The Howlers

She lay in the bed, silently thinking of Van Gogh. He was the only one who could bring her any sense of peace anymore. She didn’t know where the hell she was this time. Again. It was cold, bitterly cold, but at least this place had a private bed, blanket, and much to her delight, Kleenex. She always hated having to blow her nose as a child, but having suffered for so many weeks barely being able to breathe, she warmly welcomed the pillowy white tissue that reminded her of a newborn baby’s scent. Odd, but familiar.

She was so tired of moving. Constantly moving from place to place. None of those places were “towns” anymore, they were mere spots that were dotted along the maps that no longer existed. Like everything else that no longer existed, all virtually vanquished in the blink of an eye and yet still people failed to question the barely present government who never offered answers or solutions, just an “inspiring” glimpse of hope. A 5-second tv ad of a town that would provide all the means of all the needs that anyone could hope for.

If anyone could just find it. If anyone could just get to it. If it really even existed. That’s what we were all hoping to find. That’s what we were all striving to find. And yet here we were. Roaming. Constantly, blindly, roaming.

The lightning was coming again. Soon they would be coming, she hoped to God it wasn’t the Howlers, but one could never be entirely sure just what shape they would arrive in. Seemingly human? The black shadow figures that wandered past one’s window curtains in the darkness? Or perhaps a legendary Howler itself. She had never seen one in the flesh. She had seen the remnants of what they could do, but no one had ever seen one and lived to give a description of what it actually looked like. Heard one, yes, seen one, absolutely not.

The rain began to pour, the wind howling. She wasn't sure if this was just a storm or if it was them. No one could ever be sure and no one took a chance. If you couldn't get underground or somewhere you could be sure they couldn't see or hear you, you would be fine. But as she lay in that bed with the lightning beckoning ever closer, she couldn't risk it. Without moving her head or body, she silently started to count the time between the lightning flashes. 1,2,3,4,... 22... Lightning flash.

She still had time, with no thunder following or other signs of a natural storm, she was secure in her sense that it was them. She didn't know this house though and couldn't fully trust the people who had let her in. She didn't know where she could go and no one came to offer her any aid or direction. Again, always, left on her own. 1,2,3,4,...17... Lighting flash.

Closet? There was room, but she didn't know what was in there. Under the bed? There was nothing under there, but was there room? The question was, where wouldn't they see her? 1,2,3,4...9... Lighting flash.

They were coming. She was sweating profusely and the tremors were setting in. They're coming, think. Stop thinking, MOVE! 1,2,3,4... Lighting strike. Too late. They're here. Breathe. Breathe.

Where did the time go and why didn't she move? What now? She could hear them. Their quiet steps were awkwardly so heavy and scrambled about in a manner that they sounded like large rats on the hardwood floor of an upstairs apartment.

She could hear them. Their hot, heavy breaths that seemed to never exhale, only inhale. They were like rabid dogs who were hell-bent on ripping into flesh they had never before tasted and were dying to try.

Make your move. It's now or never. She could hear their steps, their quickening breaths, and she knew the time was now. Two shadows passed rapidly back and forth by the window. Any sudden movement and she would be seen. Even the slightest scent change and she could be given away.

Move slow, she was taught. She inched towards the long edge of the bed, away from the window, one centimeter at a time. Keeping her eyes closed to stave off the fear.

Breathe. Breathe. One moment at a time. She reminded herself to breathe but knew she wasn't going to listen... She held her breath with each scootch of her body. Her foot accidentally fell off the bed and she caught it before it fell to the floor but she heard the steps and whispers outside abruptly stop.

She glanced at the window, beckoning her eyes to open. The shadows weren't moving. Their terrifying, natural figures stood just outside her window curtain. She felt like she was going to vomit. Or lose consciousness. Whatever came first.

Instead, she closed her eyes. Held her breath. And didn't move.