The Hand That Feeds: A Horror Novel

Chapter 2

Copyright © 2013 by Michael W. Garza | Copyright © 2016 by Severed Press | www.severedpress.com All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher and author, except where permitted bylaw.This novel is a work of fiction. Names,characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously.Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons,living or dead, is purely coincidental. ISBN: 978-1-925047-19-6 All rights reserved.   

2

John sat up in a daze. His memory was fuzzy, but he recognized the living room. He'd fallen asleep on the couch in an awkward position and there was a terrible pain in his lower back. He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind. A sudden recollection washed over him and his mind focused on Alex. He froze in place, then tossed his legs off the side of the couch and waited. He stared at the television screen and listened to the sounds of the house, the silence was haunting.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the dining room table was still a mess. A thin line of light breeched the curtains over the window by the back door. There were smudge marks covering the tabletop, and the black ooze that had covered Alex now stained the wood. John got to his feet and walked toward the hall.

He reached Alex's bedroom door and felt along the wall for the hall light. The sudden illumination forced him to close his eyes, then try and strain to see into the bedroom. The small bed was covered in blankets and a large lump revealed something hidden somewhere beneath. Hesitantly, he tiptoed in. In the light from the hall, he could see the blanket slowly rise and then fall. He heard the sound of deep, labored breaths. Once at the edge of the bed, Angela's long, black hair was visible around the edges of the blanket.

He moved around the bed toward the rear wall. Cold air seeped in through the edge of the open window. John saw the smaller impression of Alex's body. He lay close to his mother, covered by the blanket. John was anxious. He wanted to see his son breathing, but was terrified to pull back the blanket and look. It took him several moments, standing frozen in the shadows of the bedroom, before he found the courage. Slowly, he took hold of the blanket and eased it back. Alex's hair was matted to his face; patches of ooze clung to the strands of hair like bubblegum. John held his breath.

He waited for Alex to move, looking for a rise from his pajama top. A second felt like an hour when the boy's chest didn't move. John's hand shook and the blanket moved. Angela shifted and the material pulled away from his grip. Instinctively, he tried to grab it, but took a hold of Alex's shirt instead, and felt a thick residue stick to the palm of his hand. He let the shirt go then saw the material shift as Alex took a small breath. John couldn't settle his nerves as he pulled the blanket back in place and left the room.

The clock read 5:37, and the living room was filled with early morning light. John stood in the middle of the room getting dressed. The nametag on his dark blue shirt read Jon. The shirt belonged to someone who'd worked at the car repair shop the year before he started. The name was close enough for him. He slipped his boots on and made sure his lunch was packed. He was putting on his jacket when Angela's voice startled him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I have to work."

"What about Alex?"

Angela was a mess. She was wearing the clothes from the night before. Makeup was smeared across her cheeks and she looked like she'd been beaten.

"You're going to just leave him here?" she asked.