“You Should Go” • by Laura Bohlcke

As she climbed the warped boards of the front steps, fumbling with her keys, he emerged from the bushes with a sharp crunch of leaves.

“You got any money you can spare, Lady?” He scratched at his neck and kept his eyes on the ground as he advanced on her.

Facing him with her grocery bag clutched to her chest, she glanced behind her at the closed front door. “No. I have nothing. You should go.”

“I ain’t got no place to go, Lady. Come on. You got some money in that purse, huh?” He was looking her dead in the eyes now, just two steps away.

Feeling the keys with her fingers, she found the one she needed. She thrust out a skinny arm and pushed him hard in the chest, sending him staggering. Drawing back her hand, now damp with the intruder’s sweat, she turned to the weathered door and struggled to get the key in the lock. Just as she clicked the rusty deadbolt open, he grabbed her from behind. Even as she arched away from contact with his body, she didn’t bother to scream. She was too tired, and it wouldn’t change the outcome anyway. Turning the knob, he gave her a shove inside, sending her sprawling onto the tattered rug in the foyer. Her small bag of groceries spilled its contents onto the wooden floor, tiny oranges rolling in every direction.

“You should go,” she said. Her too-long bangs fell into her eyes as she pushed herself back up to standing. The smell of his sweat and bad breath mixed with the scent of smashed oranges. In the far corner of the upstairs, she heard the soft scuttle of movement.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lady. Not till I get what I want. I been watching you. Out here all alone in this old farmhouse. No man. Just you and them two kids.”

She resettled her oversized sweatshirt on her thin shoulders and kept her back to the dark of the house. “I don’t have kids.”

He stepped toward her, running a finger that reeked of motor oil down her cheek. “Don’t worry, Little Momma. If you do as I say, I won’t hurt your little ones.” His wicked smile turned to a frown as she stood stoic, her face placid, ignoring his hand on her face.

A skitter along the floor above drew her eyes upward. “You should go.”

“Where you keep your money?” He took a step back from her and looked around the gloomy home. “You listening to me?”

She wasn’t. She was listening to the muffled padding of feet getting closer. “You really should go.”

He grabbed her arm, his long nails digging into her thick shirt, and snapped her around to face him. “If you don’t want me to hurt them kids…”

“I don’t have kids.” Her expression was blank and hollow.

Whispers drifted from the shadows at the top of the stairs.

“I seen ‘em when I cased the place, Lady. Two little blonde kids.”

“They aren’t kids and they aren’t mine.” She pulled free of him and turned to the stairs as the boy and girl appeared on the landing…hand in hand. “More like…I’m theirs.”

Smiling, the two pale children descended the staircase, their gray eyes locked on the stranger in the foyer.

“Don’t worry, now…I’m a friend of Mommy’s.” He offered them a fake smile of rotten teeth. “Y’all go on back upstairs.”

In synchronized movements, the twins walked past the exhausted woman toward the man who had entered their home uninvited. Their very real smiles widened to show gleaming white teeth. Gleaming, white, serrated teeth.

“What the hell’s wrong with your kids?” There was alarm in his voice now. He backed toward the door.

“I keep telling you. They aren’t mine…and they aren’t kids.” She scooped the scattered groceries into her bag. “You should’ve gone.”

Without looking back at the doomed man, she carried the groceries toward the kitchen. She didn’t need to see this again. Behind her, he screamed in surprise as the little blonde monsters leapt on him. He thrashed as their pointed teeth and sharp claws ripped into his body. But she knew nothing he did could save him now.

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Laura Bohlcke is a horror writer who has spent the last 30 years working in the film industry making television commercials. While assisting clients and agencies in their efforts to sell their mayonnaise or bubbly beverages is a wonderful way to keep a roof over her head, Laura is also intent on telling stories of her own and makes time to write every day. In her home in Texas she can be found in an office filled with oddities and curiosities, dreaming up tales of horror to share with the world, or out in the sunshine, tending to her extensive garden with her giant dog and feral cat.

Online, she can be found on Instagram @LauraBohlcke, or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/laurabohlcke.author/ 

 

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