The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Cursed 
by R.A. Clarke 

CW: child death

“The warning light is on!” An armed lookout on a motorcycle shouted repeatedly as he raced down the street. Similar engines roared along distant roads as brave souls warned our usually sleepy town.

People gasped and shouted in his wake, scattering with their loved ones in the deepening dusk.

I clutched my shopping bag to my chest and ran to the house, feet skidding around corners, legs and lungs burning from the effort. My husband knew to meet me there, but when I slammed the door closed behind me, he was nowhere to be seen.

“George!” I shouted, dropping my bag and running down the hall, checking rooms. “George!” I spun in a circle, frantic. Where was he? I looked out the kitchen window. There was still light—still time. Had he not gotten the message at his work? Could he still be there?

I pressed the automated shutter button, and metal covers slid over the windows. I’d secure the door too if George were here, but he wasn’t.

Another minute passed. The last of the sun’s rays were fading fast. The Cursed abhorred sunshine. They’d be coming soon. Do I wait or go find him? I rubbed a hand over my sweaty face, then touched my growing belly. I knew what he’d tell me to do, but I couldn’t forsake him like that. This child needed their father.

I grit my teeth and grabbed my gun. Feeding it full of lead, I racked it and swung the door open. Citizens raced about but there were no screams yet. I have time. I can do this.

I rushed off the porch, freezing at the sound of feet rapidly approaching from the alley. A woman’s shrill cry echoed somewhere across town. Oh no…

The footsteps intensified, closing in.

Raising my gun, I risked a shout. “George! Is that you?”

No reply. Gunshots cracked from afar.

I stepped back onto the porch, swallowing hard, losing my resolve as shadows deepened around me. If he wasn’t home soon, he wouldn’t be.

Unwanted visions of the Cursed ripping him into digestible pieces assaulted me. Tears pushed from behind my eyes. “George!” I wailed, panicking.

A figure emerged from the alley, its torso upright, arms and legs pumping with determination. A human. A man.

Relief split my face in a smile. “George. Oh, thank the Ancients!”

Between huffing breaths, he hissed, “Shush Michelle! You know not to shout!” He sprinted across the street toward me as a low growl reached my ears. I aimed the rifle down the street, seeing nothing, then raised it to scan the rooftops.

Gnarled claws clutched the neighboring peak. A pale, leathery head stretched out and maw full of piranha-like teeth flashed.

George reached my side and grasped my waist, pulling me through the entry with him. The monster swooped to the ground as George slammed the door closed. I locked it while my husband hammered the security button. Mechanics whirred and a thick, metal guard slid to shield us.

The beast slammed into it, screeching.

We jumped back, didn’t wait to see if the cover made it all the way across. George grabbed the emergency bag and his rifle, and we ran toward the crawlspace. He tossed the bag down into the darkness.

Another slam came from the front entrance, wood splintering.

“It’s inside. Go, hurry!” He loaded his gun as I scrambled down the ladder, following, his work boots thunking on the rungs. As soon as his head was below, he shut the metal hatch and slid the five heavy bolts to secure it. We’d always been safe down here whenever the beasts fled their den and the light glowed in the mountains, but a Cursed had never breached our house before… The hatch was untested.

I wound up the emergency lantern, brightening the space. “What if it gets in?”

My husband walked to my side and kissed my temple. “It won’t.” He knelt, laying out ammunition in front of us.

Footsteps crossed overhead, hooked nails clicking against the floorboards.

“May the Ancients protect us,” I whispered, clutching my husband’s hand.

Claws scratched across the hatch.

A menacing growl.

Then silence.

“Maybe it’s gone,” I whispered.

George crossed a finger over his lips.

Slam! The hatch rattled.

A barrage of hits hammered the two-foot square barrier standing between it and us. A deadbolt popped off its hinges, clattering down the ladder.

More slams broke off two more. One side of the hatch bent, its metal buckling. A toothy snout protruded through the gap, emitting a rabid snarl.

I ran a hand over my swollen belly.

The hatch shook amidst continued attacks, and when the fourth bolt gave way, we raised our guns, taking aim.

George shouted, “Aim for the head!”

With a crash, our barrier ripped away.

The Cursed snaked inside, wings shifting as its eyeless face zeroed in on us.

George fired first, hitting its neck, but the wound knitted together as fast as it blew apart. It shrieked, claws gripping the ceiling supports as it rushed towards us.

Our rapid-fire rounds remained ineffectual until one finally hit its mark.

The Cursed’s head exploded and it dropped from the ceiling.

As the creature twitched its last, George and I smiled at each other with relief.

“We need to block the hatch—” My words fizzled as a symphony of sinister growls filtered down to us. Countless claws clicked overhead creating a din of peril.

I glanced up. “They’re everywhere.”

“There’s too many.” George looked at me, then down to my stomach. He grimaced. “If we’re lucky they’ll rip us apart. If we’re not, they’ll eat us piece by piece until we finally die. I can’t bear you and the baby going through that…” He shifted, shakily aiming his gun at me. “I’ll make sure it’s fast. I promise.”

A Cursed roared outside the hatch. The horde replied with cacophonous shrieks.

I sobbed. “But what about you?”

Leathery faces appeared, snarling. One after another, the Cursed swarmed through the opening, teeth snapping.

“We’ll meet again in the afterlife, my loves.” Releasing an agonized moan, George fired a round into my abdomen. I cried out in pain as he raised it to my face. A beast lunged as he squeezed the trigger once more, and darkness fell.

Fiction © Copyright R.A. Clarke
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

More from author R.A. Clarke:

Let Your Lip Twitch: A humorous short story collection

Comedy is everywhere if you allow yourself to see it—to feel it. It can be subtle or overt, dark or joyous, adorable or cheeky. Such ageless versatility is beyond compare. Curated with that in mind, author R.A. Clarke proudly presents sixteen humorous stories to the world.

Between these covers, you’ll find short fiction in several genres. Each tale is infused with unique characters and comical situations, some rooted in reality, others certainly not. Flip the page and join a jewel heist executed by bumbling thieves at a gastronomy party, meet a lowly soul gifted the fantastical chance to redo an all-consuming moment of regret, or sweat alongside a father as he realizes his daughter is growing up too fast. Turn another page and you’ll enjoy clowning around while meeting Mr. Right, then zoom in on a perfectly focused meet cute, or feel Mother Nature’s wrath as a rebellious fishing excursion goes all kinds of wrong. There is something in this collection for everyone to enjoy, including eight never-before-seen stories.

Allow yourself to be entertained and whisked away. Let humour in all its glorious forms tempt your lips to move. Don’t fight the urge to smile. Embrace it. Go ahead and let your lips twitch.

Available on Amazon!