AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Only then did my shoulders drop. Home, sweet, safe home. Just me and my plastic plants because I didn’t do well with other living things. Plants died, so did fish. I’d thought of getting a cat, but the idea of scooping a litter box icked me out.
As the adrenaline wore off, a chill hit me. I shivered so hard my fingers had a hard time stripping my soaked garments. My teeth clacked as I dropped all my stuff in the laundry basket.
A glance in the bathroom mirror showed me looking wretched. Eyes slightly bloodshot. My hair a ratty, sodden mess. My lips a purple-blue.
While a hot bath would have been nice, my compact apartment only had a shower, and the water emerged lukewarm. A cozy pair of fleece jammies did the trick, warming me up, as would a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows. While I prepped the warm milk for it, I dunked my phone in a container of rice. Please god, let it dry out and work. I really didn’t want to downgrade to a cheap flip phone. I’d only finished paying for my current smart one three months ago and would prefer to not lose the extra grocery money, given inflation made everything more expensive these days.
My couch cradled my ass nicely, and my thick blanket cuddled me further as I balanced my laptop on my thighs. Despite having been a front-row spectator, I found myself curious as to what the news and social media were reporting about the murder scene by my work. Not much, as it turned out.
Internet searches of various keywords—massacre, bus attack, Bulberry, the street it happened on—didn’t pull up shit. Could be the search engine had not indexed anything yet. After all, it had only been an hour since it happened.
I went to Reddit, my local source for neighborhood drama, and finally got a hit.
WTF happened to Bus 678? A friend who lives on its route says it’s stopped in front of Moe’s Dry Cleaning and has its windshield smashed and its roof dented. Claims there’s bodies in the road. Anyone got the deets?
A bunch of replies followed, and the more I read, the more my brow creased. The stories and theories were all over the place. The most common hypothesis being a drug addict had an episode and turned mass murderer. The most ridiculous one mentioned a thick fog that killed people just like in that Stephen King story, The Mist. Even more oddly, no one spoke of the man with the scythe.
How could anyone who claimed to have seen the incident have not noticed either? I mean, yes, it was dark and rainy. However, part of the events had been illuminated by the headlights on the bus and car. Could it be I was the only up-close witness? I hoped not, because the lady cop had acted as if I were having a drug-induced episode, her entire attitude dismissive of my claims. In her defense, it sounded pretty far-fetched. Even in retrospect, I second-guessed what I’d seen.
A yawn cracked my jaw, and I noticed the time. Late. And I was supposed to be opening the store in the morning. I rose and shuffled to my kitchen to deposit my mug in the sink. As I headed for my bed, I glanced out the window. My view of the alley and the backside of a warehouse was the reason why my rent was fifty dollars cheaper a month than apartments overlooking the road.
A hint of movement by a dumpster had my lips pursing. Probably a racoon or an actual rat. Still…
I yanked the blinds closed, and then, because I was suddenly nervous in my own place, shut my bedroom door—not something I ever did—and slid my dresser in front of it. As for the window? I moved my nightstand under it and placed some knickknacks on top.
Wasn’t nobody getting in without waking me.
For the first time in my life, I also slept with my hand around the butcher knife I usually kept in my nightstand.
The next morning—after cursing out the phone that still glitched after I pulled it from the rice—I’d nearly convinced myself I’d overreacted.
Until I left for work. As I went to lock my place, I saw claw marks on the outside of my apartment door.
3
Seeing the claw marks, I bolted right back inside. I mean, how bad would it be if I became a hermit? I could order in groceries. I had internet and Netflix. Did I really need to leave the house?
I did if I wanted to be able to keep my apartment and pay for said groceries, internet, and Netflix. Not going in for work meant losing my paycheck and if I couldn’t pay rent, I’d end up on the street with whatever the fuck clawed my door.
Could it have been a dog? Sure, if any lived in my building. I’d yet to see any. A few cats in the windows, yes, but nothing that barked. Could be someone brought their pet on a visit to someone on my floor. But why the hell would anyone let them tear at my door like that? I didn’t even want to think what the landlord would say. I’d better not have to pay to repair it!
Taking a deep breath, I reopened my door, exiting my apartment and keeping my gaze on my hand—rather than the damage—while I locked my place. Heading for the elevator, I kept glancing over my shoulder as if I expected to see something chasing me. Nothing but dust bunnies rolled in my wake.
The elevator held a few people when it stopped on my floor. Two strangers in construction-orange jackets, leaning against the rear wall, eyeballing their phones, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who lived on the floor above me. I’d helped her bring up groceries a few times. More like got conscripted. She had this way of ordering people around. “You don’t mind giving an old lady a hand, do you?” she’d croak. Only an asshole would say no.
She smiled at me. “Morning, dear.”
“Hi, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. How are you?”
“I would be better if I’d slept. Did you hear the rats last night?” she asked. Then continued before I could answer. “They were scratching something fierce.”
“I must have slept through it.”
“I’m going to get some poison. Those bastards won’t be chewing on my toes while I sleep!” she fiercely declared.
“Sounds like a good plan.” Seriously. Maybe I’d pop by her place later and ask for some to put outside my door.
We parted ways outside with me rushing for the bus stop, and a good thing, too, since it came early. I made it on board, despite the crush of people. I stood and held the bar, my body swaying as the bus lumbered along its way. It didn’t stop at its usual space on my street. The driver drove down the road parallel to it before shouting, “Bulberry and Kline, get off here.”
