To Whoevers Listening

Nine : Knock Knock, You Have A Visitor

Two days pass.

I eat 2 minute noodles and stay in the live room chair, only falling asleep when I can't keep my eyes open anymore. I try calling my home phone and then my mothers mobile. I must leave her at least twelve messages asking where she is and what's going on in Goldview with no call back.

I carry my bowl of lunch noodles over to the window and look down at the man still lying dead in front of the door. The snow has frozen him solid now and his spilled blood has turned to red ice.

Following the officers instructions, I stay indoors, playing music and broadcasting my voice whenever I can, carefully asking what's happening down in my home town. The phone stays silent.

My last message was this;

“I don't know exactly what's going on out there right now, but I do know that it's getting pretty serious. So I'm just telling you that I'm here if you ever need to talk. Hang tight and stay safe, all of you.”

Now, I'm sitting with headphones on, listening to the song I'm playing to the masses, my head bobbing in time with the beat. My feet are kicked up on the desk and I'm scribbling away in my English book, drawing little bits and pieces on the page.

At first, I don't notice the thumping. Mainly because the song in my ears is so loud. But I can feel vibrations in the ground beneath my feet, so I shove off the headphones and listen for a moment.

There's a solid thumping against the front door, devoid of proper rhythm.

Thump-thumpthump-thumpththump-thump.

It sounds like someone is throwing their body against the door.

And it turns out that is exactly right, because when I go to the window and peer out, I spot a woman and a man on the stations doorstep, walking into the door over and over again.

I watch them proceed in their pointless task. The woman is wearing a long floral dress that reaches down to her knees and is caked in mud, the hem of the skirt torn to tatters. Her hair is a tangled mess of sticks, leaves and knots that would be a total bitch to brush out. She's staring straight ahead without emotion. The man looks the same, though he's wearing a white polo shirt and tan khakis.

"Hey!" I shout and stick my finger up against the glass, pointing at the woman as she stops bumping herself into the door.

She turns her head slowly and her blood-shot eyes find mine, widening as she opens her mouth. She screams an ungodly sound, half human half animal, and throws herself at the window. I stumble back as the man joins her, slamming his own face up against the cold glass – the face that is missing most of the flesh from it's right side.

I can see the muscles in his face move and his red-stained teeth clash as he snaps at me. The woman is clawing at the glass, trying to reach me, and smearing blood across it's surface.

How can they even move in weather like this, wearing the clothes that they are? If they walked up this mountain like that then they should be hypothermic by now. And that man, with his torn apart face, should be on the ground in pure agony.