sigh, lower our heads and begin to dine.