The severed head in my refrigerator stared at me, unblinking, a thin film covering it's sightless eyes. A puddle had formed under it, on the second rack, where the gore had dripped through the bars that made up the cage-like upper shelf. I stared at it, unsure what to do, shocked at what I had found. I opened and closed my mouth, as if I wanted to say something but couldn't form the words.
drip drip drip
I had no idea how the grisly trophy had gotten there. I knew, or hoped at least, that I hadn't put it there. I didn't recognize the face, or what was left of it at this point. Whatever had put this thing in my icebox had torn the face from it, shredded the skin of the cheeks, forehead, and chin. It appeared to have been clawed open, ripped apart. The eyes, though, had been left intact. I was just starting to wonder why when they began to move.
I jumped back, letting out a shriek as the dead eyes tilted to look at me, and the jaw began to work. There were no lungs to create suction, thereby stimulate the vocal chords, and so the thing was silent, and its lips had been torn off, making lip-reading an impossibility, so I had no way of knowing what it wanted to communicate. I didn't care, though. I slammed the refrigerator door in its face just as it began to fall over onto its side, the working of its jaw levering it over.
drip drip drip
I moved over to the couch, not far from my kitchen, and sat down, staring at the refrigerator in stunned silence. In my mind, I could still hear the dripping sound. I tried to figure out what to do next, but nothing was coming to my brain. Unable to sit still for too long, I stood and begun pacing the room, back and forth, never taking my eyes off of that damned refrigerator.
thump thump thump
A new sound, a sound that made me stop moving and made my eyes widen in horror and disbelief. The thing was trying to get out. It was pushing itself, somehow, against the inside of the fridge door. I almost panicked, and began my pacing anew, trying desperately to think of a way out of this. It never occurred to me to just leave.
thump thump thunk
The scream that came out of me was not the most manly thing I had done in my short life, but it certainly felt like the most urgent. The sound had changed again, this time because the undead head had completed its task. The refrigerator door swung open and the thing hit the ground with a wet noise. It rolled onto its back, back to its front, and again, and I realized it was trying to roll towards me. I did what any sane man would do. I kicked it.
I've never played soccer, and I haven't played kickball since I was a boy, but I walk around a lot and as a result I think I have pretty strong legs. So when I kicked this thing, I fully expected it to fly like a rubber ball, go bounding down my kitchen floor and into my living room where I would then kick it again, and again, until I could send the fucking thing right out the front door and back to hell where it belonged. I pulled my foot back and gave it my best. It bit me.
crunch crunch crunch
Shrieking, I dropped to the floor as the thing gnawed on my shin, right above the foot. It was stuck on good, and the bite hurt like a bastard, Wildly, I shook my leg, attempting to dislodge the monster, but it didn't do any good. Instead, the fucker just bit harder. I screamed again, and tried to get to my feet.
crunch crunch crunch
The bastard had torn through my jeans at this point, and was starting to tear at my flesh, but I managed to stand and hobble over to the fridge. Grinning like mad, I opened the door and set my foot down between it and the refrigerator. Tears streamed down my face, and I laughed a bit. I couldn't help it. This was fucking insane.
whack whack whack
Three times I slammed the door on the severed head, and three times I heard what was, at the time, the most satisfying noise I'd ever encountered, but the thing didn't let go. It bit harder. So I did it again.
whack whack CRACK
New pain shot through me, and I once again fell to the floor. I had managed to dislodge the thing, but when I looked at it, laying there on it's side, it wasn't hard to notice the hunk of my flesh dangling from its jaw, and I could see a thin sliver of bone between the thing's teeth. I winced, and forced myself to keep my eyes on the zombie cranium, "What the fuck do you want!?" I screamed at it, "What do you want to tell me!?"
thump thump thump
The thing was trying to move again, laying on it's side and trying to roll. It looked like it was trying to get back onto its stump. It used the piece of bone for leverage as I sat there, bleeding, and watched it struggle. Finally, after what seemed like forever, it succeeded.
skritch skritch skritch
I couldn't tell exactly what it was up to at first, and I'm pretty sure that at this point I was in shock from the pain, but it didn't take long for me to figure it out. It was writing, using a mix of my blood and its own for the ink, and that piece of my bone for a pen. I laughed, longer and louder than I think was appropriate for the situation, and tried to stand. Failing that, I simply crawled over to it. The message it wrote for me in my own blood was clear to see.
IT'S IN THE HOUSE
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| art by j-hoff |
Impressive.
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