Names

Michael went to the fridge, and no surprise, it was empty. Staring into its depths, wondering, what he could make with the random opened jars and to-go containers of smelly, nearly outdated food. He switched to the freezer, even worse. He grabbed a bottle of water and sat in his worn, crumb and dog hair encrusted recliner. Opening up the water and taking a swig, he thought, this place is such a dump. Stains on the carpet, dried food and spills on the linoleum made his feet stick with every step. How was he going to get out of here? Damn, the rent was due Monday. He turned on the tv. Flipped through the crap of channels that he could get with the antenna. Which was like eight! Looked around frustrated and disappointed. Turned the tv off and just tossed the remote away randomly to the floor. The place smelled like dog crap. He kind of wished he didn’t kick the dog out to fend for itself, then he would at least have someone to talk to, but there wasn’t any food to give it anyways. He slid out of his two-day old boxer briefs and got in the shower. Soap was empty. “DAMN IT!” He filled the bottle with a little water and got the remaining suds out and onto his face, just enough to get that ick off. “Man! What a crappy day! What a crappy week!” He yelled throwing open the shower curtain, which fell and nearly tripped him. He fumbled with it and then slammed it to the wet floor stomping out he slipped a little bit but caught himself, “Gawd!” He wrapped a dinghy towel around his waist that he yanked up from the floor and then flung himself onto the bed. Dripping wet the sheet stuck to him like an old band aid that had been there for a week and was about to fall off. He stared at the ceiling in a daze, the fans’ slow rotation drew him deeper into thought like being hypnotized. He let out a painful scream tensing every muscle in his body. “AAAAAAAHHHHHH!” Then slinking back into silence, a single tear rolled down his face and into his ear.

Bang! Bang! Bang! He jerked his body up sitting on the edge of the bed looking out of the bedroom towards the door. Frozen and with all senses heightened, he waited to hear if someone would call out or knock again. But nothing. His body slowly eased from its stiff-backed readiness. Michael whispered, “It better not be Ashely.” Bang! Bang! Bang! He snapped to attention again. He clenched his fist and started to the door. “What do you want Ashley?!” Stomping his way through the house. He didn’t even notice the large pile of money sitting on the table. “I said, what do you want?!” He screamed, as he flung open the side entrance door. But no one was there. Half dripped dried he ventured out a bit to search for the jerk banging on his door. No one. He walked past the car around to the front of the house looking to see if anyone was there, but only Noah, the boy from next door walking his dog on the sidewalk. The boy then looked into the yard as Michael was attempting to retreat. He sneered and said, “jeez dude put on some clothes” in which Michael replied, “screw you.” As he walked back into the house, he froze. He now noticed the money sitting on the table. His eyes quickly scanning the room searching for an intruder. He walked over to the table slowly, again eyes canvassing around the room before he reached out placing his hands on the money. “What the...” a small bit of wind caught the door making it creak. He quickly removed his hands as if he’d been caught trying to steal something from the store and turned to discover nothing but the open door. Hastily he went to the door closing it. Still slightly balancing on one foot and holding on to the doors knob he thinks, what’s going on? He sits down next to the table covered in cash. Feet on the cold linoleum, bare, dirty with bits of food and trash on them from the ground. The towel was starting to dry but still damp. But he just sat there staring deep into the money like it had a soul, like it was whispering something to him. Suddenly he broke from his trance. Took the towel off and used it to wrap the money up inside like a sack. Only to notice that the last bit of money had a little black book hiding underneath it. Dread filled is body for some reason, his heart beat loudly like it would watching a horror film. Is fingers weakly reached out and brushed aside the money. He let his hand hover for a moment above the book. As if it would reveal its contents to him without actually having to touch it. He was scared. His heart sank as he grasped the small black book. He took in a deep breath shook his head and thought, this is just too weird. Opening the book to its first page it read only “Names”. Michael started thumbing through the book page by page just to see a bunch of names. Every page was filled, 12 names to a page 15 pages front and back. All the names were written in black ink. And everyone was crossed out in red. Except one name, the last one on the last page...He stood there wide eyed in dumbfounded confusion looking at the last name. The A/c clicked on. Suddenly Michael was reminded that he was standing there naked in the kitchen. He loosened his gazed over the book before tucking it into the towel full with money. He rushed to the bedroom with the towel swinging from his hand then threw the towel and money down on the bed. He scooped up his old dirty boxer-briefs pulling them up and over his butt. The money was all crumbled up and is different bills but enough large bills to be counted rather quickly... $20,000. He turned to close the door and, “HOLY SHIT!” A man was standing against the farthest wall in the house outside of the bedroom. Michael slammed the door closed and locked it. Every hair on his body raised. His shoulders flushed red. With his heart pounding he held out his hands, crouched, and began to back up, he fell over the end of the bed tumbling to the ground. He gathered himself back to all fours quickly but now cowering behind the bed. “What the HELL are you doing in my house?! Get out!!!... I’m calling the cops.” “No, you’re not” the man says in a slow rugged voice, taking a few steps off the wall to the kitchen counter and placing his hand on Michaels phone. “Your phone is out here and, it’s dead.”

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit!” Michael screamed. “Take the money, I... I don’t even know where it came from.” “I don’t want it! Take it!” With no reply from the man Michael starts taking slow shallow breaths to hear better. “Hello?!” He says. Nothing but deafening Silence. Michael slowly stands up from behind the bed. Scanning the door up and down then focusing all his attention to the gap beneath the door. Then he hears the sound of footsteps crossing the kitchen into the living room then to the small enclave of a hallway. The man’s shadow growing under the door. The man stops dead in-front of Michaels bedroom. Michaels’ breathing slows to a stop. His ears are so poised and attentive they are ringing, strangling the silence in hopes of a sound. Then, “you’re mine” Wonders out of the man’s mouth as he grabs the doorknob and starts to turn it and then forcibly jiggling it as he realizes it’s locked from inside. Thud! The man’s shadow blacks out all the light from under the door. “Hello?!” But No reply. “Hello...Who are you?... hello?”

What seems like forever passes with no reply from the man, his shadow still blacks out the light under the door. Michael drenched in fear begins to shiver, his breathing again shallow and short. His toes are numb from the cold a/c and his back begins to spaz in deep shiver. Every part of him is cold and he holds his arms and legs closer together trying to stay warm but not moving out of terror. He finally gathers up the courage and grabs a slightly matted and wrinkled shirt from the floor slipping it on, attempting to get his socks on standing up, hopping on one foot. He starts pacing around the room glancing at the money. “What should I do? what the hell man, ... This is crazy.” In hysterics Michael goes to his bed spreading out the money searching for the little black book. He can’t seem to find it and starts searching the floor. “There it is” finding it on the other side of the bed next to a cheap lamp. He bends down to get it and stands back up. “AAAAHHHHH!!!” A different man is standing in the room in-front of the door. Michael Collapses against the wall arms spread out almost as if he’s trying to hold it up. The little black book now wrapped between is thumb and fore finger. The man raises up a gun pointing straight at Michael. Then grins as he whispers, “another one for Earl.” BANG! The bullet only grazes Michaels arm. Because as he pulled the trigger a tall woman screams and lands a blow across Earl’s head with a baton. Earl is down, the woman drops her weapon, steps over the two men bodies at the door and grabs Earl’s gun. Michael throws up his hands with black book clenched in his fingers. He begins to beg and plead with her. She glares disgustedly at him, her buzz cut black hair glistening with sweat. She checks the gun for bullets. Sees there is only one left and states, “lucky me.” She looks up at Michael in a strange proud giddiness like a young boy who just shot his first buck. Starts to giggle and raises the gun. Michaels pleas mean nothing to her. She pulls the trigger, but the gun doesn’t fire. “NO!” She yells. Just then Earl grabs her leg twisting her to the floor. The two begin to fight. Michael watches for a minute stunned until he finally realizes he should attempt to run. With the little black book still in possession he jumps onto the bed. The two stranger who tried to kill him are now trying to kill each other. He grabs a fist full of the money and bounds for the door only to see a shovel swing at his face. Bam!

On the floor lays a mostly eaten pastry. Out from a pile of ripe clothes crawls a roach, which stops to check out the sugary treat, then continued on to the foul smell of Michaels mouth that has been gaping open with thick drool and blood puddled under his cheek. The battle continues between the woman and Earl. The Shovel Wielder stands over Michael watching the other two beat, scratch and strangle each other. The woman eventually over comes Earl using the gun handle to make the final blow. She flings herself to the side of the bloody battle trying desperately to catch her breath. The Shovel Wielder smirks with a broken smile and approaches the woman. The tiny legs of the pest crawling around Michaels mouth wakes him. He swats at the bug on his face in confusion then disgust when he realizes what it is, swatting harder, but stops immediately because of the immense pain from being hit by the shovel. Luckily, the little black book and some money are somehow still clenched in his fist. The rest of the money scattered on his bed but some spilling onto the floor. The Shovel Wielder walks from Michael over to the woman. She sees him but she is clearly out of energy from her scrapping with Earl, who’s now lifeless and bloody. The Shovel Wielder is tall and gangly his head shaved like the woman’s. Calmly he walks over to her with the spaded shovel. Her arm out reached in an attempt to shield herself. He takes a deep breath, raises up the shovel and with one swift blow the woman joins Earl on the floor. Shovel Wielder then turns to continue with Michael. But Michael was gone....