Half-Awake and Half-Alive
A collection of short stories of exactly 300 words each, diving into the heads of Apricot Bay's residents on those especially cold, stressful nights...
I Am Not Alone
Madeleine leaned her snout against the back of the laundry room door, her ear flat against it, listening close. She was sure she had seen something else in the house out of the corner of her eye--or, at least, heard someone in the other room.
It couldn't have been the children. They were fast asleep before she even left their rooms. Were they home early? They would've called to her, and they certainly wouldn't have the left the kitchen door wide open, letting in all that dreadful October air--unless she left that open? Did the children open it?
Madeleine hung low to the ground as she escaped around the corner into the master bedroom. She turned on every light, pulled down every shade, and threw open the walk-in closet door to reveal what was inside. Thankfully, it wasn't much; a rack of heavy winter clothes on hangers, a few shelves of linens, and a spare umbrella in the corner, which she nursed for security.
Though her unsteady gasps for breath masked how well she could hear, in the gaps, she could almost make out a dull, mechanical thudding against the wooden hallway floor, one step at a time. It was too heavy to be either of the children, and it only got louder--and seemed to listen for her in kind.
Realizing she was backed into a corner, Madeleine looked down at what was in her hands and steadied herself. When it stumbled into the room, she grabbed its neck with the curve of the handle, cracking its head against the edge of the door.
The fennec girl studied the body it left behind. While she couldn't make out the face inside the hockey mask, the carving knife in its hand let her know they were, in fact, not home early.