Monsters

“It’s a long way to your brother’s place,” I say before I can stop myself. “You might have to do more than shoot a few people to get us there.”

Doug doesn’t look up. He just keeps oiling his rifle.

My chest goes cold. I’m always careful about what I say, but sometimes I talk before I think. I take a deep breath, brace myself. Then I see his jowly smirk.

“You’re right,” he says, still not looking up.

I wait for the punch line.

“I might have to shoot a lot of people to get us there.”

Doug is my husband. We live on Long Island and Doug’s brother lives in Northern Pennsylvania. The only way to get anywhere from here is to drive through New York City, which is suicide in my opinion. But Doug’s never bothered with my opinion.

I stuff another box of mac and cheese into the big shopping bag, look over at Hannah-Leigh. She’s our daughter, and she’s asleep on the couch beneath the front window, hugging the stuffed dolphin she calls Boofy. She’s four and she looks like a dark-haired porcelain doll. She has no idea how dangerous everything has gotten.

Three weeks ago, they started talking about the novel lyssavirus on the news. It’s like rabies, but it spreads through the air like flu or COVID. Everything closed and we went into lockdown, so of course everybody got in their cars and tried to get out of the city and off Long Island. We saw the bridges clogged with cars on TV when we still had electricity. Back then they still compared it to COVID. But people with COVID didn’t go crazy and attack each other, so that didn’t last long. Neither did the name.

It’s The Frenzy now.

Now we just have the radio. At first there was news from all over the world: China shooting people violating lockdown; India sealing off cities so nobody could get out; people rioting for food in England. There were food riots in Seattle and Chicago. A militia attacked the state capitol in Michigan. Each day, the army and Marines were sent to a dozen new cities to restore order. The Navy deployed ships to New York, Boston, San Francisco. The President declared martial law. But things just kept getting worse and worse.

It was terrifying, but I couldn’t stop listening.

And each day the world got a little smaller as the faraway places went quiet. First India and China, then Europe, even Canada. Pretty soon it was just the United States. Then the Northeast, then just New York. Now even New York is dark. The only news now is from Eastern Long Island. There’s one radio station left, and they broadcast the same recorded message all day. But every hour the same tired man breaks in with updates. There hasn’t been anything new in days. His world has shrunken to his studio in Riverhead. But he always comes on and talks anyway, because he knows he’s the only thing people have left.

Doug thinks it means everything’s quieted down. It’s what made him decide it’s time to head to his brother’s. I need to change his mind.

Hannah-Leigh whimpers in her sleep and Boofy falls onto the floor, so I tuck him back under her arm, look across the street through the rain at Edward’s house. It’s sage green with brown trim. A rainbow flag hangs above the porch railing, dark with wet. His house looks out of place in this grimy neighborhood, like a bridesmaid in line for a homeless shelter.

If I can’t convince Doug to stay put, Edward is my backup plan.

But I need to do everything I can to change Doug’s mind before I try anything else. I won’t be able to live with myself otherwise. But it’s not going to be easy. Doug is always right and I’m always wrong, so arguing with him doesn’t work. I need to come at it differently. “The bridges are probably clear enough to get across by now,” I say.

“I don’t know,” Doug says. “If the cops aren’t showing up for work, the tow truck drivers aren’t either.”

I wait, hoping he’ll put two and two together.

“We’ll get through,” he shrugs. “We got my truck.”

Doug loves his truck almost as much as his guns. Apparently, it can drive through miles of parked cars. “We’ll just have to squeeze through,” I say.

“The truck’s a little big for that,” Doug scoffs.

It’s gigantic, and so is the monthly payment. I wait again, but he doesn’t think this one through either. He just smirks and slides the cleaning rod down the barrel of the rifle.

“How are we going to get through then?” I ask.

“Is the food packed?”

I wince because his voice has that edge.

“Almost,” I say. I sound like a little girl. I hate how Doug acts when he’s mad, but I hate how I act even more.

Doug pulls the cleaning rod out of the gun, sets it on the table and runs his fingers down the side of the gun. He slides the action back, almost licks his lips with pleasure. I remember when he used to touch me like that.

Then I hear a voice outside. It’s muffled, like a voice on a television in the next room. It’s a man. His words wobble and slur, like he’s drunk. Drunk and enraged. Then a woman. Sobbing.

The snap of a gunshot. Then a second.

I lunge toward the couch. As I pull Hannah-Leigh onto the floor, a man in an ivory-colored track suit and orange sneakers runs past the window. I throw myself on top of Hannah, pray that she hasn’t already been shot. “You’re squishing Boofy!” she squeals. Her voice is muffled by the sound of my own heartbeat throbbing in my ears.

Doug is on the floor too, thrashing around on his back like an overturned walrus. If he’s been shot, we don’t have to drive into the city. But then I imagine Hannah-Leigh watching her father die and I hate myself for thinking that.

Then Doug reaches up onto the table for his clip of bullets, and I see that he’s okay. I pull myself off Hannah-Leigh, check her over. She’s fine, thank God.

“Into the basement!” Doug barks as he jams the clip into his rifle, jungle crawls across the floor toward the basement door.

“Are we playing dolphins?” Hannah-Leigh asks as we slither down the stairs on our bellies.

“We’re going to stay in the basement a while,” I say.

“But I’m not allowed in Daddy’s man cave.”

“Today is different.”

It’s dark in the basement, but there’s enough light coming through the glass block windows that I can see the two recliners in front of the gigantic flat screen where Doug plays his shooter games and watches sports. There’s a gun cabinet next to it that’s almost as big as the TV.

“Mommy, that lady’s boobies are out,” Hannah-Leigh says.  She’s staring at one of Doug’s posters.

“Let’s sit in one of Daddy’s big chairs,” I say.

Doug puts on a black flak vest, but he has trouble zipping it over his belly. He grunts and curses, sucks in his gut, finally gets it zipped up. Then he puts on a pistol belt, but that’s a little tight too.  When he finally gets it buckled, he puts on a pair of aviator sunglasses and a black baseball cap. Then he leans down, grunts uncomfortably, kisses Hannah-Leigh on the head. “Stay here,” he says. “I’m gonna reconnoiter.”

That means he’s going outside to see if he can shoot somebody.

He pulls a black neck gaiter up over his nose and mouth, turns and thumps up the stairs with his rifle.

It’s chilly in the basement, so I wrap my arms around Hannah-Leigh and she talks about dolphins while I think. I don’t want to leave Doug behind. I really don’t. But his stubbornness is going to kill all three of us and I can’t let that happen. I know what I need to do. In fact, I have everything ready, and if that doesn’t make me hate myself, I don’t know what does. But if Doug insists on going to his brother’s, I have no choice. That’s the worst thing about this whole disaster. My options are gone, and all that’s left is doing something awful or dying.

Doug is back in less than five minutes.

“All clear,” he announces as he pulls his neck gaiter down and takes off his sunglasses. I can tell from his voice that he doesn’t believe himself. He probably didn’t go any further than the corner of the house.

In other words, he chickened out.

“We need to get out of here ASAP,” he says. “We’ll wait until things cool off outside, then hit the road.”

“You just said it was all clear,” I say before I can stop myself.

Doug just glares at me. His eyes are pits of cold. My stomach tightens.

But then he snorts, shakes his head. “The shooter could be right up the street,” he says. It’s the same tone he uses when he explains something to Hannah-Leigh. He does that a lot and it pisses me off, but right now I’m just relieved that he’s not getting madder.

“We need to wait a little, make sure the coast is clear,” he says. “Understand?”

I understand that and a lot of other things, but I just clamp my mouth shut and nod.

Hannah-Leigh climbs off my lap, clambers up onto Doug’s. “Can we play a game on your big TV?” she asks.

“No electricity,” Doug says, “but once we get to Uncle Dave’s house, you can play with Annie and Frankie.” Doug puts his sunglasses on her, and she giggles and squirms.

I need to try one more time. 

“I’m worried about what we’re going to run into on the way there,” I say. I make my voice small and cute and afraid.

“I have over seven hundred rounds of ammunition,” Doug says. “We’ll be fine.”

“I’m really scared, Doug.”

 “Our chances are way better than staying here. A bullet will go straight through a frame house like this,” he mansplains. “It’s only a matter of time before one of us gets hit.”

Frustration tenses through my chest and into my throat, but I keep my voice meek and cute. “What if we stay down here?”

“In the basement?” His eyes narrow like he’s thinking about it. Is he going to listen to me for once?

But instead he laughs.

“That’s a great idea, Cheryl,” he guffaws.

I hate it when he acts like I’m stupid. I always react to it, and then he reacts back. I end up regretting it for days after. But too much is at stake now. I need to control my temper.

“The only way someone can get to us is down the stairs, and you have your guns and seven hundred bullets,” I say. My voice quavers as I try to keep it cute and scared. Doug wants to be an action hero, and he thinks this is finally his chance. So be a hero right here, where you can actually keep your family alive.

“We’re as good as dead if we stay here.”

“How is driving through New York any safer?”

“Your job is to take care of Hannah-Leigh,” Doug says in his I’m-scolding-a-toddler tone. “My job is to protect the two of you. You need to stay in your lane and do what I say.”

“I am taking care of Hannah Leigh,” I snap. I’m out of reasons and patience, and I can’t stop myself. “I don’t want her to die on some expressway in the Bronx.”

Doug’s eyes go dark, and the silence hits me like a punch to the ribs.

 I look down at my hands because I don’t want to see his face. I’ve seen that expression too many times and I know what it means. I know what comes next. I have the bruises to prove it.

“Are you saying I can’t protect my family?” His voice is as cold and hard as frozen concrete

“No.” It’s more a whimper than a word. “I’m just afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Look at me,” Doug says.

I look up at him. My eyes are blurry with tears and my hands are shaking. It’s hard to describe his expression when he gets like this. His lips are curled together, and his mouth is as narrow as a knife blade. His eyes are cold and wild, like a wild dog.

Maybe I’m doing this on purpose so I can live with myself. Maybe this is the last time I’ll ever have to be afraid of him.

Doug shakes his head like he’s disgusted, gets up and throws Hannah-Leigh back onto my lap. Relief floods through my body as Hannah-Leigh looks up at me with her big eyes. I wrap my arms around her.

“I need to ruck up my kit,” Doug says. “We leave as soon as I’m done.”

I hug Hannah-Leigh tighter.

I tried.

Doug opens the gun cabinet, puts two long guns into a plastic gun case, packs boxes of bullets around them, snaps it shut. He piles more bullets into a duffel bag, opens a plastic tote and unloads knives, flashlights, batteries and a steel tomahawk. They all go into the duffel. By the time he starts packing his army dress-up clothes into a second duffel, the look in his eyes is gone.

It’s time.

“What about Stacey?” I ask him.

Doug stops packing, looks up at me. Stacey always gets his attention.

Stacey used to date one of Doug’s buddies, and when they broke up Stacey and I stayed friends. It should bother me the way Doug looks at Stacey, how he’s nice to her the same way he used to be nice to me, but it doesn’t. I like having her around because I know Doug won’t get mad.

“What about Stacey?” Doug asks.

“She’s all alone,” I say.

“How do you know?”

“She texted me before our phones stopped working.”

Doug glares at me.

“Let me see,” he says. He holds out his hand, motions with his fingers.

I take out my phone, scroll through my texts. We’ve been charging our phones in Doug’s truck in case they start working again. I open the text from Stacey, hand him the phone.

I’m scared. There’s been yelling and screaming downstairs and I’m afraid to leave the apartment.

If you go anywhere will you please take me? My brother isn’t texting back. Neither are my parents. Will Doug come and get me?         

I know he can protect me.

I watch as Doug reads the texts. I expect him to puff up with manly pride and rush to her rescue, but instead I see that look harden in his eyes again.

Hannah-Leigh whimpers because I pull her so tight.

“Why didn’t you show me this when she first sent it?” he asks.

I don’t have an answer for that.

“This was almost a week ago,” he says, his voice like a knife. “She might not even be alive anymore.”

The reason I didn’t show Doug the text before this is because Stacey didn’t send it. I set up my number with Stacey’s name and picture and sent the text to myself.

I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use it.

“Damn it!” Doug snarls.

I wince and Hannah-Leigh whimpers, buries her head in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I hope to God I’m not too late,” Doug says. He slings the rifle around his shoulder and puts his sunglasses back on. “Stay down here,” he says. “I’ll be back pronto.”

I sit there hugging Hannah-Leigh as he stomps up the stairs. The upstairs door clicks open, thuds shut. The deadbolt rasps shut.

It worked.

I’m still shaking, and my body doesn’t want to move, but I can’t wait. Stacey only lives twenty minutes away and it might be even faster now with no traffic. I have no idea where Stacey is. She could be with her sister, or she could be sick or dead. Either way, Doug will be back, and Hannah-Leigh and I need to be gone by then.

“Come with Mommy,” I say to Hannah-Leigh, but she looks up at me fearfully and shakes her head.

“Daddy said to stay down here,” she says.

“It’s okay,” I say.

We climb the basement stairs and go into the mudroom to look through the window in the door. The driveway is dark with rain and Doug’s truck is gone.

I can breathe again.

I get the shopping bag of food I put together, pack our battery lantern and my dollar store candles into a second bag, get the big garbage bag of blankets and pillows, and pile them all by the side door. I put a KN95 mask on Hannah-Leigh, then a surgical mask over it, do the same thing myself.

“Stay there,” I tell Hannah-Leigh. She sits down in the mudroom, hugs Boofy. I open the door, slip outside and peer around the corner of the house. A few cars are parked along the street, but there’s no sign of any people. Edward’s windows are dark, like all the others on the street. If he’s not home, Hannah-Leigh can squeeze through his milk delivery door and let me in. We’ll hide in his house until Doug finally gives up on us and leaves for his brother’s.

But I really hope he’s home.

Doug calls Edward the Hippie Homo because of the peace sign sticker on Edward’s Subaru and the rainbow flag on his porch. Edward is an old hippy, but I know he’s not gay because he stares at my tits every time we talk.

I go back and get Hannah-Leigh’s wagon from the shed, load the bags onto it. I get a brick from the heap of junk between the shed and the house, set it next to the door.

I tell myself I’m doing the right thing.

I take Hannah-Leigh by the hand, pull the wagon up the driveway to the front edge of the house. “Stay here,” I tell her. She looks like the most perfect thing in the world standing there in the rain hugging her dolphin.

I pick up the brick and throw it through the window in the side door. It’s so loud it sounds like another gunshot.

“Mommy!” Hannah-Leigh cries. “Daddy’s going to be mad!”

She says that a lot.

“It’s okay,” I tell her as we cross the street. Even the wagon seems loud, rattling across the wet pavement. As it bumps onto Edward’s driveway, the bag of bedding rolls off onto the ground. As I bend over to pick it up, I see a flicker of movement at the far end of the block.

I freeze, stare through the drizzle at the crowded houses and ragged front yards, but everything is still. I hope it was nothing, but Hannah-Leigh is looking in the same direction. I choke back my panic as I grab her hand. We need to get inside fast.

“Why is that lady sleeping in the bushes?”

Hannah-Leigh points toward the shrubs next door to Edward’s house. They’re so lopsided and overgrown that they block the side window, but Hannah-Leigh is pointing toward the ground. At first, I just see the tangle of plastic bags and paper cups in the weeds, but then I see something bright pink. It takes me a second to realize it’s a pair of flannel pajama pants. Then I see the blond hair splayed across the weeds, the outstretched arm and upturned hand.

Oh God.

My chest goes cold. I’ve never seen a dead body. I don’t know what to say, don’t even know if I could talk if I did know what to say, so I just drag Hannah-Leigh toward the gate at the side of Edward’s house.

“Shouldn’t we wake her up?” Hannah-Leigh asks. “She’s getting all wet.”

“I have to talk to Mr. Edward first,” I manage to say.

We pull the wagon through the gate between Edward’s house and garage, climb the steps to his deck and tap on the back door. I lean in close to the window.

“Edward?” I call.

My voice is so loud it startles me.

“Edward?” I call more quietly. “It’s Cheryl, from across the street.” I look through the window, hoping he’ll appear, but all I see are the dark shapes of the refrigerator and stove.

“I’m getting wet,” Hannah-Leigh says.

“Just another minute,” I say.

“Is Daddy coming back?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say.

I’m more worried about that than the shooter, if I’m being honest.

I glance across the backyard of the house behind us, then over toward the gate where we came in. I knock on the door again. I still don’t see anything inside except shadows. I know it’s time to hoist Hannah-Leigh through the milk door, but I hate the idea of sending her into a house alone. What if Edward is in there, but he’s sick and dangerous?

Then I see a ripple of movement inside.

It’s almost nothing, like a passing shadow of somebody in the next room, but it makes me dizzy with hope. I tap quietly on the window, call out again for Edward.

A tall, slim-shouldered figure steps into the kitchen. I’m so relieved that my legs wobble. Edward raises his hands to his face, and it’s not until he steps forward that I see he’s putting on a blue surgical mask. He comes up to the door and I see his blue eyes, his high forehead and thin tussled hair. The lock clicks and the door opens.

“How are you?” I ask. It’s a stupid question in these circumstances, but it’s what comes out of my mouth.

“Okay,” he says quietly. He’s wearing jeans, with a brown flannel unbuttoned over a white tee shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t come right away. There were gunshots.”

“We heard them too,” I say. I want to tell him about the man running down the street and the dead woman in the bushes, but not in front of Hannah-Leigh.

Edward looks scared. His eyes are wide. He looks down at my chest, and his eyes widen even more. I realize I’m not wearing a bra, and my shirt is damp with rain. I decide that’s a good thing.

“Can we come in?” I ask. “We’ll keep our masks on.”

Edward nods and walks to the other side of the kitchen as Hannah-Leigh and I step inside. I close the door and lock it behind me.

Thank God.

Edward’s kitchen is tidy. The coffee mugs hanging beneath the cabinets are arranged by size and color, and the countertops are spotless. The only thing remotely out of place is a half-empty bottle of wine on a coaster.

“Snowflake!” Hannah-Leigh squeals.

Edward’s white cat struts into the kitchen, goes right over to Hannah-Leigh and rubs itself against her. She plops onto the floor and starts petting it. I was hoping the cat would be around because I don’t want to have this conversation in front of Hannah-Leigh. “Can we go in the other room and talk?” I ask Edward.

He nods and we walk into his living room. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he didn’t want us here, but that’s not it. He’s just shy and awkward. I said hello to him a bunch of times before he finally said hello back. I did most of the talking at first, but eventually he started talking too.

He seemed nice, and kind of lonely. I started looking for him on his porch every time Hannah-Leigh and I went out for a walk. I didn’t have anybody to talk to besides Hannah-Leigh, so I guess I was lonely too.

Edward’s living room has big windows that look out onto the street.  His front door is to the right of them in a little foyer with one jacket hanging on the wall. On the other side of the room there’s an old stereo system with a turn table, and a bookshelf filled with LPs. Musical instruments hang on the walls, mostly guitars.

That’s what Edward does: he hand-makes guitars and sells them.

Normally I’d make small talk because it takes Edward a few minutes to talk back, but I don’t have that kind of time.

“Doug is set on driving through the city to get to his brother’s house in Pennsylvania,” I say. “I’ve been trying to talk him out of it, but he won’t listen.”

Edward’s eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. “All the bridges are backed up,” he says quietly. “You can’t get through.”

“I know. But that’s not stopping Doug.” 

I hear the ripple of fear in my voice.

“You can’t talk him out of it?”

I haven’t told Edward much about Doug because I’m ashamed, but I have complained about how stubborn and stupid he is. I just shake my head.

Edward nods, but his eyes look uncertain.

“Can you take me and Hannah-Leigh to your workshop?” I ask. Edward told me about his space off Long Island Avenue in Medford. It’s where he makes his guitars.

“Why do you want to go there?” he asks.

“You said it’s in an old industrial building, right?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of door does it have?”

“Steel.”

“What about the windows?”

“Glass block.”

I see from Edward’s eyes that he’s with me, and I’m surprised at how good someone listening to me feels.

“There’s no furniture,” he says. “There’s nowhere to sleep.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’ll be safer than here. And I have blankets and pillows.”

Edward blinks, and his forehead furrows. I start to worry that he’s going to say no, but he finally nods. “I’ll take you there,” he says. “Getting there will be dangerous, but once you’re there, you and Hannah will be safe.”

“And you,” I say.

Edward’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Why would you come back here if it’s safer there?” I ask.

Edward’s forehead reddens like he’s blushing.

“And I want you there,” I say. I put my hand on Edward’s arm, squeeze it a little. He startles, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I have food,” he says. “I’ll get that together.”

“Thank you,” I say. I’m literally drunk with relief. Hannah-Leigh and I don’t have to drive through the city. We can be safe. Safe from this pandemic, and safe from Doug.

Then I see a flash of movement through the front windows.

It’s a vehicle coming up the street. I pray it’s just somebody passing through, but I can already tell it’s a pickup truck, and it’s slowing like it’s getting ready to turn into a driveway.

Doug.

I watch him pull into our driveway. There’s no way he could have gotten back and forth from Stacey’s apartment so fast. Unless he chickened out again. I’m so angry and disgusted I feel sick. He’s going to freak out when he sees the broken window, and I can’t let Hannah-Leigh see that. She can’t even know he’s back.

A clatter from the kitchen.

It sounds a plate smashing on the floor, and for a split second I think Hannah-Leigh must have broken something, but I know that’s not what happened even before I hear the hiss of the deadbolt and the snap of the back door opening.

My whole body goes cold.

A voice in my gut screams at me to get in there, protect Hannah-Leigh, but the room is spinning and I can’t move my legs.

Edward turns, his eyes wide with alarm, and runs toward the kitchen.

A gunshot crashes through the house like a thunderclap, rattles through the window next to me. The noise hammers into my chest like somebody punching me. But I’m not frozen anymore. I’m running toward the kitchen. I hear someone screaming for Hannah-Leigh and realize it’s me.

The first thing I see is Edward. He’s lying on the floor in the entryway to the kitchen trying to push himself up to a sitting position, but his arms give out and he collapses back onto the floor. That’s when I see the red stain seeping across his white tee shirt.

A man in an ivory track suit stands on a litter of broken glass in front of the open door. He holds Hannah-Leigh by her hair, and she stares across the kitchen at me, her mouth open like she’s screaming, but all I hear is her choked breathing. The man points a handgun at me with his free hand. His face convulses like he’s being electrocuted, then settles into a grin like a crazed Jack-o’-lantern.

I step back, raise my hands, shudder in the wet draft of cold air through the door.

The man’s cheeks are ruptured into red blisters and his nose is the color of raw hamburger. His lips are a slurry of foam and spit. And his eyes. They’re the eyes of a rabid dog locked in a basement. Crazed. Hungry.

The eyes of a monster.

This is the Frenzy. It’s standing right in front of me, and it has my daughter.

"Please don’t hurt her," I say. "Please let her go."

But the man just leers at me with those wobbling, demented eyes.

I look down at Edward, into his eyes. He looks like he’s staring at something miles away, something even scarier than the man in the doorway.  His eyes find me, and he looks up at me with the saddest expression I’ve ever seen. He coughs, and a red stain widens across the blue paper of his mask.

"You didn’t have to shoot him," I say to the man in the track suit.

Edward’s head sinks back onto the floor, and he shudders, goes still. His eyes stare up at nothing.

This is my fault. I used Edward to get away from Doug, and now he’s dead. I’m no better than this man who just shot him. But I don’t have time to feel bad about myself.

“Mommy,” Hannah-Leigh whimpers. Her eyes are huge with terror, and her little body quakes with fear. Boofy the dolphin is on the floor at her feet.

“What do you want?” I ask the man in the track suit.

He grinds his jaw like he’s chewing on something. He scowls and shakes his head, grits his teeth. The gun quavers in his hand.

“Isawyouinthestreet.” He spits out the words in one long slur of sound. Then he looks at my chest like he’s groping my tits with those eyes. I feel like I’m topless. I want to cover my chest with my arms, but I figure if he’s looking at my tits he might not shoot me, so I stand there with my tee shirt clinging to my skin.

The man gnashes his jaw like he’s trying to snatch his words from the air. “Ilikeyou,” he growls, licks his lips.

I feel like bugs are crawling across my skin.

Doug is right across the street looking for us. If we can get as far as the street, Doug can shoot him. He’s been waiting to shoot somebody since this whole thing started. I can tell him this man broke into the house and dragged us over to Edward’s.

I make myself smile, push out my chest a little.

“I’ll be your girlfriend,” I say. “But you have to be nice to my little girl. You have to let her go.”

The man’s ruined face brightens with amazement. I fight to keep smiling as he lowers the gun and lets go of Hannah-Leigh. She grabs Boofy and scampers over to me, presses her face against my leg.

“Stay right here,” I say to her as I reach down and pull her off my leg. “Mommy has to talk to this man for a minute.”

I step across the kitchen, the smile still fixed on my face.

The man grunts, licks his lips again.

I move closer, reach out and touch his arm. He shudders, and his face goes through those electric contortions again. I’m afraid he’s going to freak out and hurt me, but he reaches up and grabs one of my breasts instead.

I feel like I’m going to puke. But instead, I keep smiling, step in closer like I’m going to kiss him. His breath smells like a rancid litterbox, and my stomach hiccups with nausea as he leans in to kiss me.

That’s when I bring my knee up into his crotch. Hard.

His scream is a shrill yodel as loud as the gunshot. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard. He doubles over, and the gun clatters against the tile floor. I tear myself away from him, snatch the half empty wine bottle off its coaster, bring it down with both hands onto the back of the man’s head. The bottle clunks dully as it bounces off, and the man collapses to his hands and knees. I raise the bottle, bring it down again with every ounce of strength I have. This time it shatters against the back on his head. Red wine spatters across the kitchen and onto my face like blood.

The man flops facedown onto the floor, still howling in pain. I turn, pick up Hannah-Leigh, step over Edward and run toward the front door.

“Mommy!” Hannah-Leigh cries. “I dropped Boofy!”

I fumble with the deadbolt, tear the door open. I broke the bottle over his head. I must have knocked him out. At least for a minute. At least for long enough to get across the street to Doug.

But as I step onto the porch, I see him coming up the hallway. He’s hunched over like an ape. His face is a mask of blood and wine.

I slam the door shut behind me. My heart booms in my ears as I run down the steps and across Edward’s front yard. The front door slams open as I race across the street toward our house.

“Doug!” I yell.

Just a few minutes ago I was trying to get away from him. Now he’s the only thing that can save us.

The man in the track suit hurdles over the porch railing and tumbles onto the wet grass. He doesn’t have the pistol. Thank God for that at least. And I’m almost across the street. We’re going to make it. But then I hear his footsteps closing the distance between us, his panting and grunting. He sounds like a wild dog running down a deer.

“Doug!” I scream again. I’m carrying Hannah-Leigh and my legs are burning. I can’t run any faster.

Doug is outside the side door next to his truck. He’s holding his rifle.

“Shoot him!” I scream.

Doug raises the rifle to his shoulder. But then he shakes his head, steps backward.

The man’s fingers snatch at the back of my shirt as I cut toward the side of the truck where Doug is standing. I’m too close now for Doug to shoot, and he’s still just standing there. And the frenzied man has ahold of my shirt.

I drag myself forward, twist sideways to tear myself away from the sick man, shoulder my way past Doug. Doug staggers sideways against the truck as the man in the track suit crashes into him. They both topple onto the driveway as I scramble through the door with Hannah-Leigh.

Doug shrieks in pain as I climb the steps from the mudroom to the kitchen.

“That man is hurting Daddy!” Hannah-Leigh squeals.

“Go upstairs,” I say to her as I set her down. “Hide!”

Her eyes are wide and her lips tremble, but she nods and runs toward the stairway. I throw the utensil drawer open, rummage through it frantically until I find the chef’s knife. Doug loves sharpening things, even the kitchen knives, so I know it’s razor sharp.  

There’s just enough room between the stove and the door for me to stand there hidden. I clutch the knife, try to keep my shit together as the two men pant and groan and thrash in the driveway. It sounds like they’re fucking.

It could be Doug who comes through the door. He’s big and strong and he might win the fight, but I’m not sure I want it to be him, and I hate myself for thinking that. But it doesn’t sound like he’s winning because he’s wheezing and squealing. Then it goes suddenly quiet.

The sharp crash of a gunshot. I wince, almost cry out.

The thump of footsteps in the mudroom, the creak of someone coming up the steps. They’re wheezing like a dying dog.

I’ve never been this scared. I don’t know if I can’t do this. I’ve never killed someone, never even imagined doing it. But I think of Edward’s eyes as he died, tell myself that this son of a bitch shot him for no reason. I think of Hannah-Leigh, and what this man will do to her if I don’t protect her. 

And then I’m ready.

The first thing I see as he steps through the door is his right cheek. It’s hanging open like a flap of skin on a raw chicken. I see clenched teeth through the hole. I draw the knife back, hope I can stab it deep enough into his chest. That’s when I see that he’s wearing a black vest.

Doug.

He steadies himself on the door frame, turns toward me. He doesn’t see me because his right eye is just a bloody cavity in his face. Then his left eye finds me. He looks uncertain for a second, like he’s not sure it’s me. Then I watch as his eye goes cold, and his mouth tightens into that scowl. He stares down at me like this is all my fault.

He looks like a monster.

And then I understand something. The Frenzy turned the man in the track suit into a monster, but Doug’s always been a monster. He just looks the part now.

Doug grimaces at me, opens his mouth to talk, but be never gets the words out. Because I step forward and drive the knife into his throat.

It feels like I’m slicing through a cut of raw beef as I draw the knife back and to the side. Blood fountains from Doug’s neck, spills onto his shoulders and chest. His bloodied face twitches with surprise, and he drops his rifle, reaches up and clutches his throat with both hands. He stands there a moment swaying, staring down at me in disbelief. Then he crashes to the floor. He arches his back as the puddle of blood beneath his head and shoulders widens, stares at me with that left eye. It’s harder and colder than I’ve ever seen it. But I’m not afraid anymore.

I stand there and watch as his body goes still, as his eye glasses over like a fogged window.

Relief floods through my chest, slams against my self-hatred like a wave smashing into a cliff. I hug the door frame with my free arm to steady myself, stare numbly at Doug’s body. His face has already gone pale, and he’s as still as a wax statue. There’s so much blood. It’s pooled against wall, and it streams onto the steps to the mudroom in thick rivulets.  My white tee shirt is drenched red, and I taste the metallic tang of it on my lips.

I feel a weight in my hand, realize I’m still holding the knife.

That’s when I understand something else.

I’m a monster now too.

© Matt Fox, 2025