SMALL COMFORT: By James Kunkle
Tuesday, October 18th, 2011Henry Fellows was scared. Straight down to your socks, hair turning white, pissing your pants scared. He sat alone in the bedroom of his small apartment, pillow gripped tightly against his chest, staring at the light underneath his bedroom door. Shadows flickered across the light and Henry shrieked in terror. He jumped onto his bed and pressed back into a corner, holding his pillow as a shield, but his eyes never left the small sliver of light.
It had been almost a week since he had taken refuge in his bedroom, to keep those things at bay. They wanted in more than anything; he knew this to be true. They wanted his blood, and they were still out there. Yes they were, they were still outside the door, right outside the door. He slid down on the wall, to give him a better angle on the bottom of the door. Shadows continued to pass across the light, as if someone, or something, were pacing just outside the door.
It had started the day he locked his bedroom door. They had been watching him for days, never giving him a moment of rest. They were everywhere. He could not be alone, even in an empty room. Except for this room. Once he made it in here, they seemed to sense that he was not going to be coming out. At first, they just made random inquiries, just to get him thinking everything was gravy, but now they were more serious in their actions, more blatant in what they were after.
They were trying to kill him.
The growls, snarls, and roars were only the beginning. Then the attempts to get through the door started. At first, it had shuddered under the strain as the creatures slammed against it. It wavered, but it held. Now, however, they were scratching at the other side of the door, ripping at the wood with sharpened claws, raking nails, splintering the wood. He knew they were through their side of the hollow core door, he just prayed that they could not get any further.
All night he had waited for them to come through, but the night was more or less quiet and then this morning they had attacked the door with renewed vigor. Henry was convinced the door would shatter this time, but again, it had held firm. They were growing more ferocious, more fevered in their attack, ripping and clawing at the door. There was a spot in the top corner of the door where he could swear there was light now getting through, when before there had been none. There were coming in from all angles!
Henry eyed the bathroom, noting it as his last line of defense. If they made it through the bedroom door, they would have to get through yet another if they wanted him. He was not going down without a fight. Cowering in the corner of his room, Henry felt brave and stalwart.
Then they started on the doorknob, wrenching it back and forth violently, shaking the door on its hinges. Henry leaped from the bed and skidded into the bathroom, slamming hard into the tiled floor. He grabbed the door, ready to slam it shut against the onrush of those fiends, but they had not made it into the room yet.
The bottom of the door was beginning to splinter and bulge inward. Henry stared until he felt his eyes would pop and then he saw light through the door. The howls became more frenzied, more bloodthirsty. The creatures were gasping and snarling as they dug at the door, shredding the inside piece of laminate wood.
He could see their claws coming through the wood, ripping, tearing. Growling and breathing with anticipation.
Henry screamed like a little girl, pissed his pants and slammed the door shut, locking it tight. He fell backward, into the shower, taking down the curtain, rod and all. Cringing on the floor, his pants stained, his spirit shattered, he awaited death. The bathroom door shuddered fiercely, as the creature crashed into it, repeatedly. Henry whimpered in terror, unable to move from his last corner. When he heard the scratching on the door, he began screaming.
A few minutes later, the screams stopped.
***
The police were in Henry Fellows apartment. The front door had yellow caution tape across it and several men and women were busy taking snapshots or collecting clues. A large man in a tan jacket gave the rest orders, supervising their work. A uniformed police officer soon joined him.
“Detective Harrison? Everything from the other rooms have been tagged and bagged. Anything else I can do?”
“Yeah, Vargas,” answered Harrison. “You can tell me what this guy was so afraid of? What made him lock himself in there, for over a week it looks like? What would make a man do that?”
“I don’t know, sir. There was no sign of entry to the apartment. The evidence seems to show he was alone in here.”
“He wasn’t alone,” corrected the Detective. “I don’t know how he could have just stayed in there and let them all die. No wonder they were trying to get to him. They figured he would save them, not let them die.”
Strewn about the apartment were the dead bodies of animals. Dogs, cats, ferrets and some very big birds, nearly a dozen in all, all dead from dehydration, with the majority found near the bathroom door. Inside the bathroom was the late Henry Fellows corpse, dehydrated, shriveled, and bearing a visage of pure terror, but otherwise unmarked.
One of the animals, a spaniel of sorts, was lying in Henry’s lap.
“Well, let’s get moving, Vargas,” said Harrison. “I hope his pets gave him some small comfort in the end.”
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©2011 James Kunkle
