Of Fog And Desperation

Genevieve never intended to be caught outside in a downpour on the outskirts of a town that she was entirely unfamiliar with, but here she was, soaked to the skin and shuddering on the side of the road. Her day had been bad enough; first with a very important business conference completely bombing, then her car breaking down in the middle of nowhere where she had no cellular reception, and it seemed that her new dress was completely ruined. In other words, now wasn't the greatest time to realize that she had locked her keys in the car and was left with her useless phone in the middle of goddamned nowhere.

"Shit." She frowned as she saw that the orange sunburst sky was fading to night, her surroundings becoming indistinguishable through the dusk. She noticed how menacing the once friendly and quaint trees on either side of the road looked looming over her out of the night. A rustling in the forest startled her and she decided that she needed to get out of the woods and out of the rain. She had a pretty good understanding of what could be lurking there, and she wasn't sure she'd like to come in contact with them. Genevieve had seen a house a ways back on the road she was driving down, perhaps a mile and a half back. She thought she would go there and see if the home owners would let her inside to use their telephone and get somewhat dry.

Genevieve grumbled to herself about her awful day as she hiked down the road in her half inch Mary Janes, the dull clacks from her heels echoing through the trees, dirty splashes of the road water inevitably ruining her pristine tights. If she had not been mumbling to keep herself company, perhaps the woman would have noticed the out of place rustling and splashes in the bushes, she would have heard a voice accompanying her own, softly, but barely distinguishable.

Genevieve was once again holding her phone up to her face in another futile attempt to make connection. "Pick up, Harold," she whined in annoyance. She groaned when a tone sounded, notifying her that a connection had not been made, and she would not be able to reach her boss, or anyone else, for that matter, to help her out of the situation. She had no choice but to keep going.

A terrible stench had begun to envelope Genevieve, akin to that of lunch meat that had become spoiled in the refrigerator. It entered her nostrils and made her want to gag. Her stomach was heavy with nausea like it had been filled with foam insulation, expanding uncomfortably inside her belly as she stumbled dizzily along the roadside. Something would have felt very wrong to her if she had been in her right mind. As she tripped along, she began to feel that she wasn't alone.

She found herself stopping in her tracks, seemingly not of her own free will, foam expanding sickeningly until she couldn't stand it. Genevieve fell to her knees, unable to move, unable to think past the pounding in her head and the churning in her stomach, drooling from over salivation. With a snap, she realized that the heavy breathing echoing in her head was not only that of her own, and she was knocked out of her stupor. Eyes widening in terror, she turned her head to look behind. Genevieve let out a breathy shriek at what she saw lumbering toward her. She scrambled to her feet, out of the ditch where she had wandered in her confusion. Brambles whipped against her legs and sliced into her skin, drops of blood mixing into the streams water trailing down her body as she ran through the forest.

She could hear the trampling behind her getting closer as she desperately fought her way through the darkness. It was getting closer. Genevieve ran erratically in an attempt to throw It off of her trail, racing desperately as the absolute terror burned through her veins. The pounding footsteps drew nearer and suddenly pain exploded on her scalp as It grabbed a fistful of her tangled brown hair. Genevieve screamed and jerked her head forward, instantly feeling a warmth spreading down the back of her head as the entire lock of hair was ripped out. New tears blurred her vision making it more difficult for her to see, sobs racking her body. There was a searing pain in her lungs, demanding air that Genevieve could not supply.

She ran on and on, until finally she burst out of the forest into some sort of a clearing where there was a large white house at the end of a long driveway. It was the house she was intending to get to in the first place. She sprinted forward glancing behind her and seeing that she had lost It and she seemed to be alone. For now. As she approached the house, Genevieve noticed that not a single light was on and that there weren't any cars in the drive. Nobody seemed to be home. She grabbed the front door and yanked on it as hard as she could, but found it locked. Sobbing tears of desperation, Genevieve ran around the house, searching for another door to try and finding one on the side. It was also locked, but the back door happened to be unlocked. Genevieve hurried inside and ran around, locking all of the windows. She locked herself in the kitchen and broke out in relieved laughter. She was finally safe.

A landline was perched on the counter. Genevieve cried out in triumph and snatched it up, dialing her boss's cellular. She grinned when he answered the phone.

"Harold. It's Gene. Thank god you've answered."

"Gene. What's wrong? Where are-" the line cut out and a droaning dial tone assaulted her ears. "Harry? Harold? Hello?" Her heart rate quickened. She tried calling again, but there was nothing. "Damn it!"
Genevieve stiffened as a loud creak sounded somewhere in the huge house.  Her mind raced as she thought of what she could have done to deserve this. Perhaps it was because she had committed tax evasion last year, or perhaps because she had done some not so nice things to land her high status position in the company; cheating, lying, and sucking dick.

Another crack sounded, this time much closer. She grabbed a knife from the block on the counter and pressed herself against the wall. It was back. She could smell It. Her face crumpled and she sobbed violently, biting down on her hand, trying to muffle the sound. Suddenly there was a crash and there It was, splinters from the shattered door spinning across the flood. Genevieve shrieked, fully taking in It's appearance. 6'8" and hulking, the thing was massive. It's skin sagged as if it was rotting off of It's body, peeling in some places and slime oozed from It's pores. It had a humanoid body and face, lips twisted in a grimace. It's eyes were holes, yet they seemed to gleam with cold amusement and murder.

Genevieve grasped the huge knife tighter as It trudged closer to her. It noticed and shook Its head, letting out some kind of a gurgle that could have been a chuckle. She could see maggots writhing inside of the thing's mouth when it opened. "S-s-stop." Genevieve sobbed, pulling the knife back and stabbing at the horrifying creature, which caused it to grunt in dissatisfaction. The stench became overwhelming with her proximity to It, and she found herself sliding to the floor and dropping the knife. It grabbed her by her throat and raised her to a standing position, using its other hand to grab ahold of her hair and rip another chunk out with and audible tear. Genevieve let out a strangled cry as It then grasped her arm and began to twist, pulling until there was a pop, and then a wet rip. It dropped her to the ground along with her severed arm and left her crumpled unconscious on the tiled floor in the growing pool of crimson blood.

                               ****

"A twenty six year old businesswoman from New Jersey was found dead in a house on the rural outskirts of Willington late last night, seemingly murdered. Genevieve Lefebvre was on her way back to Jersey after a meeting with the CEO of Aswil Corporations when her car broke down. The homeowners arrived home last night from a party to find a gruesome scene. Lefebvre had had her limbs torn from her body, and she seems to have been partially scalped. The police are calling this the work of The Cleaver, responsible for a recent string of murders in Willington, named for his method of ripping his victims limbs off. In other news," the news woman droned on, "recent outbursts of the Zika Virus in Brazil have WHO worried. More on the after the break."

"Frank, turn that goddamn T.V. off. I've had enough of all the bad news nowadays. I'm going to bed, are you coming with me?" Frank's wife called.

He sighed and hoisted himself off of the recliner, turning off the television and heading to their room.