Timmy.
Why would he still be in there?
Maybe he was hiding.
The cops would surely be there soon. Too much time had passed and there had been quite a disturbance. There had been gunfire and screaming. Someone, somewhere, must have heard something, even if this was the smallest town in America. Someone had to have called the police—she hoped.
If Timmy didn’t come out soon, Terrance would leave. He was loyal, but not loyal enough to stay and see what happened next, not in a situation like this. Sooner or later the police would be here, and if not, they had other problems lurking in the darkness of this store. In the end, he’d play it safe. He would leave.
Cherri’s head was spinning. Her nausea was becoming uncontrollable. She wanted to leave, fast. She couldn’t take much more of this. Her anxiety had peaked. She had to stop and rest, catch her breath. She wondered why she even cared about Timmy, at this point.
Leaning on the snack rack—which held various brands of potato chips—she tried to breathe. Her lungs were restricted. Her breathing was raspy and short, which made her panic more. Death crossed her mind. The thought terrified her. Dying before she had a chance to turn her life around, that was her worst fear. She wasn’t a good person. Her upbringing had been traumatizing, but that was no excuse. She made poor decisions even though she knew right from wrong. Most of the time, she knew that the reaction to her poor actions was going to be bad. Still, she did what she wanted to do and didn’t care who got hurt. Maybe she did it for attention or maybe she just couldn’t help herself.
Now, scared out of her mind, she pushed herself up from the snack-rack and shuffled toward the bathroom. Something dripped on her. It was cold and wet and hit her forearm like rain drops. It was heavy, thick. It landed halfway between her elbow and her hand. She rubbed her finger in it, smearing it. It looked black against her skin. She brought her finger up to her nose and smelled it. There was a slight metallic odor to it. Maybe it was oil—no. Her eyes went wide. It was blood.
She slammed her eyelids shut and tilted her head up. Blood continued to drip on her. It fell on her other arm, her chest, the side of her face. It fell faster now, flowing like a stream. Once her head had completely tilted upward, she opened her eyes. Her lids peeled back. Hazy at first, her vision allowed her to visualize the thing hanging from the ceiling. It appeared to be about the size of a heavy duty trash bag and it was black. It started swaying.
Trembling, Cherri continued to open her eyes and then she saw it. The blood was coming from Timmy’s eviscerated stomach. A wave of red doused her, entirely causing her to scream. Timmy landed on top of her. Before her head was pinned to the floor, she saw something on the ceiling. Something else was holding Timmy to the ceiling. Then, it fell on her.
Timmy’s blood created a pool on the tile floor. His guts spilled on her head. She lost her footing and slipped backward, smashing her head against the floor.
Looking to the right, she saw Timmy’s innards spreading out toward the bathroom door, waving through the blood puddle. Whiteness flashed before she fainted.
3
Garth and Winny stood, silent, in the back office. They slowly slid through another door, to the next room which was more of a closet. Garth grabbed the cordless phone as Winny locked the second door. Space was limited. They could hear each other breathing.
The cordless phone sat on the desk near the filing cabinets. A terrifying realization struck Garth after he’d punched 9-1-1 into the keypad. Only silence came from the other end. He set the lifeless phone down and grabbed the back of Winny’s shirt.
“We need to get out of here, now. Screw it. Let’s just get as far away as we can, and
Why would he still be in there?
Maybe he was hiding.
The cops would surely be there soon. Too much time had passed and there had been quite a disturbance. There had been gunfire and screaming. Someone, somewhere, must have heard something, even if this was the smallest town in America. Someone had to have called the police—she hoped.
If Timmy didn’t come out soon, Terrance would leave. He was loyal, but not loyal enough to stay and see what happened next, not in a situation like this. Sooner or later the police would be here, and if not, they had other problems lurking in the darkness of this store. In the end, he’d play it safe. He would leave.
Cherri’s head was spinning. Her nausea was becoming uncontrollable. She wanted to leave, fast. She couldn’t take much more of this. Her anxiety had peaked. She had to stop and rest, catch her breath. She wondered why she even cared about Timmy, at this point.
Leaning on the snack rack—which held various brands of potato chips—she tried to breathe. Her lungs were restricted. Her breathing was raspy and short, which made her panic more. Death crossed her mind. The thought terrified her. Dying before she had a chance to turn her life around, that was her worst fear. She wasn’t a good person. Her upbringing had been traumatizing, but that was no excuse. She made poor decisions even though she knew right from wrong. Most of the time, she knew that the reaction to her poor actions was going to be bad. Still, she did what she wanted to do and didn’t care who got hurt. Maybe she did it for attention or maybe she just couldn’t help herself.
Now, scared out of her mind, she pushed herself up from the snack-rack and shuffled toward the bathroom. Something dripped on her. It was cold and wet and hit her forearm like rain drops. It was heavy, thick. It landed halfway between her elbow and her hand. She rubbed her finger in it, smearing it. It looked black against her skin. She brought her finger up to her nose and smelled it. There was a slight metallic odor to it. Maybe it was oil—no. Her eyes went wide. It was blood.
She slammed her eyelids shut and tilted her head up. Blood continued to drip on her. It fell on her other arm, her chest, the side of her face. It fell faster now, flowing like a stream. Once her head had completely tilted upward, she opened her eyes. Her lids peeled back. Hazy at first, her vision allowed her to visualize the thing hanging from the ceiling. It appeared to be about the size of a heavy duty trash bag and it was black. It started swaying.
Trembling, Cherri continued to open her eyes and then she saw it. The blood was coming from Timmy’s eviscerated stomach. A wave of red doused her, entirely causing her to scream. Timmy landed on top of her. Before her head was pinned to the floor, she saw something on the ceiling. Something else was holding Timmy to the ceiling. Then, it fell on her.
Timmy’s blood created a pool on the tile floor. His guts spilled on her head. She lost her footing and slipped backward, smashing her head against the floor.
Looking to the right, she saw Timmy’s innards spreading out toward the bathroom door, waving through the blood puddle. Whiteness flashed before she fainted.
3
Garth and Winny stood, silent, in the back office. They slowly slid through another door, to the next room which was more of a closet. Garth grabbed the cordless phone as Winny locked the second door. Space was limited. They could hear each other breathing.
The cordless phone sat on the desk near the filing cabinets. A terrifying realization struck Garth after he’d punched 9-1-1 into the keypad. Only silence came from the other end. He set the lifeless phone down and grabbed the back of Winny’s shirt.
“We need to get out of here, now. Screw it. Let’s just get as far away as we can, and
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