Silencer

The thud means the things are in my house again. Those grotesque things have been showing up more often lately.

The first time they came, I banged on the music box and they fled. It has not worked since. It just makes them come looking for me. But I know my house and I know where to hide.

I’m in the attic now, watching through a slat in the rafters. There are two this time. They are loud, haphazard. Their spindly arms knock my things over. The noises they make seem jubilant, like they enjoy the chaos. I hate these creatures and the messes they make.

I can hear them coming up the stairs. They are moving through the house methodically. Can they smell me? I hold my breath. They are close now. Luckily, there is another ladder out of the attic. It’s a large house. I sidle away and just before I slip down the hatch, I can hear the other open. They are making such a noise. Those awful barking sounds.

There is a bedroom to my right. I will lure them here and then slip away. Yes. It worked last time. They are intelligent and seem to be able to communicate. They know how to open doors. These creatures are fascinated by fire. Their curiosity can be used against them, much like mine could be used against me. I have a perverse desire to understand these things, but instinct tells me these are not friendly creatures.

They are monsters.

This room has a hearth, and there is still plenty of dry wood to use. Yes. Fire. While they are distracted by the blaze, I can stalk away. As I will the fire to grow, I can hear them murmuring down the hall.

I did not expect them to come so quickly. The last pack of them lingered in the attic for several hours. They made a racket and fought amongst themselves before they came looking for me. I can still remember their awful stench and foul breath. I shudder.

I have made a mistake choosing this room. There is only one door. There is a window, but I am not keen to jump out of the third story. I do not trust the ivy lattices to hold me. Under the bed is my best bet.

I hold my breath. The floorboards creak as the creatures approach. I can see one set of their grotesque paws, then the other. They are making low noises. Evil, hungry mutterings. What will I do if they find me?

They are watching the fire. Listening to the logs pop. One of them howls suddenly. Yelling. My heart races. Surely they must smell me. I can smell them. I slouch further underneath the bed. A spider dangles above me. It drops. Skitters across my face. I am not breathing.

The monsters stalk the room, those ugly feet patrolling. They can sense me, I know it. In my mind, I beg them to leave. After an eternity, they do. But, I can still hear them just outside the door. They mumble and mutter and gurgle and bark. The barking is the worst and they do it a lot.

I fear I will wait all night for them to leave. They have returned to the room. They know I am here. But they do not think to look under the bed. Perhaps they cannot smell me after all. Perhaps they are not as intelligent as I thought.

They do the thing I detest. They shed their skins, exposing ugly flesh. They do this before they fight. They shriek and howl mightily while they battle and I imagine what they will do to me if they find me. The way they will pull me apart as they bellow and gibber. I think maybe I can bolt while they are distracted. I think better of that and just squeeze my eyes shut.

Some indeterminate time passes and they are quiet. I saw one of them leave. The horrid bony protrusions on its feet did not make a sound as it stalked away. The other one is above me on the bed.

Slowly, so slowly, I slither out from under the bed. Some instinct compels me to look. It’s still. It’s even uglier without its skin.

Its eyes flutter open.

It shrieks.

I panic.

I smash a fist into its face. It’s fragile, like clay. The thing screams no more and my hand is wet and warm. I can hear the other one shouting. Those bony, gnarled stumps are thundering up the stairs. I only need a few seconds to get to the attic.

The other monster finds its companion and wails. It paces and barks urgently. Hoarse, shrill noises like no . Even worse than before. It looks for me briefly, but seems compelled to leave. Dawn approaches. Perhaps it does not like dawn. I should remember this.

It leaves, but I stay in the attic. It’s dark, and drafty, but no one knows I’m here. Least of all the things.

---

More of them arrive the next night. Four this time. I have kept to the other side of the manor. The thing I punched has not moved and I think it will never move again. I should leave here, but it took a long time to find this solitude. This silence. I know not where else to go.

If these things keep coming, perhaps I will have no choice.

I’m in the attic, watching. They have come for the dead thing on the bed. They are making low chuffing noises as they inspect it. One of them wretches. Another tenses, perhaps they will shed skins and fight.

They perform some strange ritual over it, wrapping it in skins. What grotesqueness is this? Perhaps they consume their dead?

I realize too late that I made a disgusted sound. Four sets of hateful eyes turn in my direction. Did they see me? They are not moving and are hooting at each other. I make my way over the rafters and to one of the ladders out of the attic.

They are hunting me. I can tell because they are trying to be quiet. I crouch behind a sofa in a parlor while two of them slink in. Such ugly, twisty bodies. What hell are these things from! But I remember how easily the other one, the one from last night, broke under my fist. If I can isolate them one-by-one….

The creatures drift into a hall and I make my move.

Softly. Softly. I hold my breath. One of the things is within arm’s length….

I make a fist….

Its head shatters easily, warmly, wetly.

The other turns. It yells. I yell. Only one of us will leave and it will be me.

I slash at the air with my hand but only strike the monster’s paw. Something clatters and it swipes back at me. Hot pain on my arm. It has a long gleaming claw, but I know now I am stronger than it. I lunge, intending to smash its face, like I did its packmate.

It kicks me, this one has jagged hooves that hurt. But it is not interested in fighting. It flees, I’m sure, to fetch the rest of its pack.

There is a hole in the floor in the next room. Somehow, the monster doesn’t notice it. Perhaps its vision is impaired by panic. But it is a critical mistake. The creature spills into the opening and yelps.

I can see it has ruined its leg and must drag its spindly body across the ground. My fear has become anger. I must punish it for harming me. I wonder if its claws are venomous. It doesn’t matter. The thing will not outlive me.

I drop down and the wounded animal knows I am there. It mews at me and snuffles. It tries to move faster. It has no hope.

I have the urge to touch it. My curiosity gets the best of me. I place my hand on its head. I can read its thoughts. There are so many. So many emotions. So many images. Trying to understand them all is like standing in a storm and trying to count the raindrops that land on your skin. It cannot be done.

I hate this ugly, strange thing. I hate the noise it makes, especially the cacophony of its consciousness. A word, some ancient word, appears in my mind with burning clarity.

Human.

It cowers from my touch. Starts to scream. No, I do not like this.

I snarl and it is silent forever.

I can hear the other things coming. I understand those sounds they make are not the sounds of hunting animals. No, those are the sounds of fear.

Of prey.

They see me through the hole in the floor above. I see them. One of them gestures at me and there is a tremendous noise and light, like they have brought a thunderbolt with them. Barbaric, perverse magic I will not abide.

I leap. My body crashes into its chest. Its eyes are wide and it’s screaming at me. The noise is awful, but useless. Futile. It is terrified and its fear is delicious. I snarl at it and its skin pales. I put my hand on its head.

It’s that same awful bombardment of thoughts. But the fear is the loudest voice in its choir. The thing does not like my teeth. It does not like my claws. It hates my breath on its face.

It is roaring hoarsely and striking limply with its puny arms. It tries to shove at me but I am too heavy. I tighten my grip on its head. The pitch of its cries changes. I squeeze and it goes higher still, like some sort of repulsive instrument. I close my fist, and my house is quiet once again.

The final thing is not nearby. I can see it has run through the front door of my house. It is not fast. At least not compared to me.

I catch up to it easily and watch it run. It runs and runs and runs. It stumbles several times over rocks and roots it fails to see. It finally stops. Doubles over. It believes it is safe here among the trees on my mountain.

It should have been looking up.

I want it to know that it is going to die.

I growl. It looks. It howls. The last thing it sees is my teeth.

Maybe the things will keep coming. At least I know how fun it is to make them go silent.