Surreal II [Fiction]

The thud of my phone against the coffee table beside me jolts me out of shock. I can't believe my eyes! It's like I'm in a world where cannibalism or weird shit like this is normal. Or am I having a nightmare?

Claire is thrashing and screaming on the marble floor. Shaw's head is hidden in the crook of her neck, gulping sounds coming from him as blood pools around them.

I shake myself out of the daze, my brain directing my gaze to a vintage vase with flowers on the coffee table. I empty it and smash it on Shaw's head, an ear-splitting scream like the cry of way piercing the air. I realise the sound is coming from me as I watch feral Shaw groan and collapse onto my friend.

I'm heaving, trying to choke back tears at the same time. Claire is whimpering when I hear sounds coming from my phone. “Claire? Can you hear me?” I yell and stretch to grab my phone from the table.

I had dialled the emergency number before the phone fell out of my hand. “Hello? Can you hear me?” A dispatcher says.

“Yes, yes! We need medical assistance at 133 Orbit Crescent street, please…also the police…the police.” Fear and confusion collide, making me stutter as I glance at Claire whose eyes are slowly rolling upwards like she may pass out any moment. “Claire, stay with me,” I plead, touching her shoulder and shaking her a little. She cries out in pain.

“Ma'am, your name, please. And tell me the situation there and why you need the police.”

I take a deep breath and relay the information. Within minutes, the police and EMTs swarm the street, alerting the neighbours to the tragic incident. They find me cuddling Claire's head on my lap, my clothing and hands covered in her blood. Once the EMTs stop the bleeding and patch Claire up, I join them to the hospital.

Three hours later, Claire's mother arrives at the hospital, her eyes red and swollen. I embrace her as she cries some more by her daughter's beside. Claire is stable but unconscious.

I check my phone and there's no message or call from Dave. So unlike him. I dial his number and it goes to his voicemail. I drop him a message. “Hey, babe. So a lot has happened today and I'll tell you all about it. Will you pick up some Chinese for dinner? See you at home.”

I turn to Claire's mother and tell her I have to go home. We hug once more and she whispers, “Thank you so much, Phoebe. You know, for saving my daughter from that monster. In my wildest dream, I never thought Shaw would ever do this.”

I hesitate before saying, “I don't think he's a monster. Something is very wrong, kinda like a virus or something going round. It's not clear. Maybe you'll talk to the doctors?” Her scoff and sceptical look reveal she doesn't believe me. She nods all the same. I don't believe myself either but it seems the medical sector and space industry are filling our heads with strange things.

I hail a cab and get home a few minutes later, my body weary and aching from the emotional strain. I drop my handbag on the entryway table and head into the kitchen.

A cup of tea will calm my nerves until Dave comes home. I put the kettle on when I feel a presence behind me. The hairs on my neck stand erect as goose bumps bubble on my skin. Something is not right.

Heavy breathings behind me. My body goes into shock and I can't move.

Nothing was amiss when I stepped into the house. Yet I feel there's a stranger behind me and I'm scared to turn and see. Not after all that happened at Claire's.

I slowly stretch my hand and grab the frying pan on the stove and swing it with all my strength, spinning on my heels. I suck in a sharp breath as Dave, my husband, grabs the pan in midair and flings it onto the countertop.

“Dave!” I exclaim before realising he may not be the man I married. He smirks, his pale blue eyes dark and unblinking. The skin around his jaw and neck appears a little dark and bruised.

No. This isn't Dave.

I step backwards and he moves with me, saying nothing, his big size backing me into the corner. My handbag and phone are in the living room. I'm screwed.

“Dave? Are you okay?” I ask to get him to say something. He grins and opens his mouth to talk but guttural sounds emerge. I scream and push at him with all my weight so I can get away. He grabs me by the neck and squeezes, cutting off my air supply before smacking me against the wall.

“Dave. Dave, please,” I whimper, wondering what exactly is happening and where my husband is. Will anyone hear me or come to my aid? I think of Claire briefly, so glad that I helped me.

My head hurts and I'm almost out of breath. I claw at his hands but his head moves close to my face, his breathing heavy. He parts his mouth and I see sharp teeth slide out from his pink gum.

Claire was right after all.

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