Wild doe eyes darted back and forth, scanning the room in front of her, hoping she was alone.  She couldn’t see very well, the darkness had clawed its way through the kitchen slowly, transforming it into an unknown and danger filled maze.  The windows and patio doors were stark and black, the gloom outside promised to spill forth more of the unbelievable horrors she had seen tonight. 

Her rich brown eyes, once captivating, were dull and watery, the stress taking its toll.  She started violently and had to stifle a scream as she heard a noise in the room.  Elizabeth held her breath, listening intently, adrenaline pumping through her body, limbs shivering.  Fight or flight she thought fight or flight.  She used the words like a mantra, praying to her body not to fail her when the time came. She waited, but nothing moved.

Elizabeth was tall and slim, she would say that she was past her prime, but she was healthy and she hoped her speed and reflexes were still good enough to get her past those things, she’d seen how fast they moved.  A minute ticked past and there was no other sound, just the monotonous, sickening drip of her husbands’ blood.  The worktops in the kitchen, black granite with ash panels, betrayed nothing under the moonless night of the grisly slick that coated them.

The slacks and sweatshirt Elizabeth wore clung to her body like a needy lover; the mixture of sweat and blood forced its way into her nostrils and it was all she could do not to retch.  She loved those clothes, her comfy scruffs, they made her feel safe and warm and secure.  Now that security was shattered, she felt sickened and betrayed by them, smeared as they were with her husbands’ blood. This thought brought the emotions welling back up, the fear and horror at seeing her husbands mutilated body, the terror she felt now, a fugitive in her own kitchen as those things hunted her.

She ran a nervous, shaking hand through her hazel hair, now matted with blood and whimpered quietly.  She used to take good care of her hair, wearing it long and straight with just a little curl.  Now it was lank and damp with sweat and was matted in places by blood, sticky and cloying.  She bit her lip as she listened hard to the sounds of the house.  The whole place had become a carnival of unidentified sounds, scrapes and bumps, far removed from the safe, warm haven she was used to.  She felt a trickle of sweat scratch its way down her spine, she had to move soon or they’d find her.  She started to move slowly, standing and trying not to slip as her bare feet waded in the blood on the floor. Then heard a low, threatening growl right next to her ear. Her blood ran cold. Elizabeth screamed.