Chasing Oddities

Running through a marshy backdrop with any night-birthed light interrupted by fog, I’m headed for home. I’m a torpedoing through the mist aiming for my house-lit backdoor because I know who’s chasing me. We’d never met, but I knew his name and I knew he was a ghastly behemoth that wanted to sever my body from itself.


Why was I leading him home, then? And that would’ve been much more difficult if the slug-paced zombies were nearer, but they had just begun crossing the stretched out driveway.

I flung open the screen door, nearly broke the door down, and pounced to a halt inside the house.

The storage space was hot. The place looked clean enough, but that could’ve been just generous lighting. Everything had a dim tone.

I walked into the hollow kitchen with peeling plastic floor tile. The emptiness of the kitchen made the house look bigger than it really was, and it was still hot. I smelled stale, funky sex. A petite brunette was dressing herself, buttoning her shirt. Had I not been so concerned about being hacked to pieces, I still doubt I would have freaked out that she had only one leg, but the clown sitting on the stool, shabbily dressed with a questionably puke-like stain smothered over his white wife beater is what truly stunned me. His cigar smelled good and his white suspenders were clipped to baggy, sketchy checkered orange and red pants. The black floppy shoes had been displaced in the corner behind the clown and if that was smothered puke on his shirt I wasn’t going to consider even looking anywhere near his feet.

The chainsaw howled. The big guy was near.

I quickly abandoned the strange couple that became less strange the more I thought about the idea of them as an actual couple. I noticed the steel twin doors that blocked the entrance to the one room I had never been allowed into. The right door was slightly ajar and considering the circumstances I wasn’t about to wait for an invitation.

I stepped through, entering the one room I had never been allowed to enter.