Derik was happy to be home. Not that he hadn’t had fun today. No, it had been a good day. Good but long. He’d gotten up at sunrise and was now returning very close to midnight. Going out with Ema had been nice, like always, but that meant he’d been doing errands late. It had taken Derik far too long to find the cast iron needed for his next project. There was also that trip to the grocery store. Though it saved him from another trip out, it meant Derik was returning later than he would have liked. In fact, it was way too late for anyone to be out. The moon was high, and the world was cast in shadow.
Though alone, Derik couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. The dim streetlamps did little to quell the crushing darkness. There were plenty of alleyways, and narrow crevices in which people could hide. Creatures unknown hooted from these many hideholes. They were watching. So many tiny eyes. For all Derik knew, a criminal may be among them, poised to leap out and stab him if the mood struck him.
Stop it, Derik thought. Don’t let your imagination run wild again. Nothing bad happened on this street. Aside from the neglected heaps of trash, this street was one of the most ordinary in all of Diveky. Why, the only thing watching him at this time of night would be sweet little Button.
“Meow! Meow!”
Ah, there was the little devil. The cat was waiting by Derik’s front door. Getting up, he slammed his head against Derik’s legs and meowed incessantly. Derik scratched the feline’s furry chin. Button purred with delight, then moved towards the bag which Derik whisked away from him. “Not yet,” he said. “You’ll get your milk when I’m inside…”
He went for the door, but Button tripped him up. Derik tumbled to the ground. Paper bags flew all around. Groceries landed on the pavement. He checked the nearest bag. The eggs were safe. Somehow. Sighing with relief, Derik gathered his things and retreated for the sanctity of his metal shop.
Once inside, Button rushed up the stairs, knowing that his dinner awaited up top. Derik plopped his bag of metals on the smithing table then followed suit. He wasn’t in the mood for work now. A good bath would do him good now. That and a long night’s rest.
The brick of a man was far too broad to comfortably fit in the narrow stairwell while carrying so many bags. He had to ascend with his shoulder pointed ahead. The blacksmith watched each step carefully. The last thing he needed was to fall again. Button waited by the top, masked in shadow though his glowing eyes betrayed him.
Three stairs from the top, Derik stopped. This was the squeaky one. Upon returning home, he always squeaked it three times before entering his apartment. Many found it an odd tradition, and Derik wasn't sure exactly why he started but it was his all the same. He gave the stair a tap.
Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!
Derik smiled, and stepped over. He was about to enter his apartment when:
Squeak.
That last squeak wasn’t his. It came from the kitchen. Button was right in front of him, so it couldn’t have been the cat. Perhaps it was a rat. A fat, hairy, disgusting rat waddling around in his kitchen. Wouldn’t be the first time. Derik could almost smell it, the stench of sewage infesting his nostrils. He shuddered.
The kitchen was just as he left it. The counters were clean, the wooden cupboards were undisturbed. No sign of a rat. Derik sighed with relief. Button hopped up the counter, and continued to meow for his milk. A swift little feline. Probably why he lasted so long outside. Derik poured him a small bowl of milk then put the rest away. The now silent feline lapped it up. After putting in the eggs, Derik left for his bedroom. The nonperishables could be stowed tomorrow. He wasn’t in the mood for it yet.
A long hall separated the kitchen from his bedroom. A harsh breeze blew down the hall, tickling Derik. It felt as if the wind were beckoning forwards. The hall only grew colder the further he went. His thick hair stood on end. His teeth chattered. Derik brought his arms close. Still, he shivered. Had he neglected to pay his heating bill? No. No. Everything had been paid for. The cold must’ve been something else.
That bad odor was stronger too. Like rotten fruit, or even roadkill. So rancid. It was as if something had died in his house. A horrible thought. But that was nothing compared to the howling. The drone was faint at first, but was unmistakable by the time Derik reached his bedroom door.
Was it some dying animal? Or a wounded man? It could just be the wind. But why was it so strong then? Perhaps it was a rat. Or maybe a sneaking thief. What else could this be? Derik gritted his teeth. There was only one way to find out. He reached for the door with an unsteady hand.
Nobody is there, Derik told himself. Why would anyone want to steal from the apartment? All the metal they would even need is downstairs. He repeated that montra, and others like it, several times. It took the better part of a minute, but Derik worked up the courage to open the doorway.
Derik cracked it open, and caught the cold culprit red handed. His bedside window was wide open. The curtains danced like some sort of wraith, back and forth in a hypnotic motion. What a relief. It truly was just the wind. Derik slammed the window shut. The howling stopped. All was still.
Sighing, Derik plopped onto his bed. He was ready to drift away there and then, but something caught his eye. On his nightstand was a picture of him and Ema at their six month anniversary date. Ordinarily, he had it facing the bed but now the picture had been rotated the other direction. Strange. It was set right this morning. When could he have moved it?
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Meow!”
Button approached Derik from behind, nustling him with his head. The cat’s wide eyes no longer glowed. The shivering feline got very close. Derik gave him a pat on the head. “Easy there. What has gotten into you?”
Clang!
The cat ran out of sight. Derik stood tall. That sound. It had come from the kitchen. Derik put his hand to his throbbing heart. He bit his hand to keep from gasping. It was undeniable now: someone was in his house.
Someone was in his house. But that was absurd. There was nothing of value in the apartment. He was being crazy. In fact, he should go to his kitchen himself just to prove it. Derik was being paranoid — like always.
Derik forced himself outside. He kept his back to the far wall as he scooted along. It took five minutes for Derik to get back to the kitchen. The minutes felt like an hour. Each little squeak made him freeze, at which point the blacksmith looked all around, making sure he was safe from all angles before continuing.
Once at the kitchen, Derik turned the light on. The cheap bulb hummed to life. It illuminated half the room, just enough to reveal the long tracks on the markings. Derik clutched the wall. Someone was here. Those weren’t markings. They were footprints. Next to them were splotches of liquid. A red liquid.
Blood red.
Someone was bleeding out. A criminal. Maybe one who got on the wrong side of the mafia. If that’s true, things could get out of hand real fast. Derik had to flee. No, better, he should go to the police. Call the emergency number.
Derik booked it for the exit. He ran across the room, for the closed door above the stairwell. But he stopped just shy of the exit. Someone was bleeding out. Perhaps shot. Maybe on the verge of death. They could die without him. Nobody deserved that, even if they were a criminal.
Derik had to find them. Yet he simply stayed put. Fear had taken hold, leaving him glued to the spot. He cursed his own fear. Doing nothing was idiotic. He had two options: help or run. Someone was here. They could be nearby, watching him from the shadows. Ignoring that would be dumb.
Derik leaned against the stairwell door. He glanced around the room, to the blackened void which surrounded him, but all was still. His groceries were still on the counter. The living room furniture, at least what he could see, was in its place. All was quiet.
Except for the wheezing.
It was faint, but distinct. A low pained wheezing emanated from the door behind Derik. Something downstairs struggled to take breath. That deathly stench had also returned. The intruder was below Derik, and deeply hurt by the sound of it. Against better judgment, Derik opened the door.
A shadow stood at the foot of the stairs. Its shape was human, though it was anything but. The thing resembled a metal statue, with many spiky plates covering its rusted body. Holes littered the creature, showing flesh. Muscles, organs, even places where flesh peeled to reveal bone. These organic and metal parts fused together into some unnatural concoction. An updraft rushed past Derik, carrying the nauseous odor with it. The deathly smell. That shadow was its source. This was a reanimated corpse.
It lifted its head, bones creaking as it did so. The thing’s eyes were aglow. If they even were eyes. They could’ve just as easily been hollow points. This thing couldn’t have been real. There was no magic left. That stuff had been eradicated millennia ago. No, this was an illusion. Had to be. Some wild fantasy that Derik’s sleep deprived mind came up with as a response to his long day. Yes, that’s what it was. “It’s an illusion,” he whispered, voice squeaking. Then louder. “It’s an illusion.”
The illusion ran for Derik, shredding the walls as it ran up the stairwell. Derik slammed the door shut then took flight. He had to escape. Through the window. Round back to the exit. Call someone. Just get out of here. Find a cop. A priest. Anyone who could deal with that demon.
BANG!
The door flew off its hinges, slamming against the far wall. The thing was there. It turned for Derik. It took off with unnatural speed. The blacksmith continued for his bedroom. Howling echoed from behind. The demon was catching up. But he could escape. The bedroom door was open. He was almost at the window. Derik could-
Claws embedded themselves into Derik’s ankle. Five knives stabbed him at once. Derik fell onto his back. Red gushed from his ankle, seeping into the floorboards. The demon stood over him. It tilted its head like a confused wolf. Yelping, Derik scooted away from the creature. He hit a wall. The thing stepped forward. It blocked all exits. Warm blood dripped from its left hand. His blood.
Derik squealed.
“Quit you blithering blacksmith,” the thing wheezed. The words were forced out, each syllable seeming to cause it pain untold. The monster clenched his aged fist. “I need your services.”
It spoke. Why did it speak? This demon wanted him. But why? Derik was a nobody. What could it possibly want him for? Why was this happening to him? No, this was some nightmare. It had to be. Any moment he would wake up, safe in bed. Any moment now.
Seconds crawled by. The monster did not go away. It took another step, making Derik cringe back. He covered his nose to save himself from the intoxicating stench. His vision grew blurred by globby tears.
The demon punched through the wall, missing Derik’s head by mere inches. “I said quit your blithering,” it yelled. “My servants will not succumb to emotion.”
Derik kept his mouth covered. He breathed in, forcing the tears back. He couldn’t cry. He wouldn’t. This was a matter of life and death. Derik rocked back and forth. He thought of a happy memory: himself, working on his newest project in the forge. The door was wide open. Kids played in the street outside. The tears died away.
“Good,” the demon wheezed, standing upright. Its smile was just visible beneath the visor of its helmet. Many teeth were missing with the rest being green and rotten. Stepping away, the demon shambled towards the kitchen. “Follow me. We have much work to do.”
“W-Work?”
“Yes,” the demon said. “Are you up for it?” The demon scowled before showing its claws, signaling to Derik that refusing it would be the last decision he ever made.
Derik nodded, and struggled to stand again. The effort hurt like crazy, but if he didn’t, then who knew what this thing would do to him. He couldn’t support himself due to the bleeding ankle, and he clutched the wall for support. Derik shambled ahead, even as he left his own bloody streak on the floor.
The demon watched from close up, matching Derik’s motions. Did it want to keep Derik within killing distance? Or was this just an act of mockery? The thing made no effort to help the flailing blacksmith along. It almost seemed to revel in his misery. Derik had to fight back the tears. It was a monumental task, more so than his fight against the physical pain, especially when it was unclear just what this thing wanted with him.