The Arm…Part 5

Dillon awoke with a jolt. Panic set in once again as the image of Mr. Miller being eaten alive flooded back into his head like a deadly, poisonous tidal wave of terror. Hopping up he ran to the window. The old woman was still there. She was just rambling around in the yard. She didn't seem to know where she was going. She was just walking aimlessly. And now she had a companion.

Dillon's eyes grew wide as he saw that Mr. Miller was up on his feet once again. He was just standing there though, his back turned toward Dillon so that Dillon couldn't get a good look at the bite on his neck. He wasn't trying to get away. For a second, Dillon thought about opening the door and yelling at him to get back inside. But something stopped him. Something wasn't right. Mr. Miller took a couple of steps. He was walking with the same shuffle that the old woman was walking with at the moment. And then he turned toward the house.

Dillon hissed in a breath of air and quickly ducked down so as not to be seen. Mr. Miller's body was in the yard. But it wasn't Mr. Miller. In that brief second, Dillon had seen that most of Mr. Miller's throat was gone. In the large hole that remained, Dillon had seen cords and tendons hanging, raw meat that had already begun to attract flies. Mr. Miller was dead. The problem was....he was still walking around.

"Oh my god!" Dillon whispered to himself, "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!"

He kept as quiet as he could, hoping again hope that he hadn't been seen. What in the world was going on? Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe Mr. Miller was just stunned. Dillon slowly slid his head back up to the window. Just one more peek wouldn't hurt. Maybe Mr. Miller was hurt really bad and was just in shock.

As he slid up, he suddenly found himself face to face with Mr. Miller who was staring at him with a blank look. Was he trying to say something? His mouth was working. A large blob of blood oozed out and fell to the ground. And then, he smashed one of his hands into the glass, shattering it.

"OH MY GOD!" Dillon cried out, pushing himself backwards, "Stay away from me!"

Mr. Miller showed no emotion. He only kept smashing away at the window. And then, he started reaching in through the window, reaching toward Dillon who was lying on the floor, staring in horror at the apparition before him. Behind him, he could see that the old woman had gained interest and was slowly making her way toward them. But the worst thing was....now Dillon could hear them.

Both of them were making low moaning sounds. The old woman let out a little cry like she was in pain when she caught sight of Dillon and started reaching in through the window as well. Mr. Miller was trying to make a moaning sound but his was garbled with the gurgling sound of blood.

Whipping up to his feet, Dillon ran out of the kitchen and into the living room. In here, there was no broken glass....no walking dead....and no horrible moaning sounds. It was almost like a normal day. Except that Dillon couldn't just imagine it away anymore. Something was going on and he was right in the middle of it.

He grabbed up the phone. But it was still dead. He couldn't call anyone for help. What was he going to do?

Just then, a loud crash came from the kitchen as the glass in the door exploded under the fists of the two zombies outside. Screeching with fright, Dillon raced upstairs and ran to his room. Locking the door, he ran into his closet and slammed the door shut. Hot tears of fear were streaming down his face and his breath was coming in ragged gasps.

Closing his eyes, he tried to calm himself down. A few seconds later, he heard the remains of the kitchen door slam open downstairs. They were in the house.

"Oh dear god," he whispered, "Please don't let them come up here. Please just let them go away."

He kept hearing loud knocks and bangs downstairs. Once he heard something shatter onto the floor. Was it a dish? Was it one of his mom's cat figurines that she kept on her knick-knack shelf? He just kept as still as he could.

For about ten minutes, he couldn't hear anything. It seemed that the house was empty once again. Maybe they had left. Maybe they had gone on to find other prey.

And then he heard it....the footsteps on the stairs. There was no mistaking it. He could hear the squeak of the third step that always sounded out when someone was coming upstairs. Sure enough...the steps got louder and louder. Someone....something....was coming up.

"No...no...no...no," Dillon said, his mind racing around like a rat in a maze, "No...no...no...."

And then his breath caught in his throat. The knob on his bedroom door rattled.....turned....and then opened. The door creaked slowly open. Dillon could hear it. Trying to keep as quiet as possible, he pushed himself as far back into the corner of his closet as he could.

A low garbled moan came from outside his closet door. It sounded like it was thick and full of liquid.....Mr. Miller! And then, the knob on his closet door turned!

As the door slowly opened, Dillon knew that he had to act now or that he was going to die.

"NOOOOOOOO!" he shrieked, pushing the door open with as much force as he could. He ran out, almost tripping over the body of Mr. Miller which was now lying on the floor. As he ran over him, he felt cold, dead fingers brush against his ankle, trying to grab at his foot. Luckily, Dillon had enough adrenaline pumping through his system that he was able to break free. Not looking back, Dillon ran out of the room.....and came face to face with the old woman.

With a low moan, she reached out toward him.

Until next week....class dismissed!