This collaborative horror story is in response to a challenge issued by Chuck Wendig at his blogsite, Terrible Minds. The authors cited below wrote parts 1 and 2 and I wrote part 3. Thanks to Chuck and the other authors!
Part 1: Part 1
Part 2: Part 2
Part 3:
“Mother, are you all right?” I cried as my mother tried to get up off the floor.
“Run, baby, run. Get out of here. He’s here to kill you,” she said as the man/monster struggled to rise from the slick floor. Slick with the blood he said he wanted.
I stood there, knife still in my hands, not knowing what to do except that I had to protect my mother and myself from this horrible creature lying on the floor.
The man/monster was screaming in frustration, not able to regain his footing to rise from the floor. As he struggled, I ran to help my mother up. As I did, I asked her who this creature was and why did it want me and my blood. Again, its long arm flew out and almost grabbed me but I dodged just in time. I got to my mother and helped her rise.
“Mother, I don’t understand. Why am I bleeding so much? There is this thing….this creature…..trying to come out of me!”
Crying, almost screaming at her, I told my mother I had to know what was happening, who this creature was, what he had to do with me. My whole body was slick with blood and mucus and some kind of horrible goo coming from the monster. Something was hanging down between my legs. I was only a young girl. None of this made any sense to me. This was only my first monthly cycle and some creature from hell had shown up. I only had on my top and my mother’s baggy black emergency panties. I was so embarrassed and frightened. I was also scared for my mother.
Suddenly, the creature got some traction and sprang up from the floor, not six feet away from us. The dent in its skull had completely healed.
It screamed in an otherworldly voice and said, “Now, young woman, I’m taking my blood back. You’ve had it all these years and I’ve had to do without it. You are giving it back to me now. I’ve been waiting and watching for my first opportunity.”
“Your bitch of a mother thought she could stop me with the salt, the drawn curtains, the silver crosses,” the monster cried in his raspy voice. “But, you broke the salt line,” he said, as he cackled sounding less human with every second that passed.
“Your blood is mine,” the monster screamed as it lurched forward, swinging its reptilian arms at me. I kept backing up until I finally got behind a straight-backed chair. I picked up the chair and starting poking it, pushing it back, frustrating it. My mother, still trying to stand up in the blood and goo, was coming toward them.
“Mother,” she shouted, “what’s it talking about?” She had to find out why this thing thought her blood was his. Her mother made a wide circle around the man/monster. It was so focused on me that I didn’t think it even saw my mother right at that moment. Mother motioned to me to be quiet.
I kept poking at it with the chair while it was jumping from side to side, trying to get past the chair and get to me. I had put the knife I had grabbed into the waistband of my mother’s panties with my hand feeling for the knife to make sure it was still there. All the while, my mother was making a wide circle and creeping up behind the monster.
There she was. Right behind the monster. Mother screamed as loud as she could and when the monster turned toward her scream, she bashed it in the face with the baseball bat with all her strength. Blood spewed from his nose and some of his teeth fell out. I jumped forward, took the knife out of my waistband, and plunged it into the monster’s heart with all my strength. It fell to the floor screaming.
It was still. My mother came around it and grabbed me, pushing me backward, to the rear door of the house. She said, “You have to get out of here. Right now. It’s not dead and it will kill you.”
“Mother, I’m not going anywhere without you and I want to first know what in the hell this creature is talking about.” They heard a noise in the other room.
“It is your FATHER, my dear. He was exposed to a huge dose of radiation when he was working as a scientist in a lab at the university and, for some reason, he did not die. The doctors initially told him that blood transfusions from someone with his own blood antibodies might not only save him but restore him to his former self. But, it’s been too long and he has lost what was left of his mind and escaped from the facility.”
There was scuffling, a dragging noise, and some growling from the other room. I was crying and walked straight to the telephone, dialing the university. I was able to reach the lab, right as the creature who was my father drug himself through the door, growling and screaming as he came. The wound in his chest was almost closed. My mother started screaming and placed herself in front of me. I was determined to reach the lab and get someone to come get him. Then, I would donate my blood to him.
I was on hold, waiting on a Dr. Holden to answer. My father was within 10 feet of my mother and I and reaching his long arms out toward us, trying to knock my mother out of the way. She kept hitting him with the bat she held in her hands. Finally, Dr. Holden answered and I stammered out what was going on. Dr. Holden said the police would be there immediately in order to sedate and pick up my father and return him to the lab.
At that moment, my father brutally knocked my mother out of the way and she fell hard 20 feet away. In one hand, I had the phone. In the other hand, I had my knife. My father and I were face to face. I talked. I tried to tell him that I was going to give him my blood. That help was on the way. He cocked his head back and forth, back and forth. I thought he might understand what I was saying. I heard sirens in the background coming ever closer. Dr. Holden was screaming on the phone, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. I heard my mother moaning. I could tell she was terribly hurt. My hand tightened on the knife.
I heard the law enforcement officers pull up to the house right as my father reached for me and I raised the knife. That’s the last thing I heard.
The Write Scribe 