Beneath the Surface

She feels for her mother's pulse. A solemn coldness emanates from her neck. Her father lies similarly to his wife, cold and motionless. Gretchen screams for them to wake up, violently shaking their corpses.

"Mom please, you gotta wake up, Dad!!"

Their blood soaks her white dress, decorating the fabric with the brutality of the day. Sunlight cuts through, glittering the window frames. Gretchen ponders at a dark shape, a form. Through the door frame it stares at her, hungry, death incarnate. She falters back at its presence. She crawls to the glass doors adjacent to the living room. Another form rises from beneath the sofa, masked and silent, impending depravity in its wake. Gretchen bangs at the door, her rationale blindsided, coupled with her focus. The Shadows encroach the sunlight, dimming its power with every step. A chair juts out from the table, she opts for a battering ram, obliterating the panel with two legs from the chair. Glass shards dazzle the wood porch as she crunches the floor, toppling over the railing.

She hits hard, blood now cascading from her freshly appearing temple gash. She looks up at the sky, they stare back at her, hunters, this is a game to them. She falters to her feet once more aimlessly running away from the sun’s cast. The Shadows maintain their pursuit approaching...closer….closer. Gretchen looks back, a root ensnares her bare leg resulting in a second fall, her cross to bare. She pleas for an angel.

“Help, please someone help me!!”

The stillness in the summer air, her only answer. They continue their mission. Gretchen manifests the strength to resume her attempt at safety. A field of sunflowers welcome her in, fertile and warm a convincing facade. What else hides between the leaves? She maneuvers herself through the stems trying her best to camouflage. The Shadows make contact, they scour the area, perceptive and eager. Gretchen locks eyes with a smokestack, unused and vacant. A perfect getaway. She creaks the door open, careful of detection. A cool darkness soothes her perspired flesh. Gretchen sits in a corner, holding her hands to her mouth, terrified. Shuffling is heard from the outside, they found her hiding place.

An audible scratching, reverberates in Gretchen’s metal casing. Gretchen grabs at her ears, desperate for the noise to vanquish. A second set of sounds pierce through the setting skyline, this time human, but not entirely. The howling sends shockwaves in the smoke stack, relentless and unbearable. Finally the noise is muted. Gretchen lays there in complete silence. She peaks an eye out through a break in a seam. A sunflower meets her gaze until A Shadow stares back at her, its eye oily and slick. She falls back as they begin pounding on the door. Gretchen crawls back to the diagonal corner, her time is done, her coffin sealed. She looks to the shifted dirt beneath her. A beam of light shines through the structure, genuine and lasting. Gretchen crawls to the source, she brushes the dirt from the blade of light. She feels at a latch before attempting to yank at the handle.

Eventually, the seam is broken as she reveals a staircase leading down into Earth. With no other options, she descends into the underbelly, blind of confidence. Torch light provides her only whereabouts as she assesses her new location. Tunnels lead in various directions, a crumbling web of unknown outcomes. A bird catches her attention, perched on a gargoyle. It stares back intently as if it beckons for her to follow it’s direction. She obliges and follows the feathered creature. They arrive at a small staircase, leading to a single yellow door. A message is encrypted on the wood. Gretchen reads aloud.

“The Birds Fly North.”

With full trepidation, she decides to twist the knob, anticipating what lies behind its surface. She enters a candlelit room and is welcomed by a familiar woman.

“Hello Gretchen.”

Gretchen is slow to respond, utterly confused. She scans the interior, hoping to find an answer to this madness. They stare back at her, some ten some late teens, some big others small, males and females, children. Their faces plastered on “Missing Persons” signs covering the entirety of the walls. In dark ink a simple message shakes Gretchen to her core.

"Thank Thee For Thy Offering."

Gretchen looks back to the woman, the teens tears beginning to swell. The woman shawled, a walking corpse.

“Oh how I’ve missed you.”

To be continued...