Drunk story part 4


“Is this your shoe?”

He looks down and sees one shoe, one sock.

“You broke my window with your shoe?”

“Your window…?”
“Yes, my window.”
“I thought I came here with you…”
“What…?” She groans and throws his shoe down and storms out of the room. “I’m telling Jane to take you home.”

She leaves. He looks around for his shoe and pulls it on.

Jane? I don’t know a Jane…

He hears something slam against the door. Heavy breathing.

The smell of rust and blood fills his nostrils.

It’s in the hallway. It’s in the fucking hallway.

His back against the door, he searches the room. The dresser. Perfect.

He runs over, praying the door doesn’t break, and pushes the dresser against it.

Something hits the door again. The dresser moves.

He thinks, I need something else. I need something bigger, heavier. I need to stop whatever the fuck that is from coming in here.

Some yells from outside. “Are you coming or not? Time to take you home.”

He wonders if that’s Jane, but he knows it’s a trap. He doesn’t know anyone named Jane.

He pushes the bed against the dresser, reinforcing his blockade.

Nothing could get in there now.

It’s scratching at the door again. Then a howl. Like an animal in pain. Like a wolf with it’s leg caught in a trap, or a dog half run over. It fills the room. Shakes the frames on the walls. His stomach begins to flip and he vomits uncontrollably.

He looks down at the floor.

He just vomited blood.

Something is very wrong.

As if he didn’t already know that.

It’s scratching and it sounds like it’s whole body against the door. It wants in. It will break in.

“Get out of that room now! Thanks to you we have to leave. Now come on.”

“Fuck off! Leave me alone!”

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that.” This time…the voice comes from within the room.

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About litbandit

El Bandito Bibliotequa...or something.
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