FICTION BY JEFF PARSONS

In addition to Jeff’s two short story collections, The Captivating Flames of Madness and Algorithm of Nightmares, he is published in The Horror Zine ezine and also in many of their anthologies. He has also been published in Aphelion Webzine, Dark Gothic Resurrected Magazine, Fireburst: The Inner Circle Writers’ Group, and in many anthologies. He is currently seeking a publisher for his first full-length novel titled Tomorrow Will End, a sci-fi/ horror adventure.

For more propaganda, please visit his Facebook Author Page HERE

THE DISTURBANCE
by Jeff Parsons

I never thought I’d be waiting for my death sitting on the linoleum floor of a laundry room surrounded by strangers who were just as absolutely terrified as I was.

My breath wheezed in hoarse panting. I’d just run for my life, called inside to the safety of this suburban house by the old man watching the front door. His elderly wife helped to escort me to the hallway that was central to the house, as far away as possible from the windows and the chaos going on outside.

Wind rocked the house repeatedly which caused the windows to rattle. I was terrified that one would break, allowing the outside to find its way in. At least the radio was still working: “Remain inside until further instructed. Stay tuned to this station for details as they occur.”

A beam popped in the creaking attic, causing the nearby boy and girl to cry out in the carpeted hallway near the laundry room. They must have been close to kindergarten age. Their mother, sitting between them, instinctively pulled them closer to her breasts. The children looked dressed for school. Two small backpacks leaned against the wall beside them. Their mom must have been with them when it started, perhaps waiting at a bus stop or dropping them off at school. Her tear-streaked eyes locked onto me. Piercing. Silently begging to help her protect her children.

“Anything I can do to help?” the biker dude sitting next to me asked the old man who apparently owned this house.

“You got any weapons?” the homeowner asked.

“Left mine at home,” he said sheepishly. “Parole violation.”

I clutched my knobby-kneed blue jeans for dear life…it was a tactile life preserver, grounding my senses in a raging storm of madness as my awareness eased from the present, seeking solace in detachment.

The fluorescent lights flickered as my eyes unfocused. I felt like all world’s sounds retreated behind the rush of blood in my ears. My extremities grew colder; numb as my emotions. I shook my head to clear my thoughts, recognizing the after-effects of shock and fighting it. I needed to pay attention to my surroundings in order to survive; I became determined that I would not go meekly to my demise.

Suddenly screams pierced the wind that scraped like nails against the house. The screams called out from a distant street. Many screams, then several, then one. Then, none. The wind speed picked up, almost as if it felt excited.

“What all do you know?” I asked the biker, voice hushed.

The biker whispered back. “They haven’t said much on the radio. All I know is that it’s a national emergency. Actually, worldwide.”

Some part of me rested assured that I wasn’t going crazy. The world was. “What can we do?” I asked.

The biker tilted his head. “Hunker down. Stay put. Wait for further orders.”

“I would’ve been dead if I stayed out there.” I lowered my voice to a scratchy whisper. “I saw one of those—things—go into a house after people. The screams were horrible. How do we know that it won’t happen here?”

“We don’t.” The biker glanced at the children, then back to me. “Hey, let’s just focus on what we can do for now, not what we can’t do. We’ll figure this out as we go.”

From my covert spot in the hallway, I realized that the elderly couple was not hiding with us. I could hear the front door whoosh open again. The old man yelled, “Get in!”

The wind screeched. Probing. Forceful. Relentless.

Heavy footsteps ran inside the house.

The door closed.

Gunshots resounded.

I could hear two thuds hit the floor.

No!

A groan, then silence. There had been two thuds. Did that mean that the new arrival had shot the homeowners? Why? Who exactly did the elderly man invite inside to join us?

I froze, alarm dulled by shock and ringing ears, unable to process what just happened, stunned like the others, except for the biker. He rose to his feet and pressed flat against the dryer at the laundry room entrance, unseen as an armed man entered the crook in the hallway.

When the newcomer rounded the corner, the biker lifted the gunman and then threw him against the wall. During the blur of the ensuing struggle, the muzzle of a pistol was suddenly pressed to the side of the biker’s head.

The roughhousing stopped. Hands up, the biker slowly backed away.

The gunman told the biker, “Sit down. Now! Or I’ll shoot your ass. That goes for the rest of you, too.”

I studied the new man. He appeared to have just stepped out of a life of privilege because of his light blue dress sweater, white collared shirt, dress jeans, and boat shoes. The biker glared at the newcomer as well but was quiet as he sat between me and the gunman.

“I think I like it here,” the gunman drawled. “Gonna lay low here for a while, until I get bored. I’m keeping ya’ll alive for company. For now. Don’t know about the kids, though. We’ll have to see about them. But the rest of you? Ya’ll are gonna be my servants for the duration. You got food?”

Like a petulant robot, I answered reflexively. “Try the kitchen.” My eyebrows drew together of their own accord. What am I doing? I’m drawing attention to myself.

The gunman’s head tilted slightly. He slow-blinked as if taking in what I had said. “Smart asses end up dead. I’m thinkin’ you all need to show some respect. Didn’t I just tell ya’ll that you are my slaves? You go to the kitchen and make me a sandwich.”

Smirking, the gunman repeatedly waved his pistol, especially at the mother, his laughter fueled by the distress he caused. Her children cried a high-pitched wail, and their fingers dug into her arms. The mother attempted to soothe them. I figured that she didn’t want the newcomer to focus upon them.

“Get that gun out of their faces,” the biker finally said. “Can’t you see that those children are no threat to you?”

“Really?” The pistol barrel homed in on the biker’s face. “You’re telling me what to do?” His sick smile showed a wide-eyed revelation occurring to him. “You keep acting smart and I’ll kill all of you.”

The children completely lost it. Their wails escalated into unfettered hysteria.

The gunman said, “Shut up! They’ll hear us out there!” His words had no effect. With a disgusted huff, he strode forward, aimed, readjusted his aim, then shot the wall just above the woman’s head. Drywall paper and gypsum dust exploded out onto the woman and children.

The calculated miss gouged a hole in the wall. The settling white powder gave them a startled, ghost-like appearance. Overwhelmed by fear, the woman fiercely pulled her children close to her, heads tucked down under her armpits.

I spoke. “Calm down. I’m getting you a sandwich. See?”

I stood up and made my way to the kitchen, praying that the elderly couple had bread and sandwich spread. I hastily put together bologna and American cheese, then rushed back to the hallway.

Cackling, the unhinged gunman said. “That’s a good slave. I’ll let you live…for now.”

As I retook my seat in the hallway, I noticed that somehow, something was different. I cocked my head to listen and realized that the wind had paused its relentless screeching. An ominous groan issued from the front door and I understood that there was yet another person attempting to come inside, but there was no elderly man to let anyone inside now.

“Let me in,” a rasping voice said from the other side.

The gunman’s face drained of color, sandwich falling from his fingers to the carpet below. “Jenkins?” he asked, his tone faltering. He left us for the front door, seemingly confused.

The gunman disappeared out of my view and I figured he was near the door. I could hear the gunman say, “Go away! You’ll lead them here.”

“It’s Jenkins. You know me. Come on, let me in. They’ve hurt me.”

“You’re not Jenkins. I saw Jenkins die.”

The voice outside did not respond. The wind resumed its howl, once again rattling the windows in its fury.

“What do these damn things want?” the gunman asked at the door. Still no response.

But then the front door boomed and my heart felt like it had stopped in my chest. I could hear the wood splintering. My adrenaline surged at the realization that whoever—whatever—Jenkins was, might now finding its way inside.

The wind surged and a portion of it blew into our hallway refuge. A spurious draft ruffled strands of my hair. Static left my hair wavering like porcupine quills and my thoughts panicked because I knew whatever was outside traveled on the wind. Now it was touching me.

The gunman returned. I was surprised to see that his crazy expression was replaced by a face filled with fear. “It’s Jenkins! He wasn’t able to break down the door. But I know what he wants—blood! I’ll give it to him and maybe he’ll go away.”

And he grabbed one of the children by the arm, the boy. The mother jumped up and attempted to pull her child back, but the gunman pushed her down to the floor where she fell upon the second child, who screeched with fright.

Something within me snapped. All my life I had been timid, fearful; a follower. Repressed memories triggered anger that burned away my fear. Every punch to the face I had endured as a child, every humiliation I endured as an adult; every day of crippling insecurity surfaced. A thousand blows to my body and self-esteem, all because…I was always afraid.

The biker stood to intervene, but I beat him to it. I did not recognize this new me. I did not analyze my behavior as I always did before. It was as though fury was a puppet master, and I was compelled to react. I ignored the reality that I was no match for a gun. I stumbled on pins-and-needles legs towards the gunman. “Let that child go!”

He moved forward quickly, close enough to where I could smell his fetid breath. His face was practically in my own. His pistol shifted to my forehead. The gun’s hard, cold barrel pressed a circle into my skull.

My new-found resolve crumbled. No matter how mad I was, I knew I was a lousy fighter. I was no match for a gun to my head. I retreated into my previous, timid self. Once again I became a follower. Once again, I was disgusted at myself but powerless to change anything.

Eyes blazing, he said, “You’ve just become a terrible inconvenience. Time for you to go bye-bye.” He shoved me towards the living room. The pistol poked my back over and over, as he shoved me forward.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the biker inching behind the gunman’s back. He’s the true hero, I thought. I silently prayed that the biker would be the one to save us all.

But then the little girl whimpered, and the gunman glanced over his shoulder. My head hung as I realized that my only chance for getting out of this situation had just been thwarted by a child.

“Back off!” he screamed at the biker. “I have four more shots left in this pistol, and that’s enough to take you out four times over!”

“Okay, okay.” Hands held up in a calming, conciliating gesture, the biker sat back down. “Be cool, man. I ain’t no match for a gun and I know it.”

Rounding the hallway corner, I saw the front door; wood broken but still closed although there were deep cracks in its surrounding frame and underneath it—oh God no—the homeowners were sprawled on the entryway floor; so much blood.

Why them? They gave us shelter. They were even willing to shelter this crazy man. And this is how they got repaid?

The gunman prodded me past the bodies. “Open the door and go outside.”

My mind went over my choices. I could go outside and die in what could probably be a horrible death, or I could die quickly inside by gunshot. Decide! But my mind refused to make a decision. I was just too used to following others. I was disgusted with myself when I realized it would be the gunman to make my decision, not me. Once again, I was made powerless by timidity. Sweat ignited like sparks all over me.

I heard the gunman’s finger reach for the trigger. My mind stopped thinking and I behaved as though on autopilot. I fumbled for the doorknob and yanked open the door. The wind hit my face, causing me to squint, but I saw it.

Outside was a tornado. It hovered above the ground as though waiting, revolving in endless circles. The front lawn where it lingered was torn apart, and havoc sent sod flying in clumps into the overcast sky. Speckles of flying debris stabbed my exposed skin.

Shoved outside, I heard the door close behind me with an irrevocable finality as I stumbled and fell hard onto the concrete walkway, my palms scraped with gritty dirt. I stayed down, my face planted into the cement, the scent of wet grass filling my nostrils, and the pressure from relentless wind pushing on my back.

I was doomed and I knew it.

The abomination burst apart in a fury of wind and came at me before I could even scream. I was lifted into the air, swept up like a leaf in the powerful turbulence. Spinning wildly, I saw blurred glimpses of the ground far below. I could not breathe. I simply could not force my lungs open. Constricted, I tried to resist. Futile. My joints began to pop apart, muscles strained to snapping, the limbs soon to fly off. The pain was unbearable…

Please! I wish I was a fearless person. My vision dimmed on the verge of passing out.

Suddenly, bright light flashed, electrifying me. The spinning, turbulent wind retreated and I was slammed back to the ground. Stunned, I lay in the grass trying to focus my vision. I attempted to grasp that against all odds, I was still alive. It was almost like the ebbing tornado decided to spare me for some reason. It was almost like the tornado was a living being and not just wind.

I sat up. Everything hurt. My body crackled inside.

Far down the block, tornadoes chased a group of fleeing people. The slower ones were blasted apart like exploding water balloons. But no tornadoes were anywhere near me anymore.

When I stood, my muscles were stiff. I felt like a kitten taking its first steps but soon gained my footing. Joints popped loudly back into place throughout my body. My energy returned, and then some. I felt invigorated. I felt healed. I felt fearless.

I saw the house in front of me, its door now blown completely off. The entrance gaped like a missing front tooth. A man…the gunman…asked, “They gone?”

A confusing question for me, but I nodded.

He laughed with incredulity. “You’re still alive! Hey, Bro…you broke the spell! Respect!”

I moved closer, no longer shuffling.

“Bro, you went airborne, out of sight, then landed back on the lawn.” The gunman shook his head, smile fading. “Why’d it let you live?”

Did it? Whispers in my head echoed like ghostly revenants.

Suddenly appearing uncertain, the gunman backed away from the entranceway as I slowly approached. Behind him, the biker and mother peered around the hallway corner, afraid…of whom? I was not sure if they feared the gunman…or me.

The gunman raised his pistol towards me. “Hey man, back off. Remember, I got this here gun.”

Not intimidated, I felt no fear, probably for the first time in my life. In wonder, I raised my right hand to inspect it. Before my eyes, dark bruises faded, skin knitted together, and scrapes disappeared. Somehow I was miraculously healing.

I was whole once again. But I sensed that I was not myself anymore. My body felt like it was a manifestation of something with a great and terrible purpose.

Judgment.

I nodded to the biker and mother. “You shouldn’t watch this.” Eyes wide, the mother and children retreated deep into the hallway, children protected behind her. Only the biker continued to watch. I gestured for him to retreat as well. No one would have listened to the old me, but now, the biker disappeared into the hallway.

Out of harms way now.

I smiled at the gunman. I could feel that it was more of a grimace than an actual smile.

“That’s close enough,” the gunman said as I took my time walking towards him.

I felt a fragmented memory surface to my thoughts. “Jenkins says hello.”

The gunman fired his pistol. All four of his remaining bullets impacted against me like sledgehammers. The sheer force of them rocked me back on my heels, but did not knock me down, much less kill me. I felt my body healing, immediate and quick. I was beyond mortality now.

Hands shaking, the gunman cursed and reached for a piece of the shattered wooden front door to throw, but I just laughed at his incompetence. He was no match for the new me, and I understood that we both knew it.

I raised my right hand to guide the wind back to me. I could control it now. I was the wind.

I aimed it at the open doorway. The wind hit the gunman from all sides like a buzzing of angry bees. The piece of wood spun away from his grasp as my mastery of controlling nature grew.

I lifted him from the doorway. He cried in fear and began begging me as if that would save him. Who was the coward now?

Somehow, I sensed his wickedness. It was a bitter taste of something gone wrong. Something to be purged for the betterment of the good.

I directed the wind force to crush him like an insect. I felt his bones shatter like twigs, crumpled and pulverized alongside muscles that squashed flat and sprayed into the air outside of the house. His blood gravitated to me, first out of his eyes like tap water, then from everywhere else on his destroyed body. I drank it all in throughout my new body. It made me hungry for more.

I felt a tension build in the air, undeniable. A bolt of lightning hit the gunman and he exploded. Body parts flew out in slow motion towards me. As I absorbed them, my energy grew, seemingly without bounds.

The wind went away. I not only controlled it, but I also controlled the lightning, too. I was many things yet to be revealed.

I reassembled myself to appear less frightening. The same mousy fool on the outside, a new force to be reckoned with on the inside.

My eyes found the biker as he peered around the bend in the hallway. I spoke in a slow and calm tone when I said, “Keep them safe.”

He pulled back when I transformed. I became the wind once again and shot up into the sky, high above into the thunder clouds.

My omniscient senses directed me to others—those who must be scourged.