Hey guys, so I've been experimenting with the horror genre, and this is my first real attempt! Hope you like it! As always I appreciate any feedback :)
The wind whipped around them as they halted in the banks of the highway.
"This storm is going to break soon, and I'd rather not be standing around with my dick in my hand while it does," Abraham said, shifting in an antsy fashion.
"Stop bellyachin'," Daryl groaned, having had enough with the man's complaints, "Rick'll be back in a minute." The caravan was forced to pull over when the rain became torrential. Lumping together inside the vehicles, they waited for Rick, Glenn, and Michonne, who were scouting for some shelter in the desolate countryside.
Michonne's figure ran out from the trees, waving them forward. She shouted over the howling storm, "C'mon! We found a house!" Their soaking bodies shivered in the beating of the cold wetness, the harsh wind lashing at their exposed skin, as they ran through the woods and into a clearing.
At the center of an overgrown and weeded meadow sat an unassuming two-storied house. A large oak tree shadowed its right side, a rope swing hanging from it. The porch was crumbling and holed in many areas, including the broken stairs. Tall blades of weeds hung over the porch railing. Muddied shingles and shutters hung at odd angles, and mildew infested much of the left siding, tinting it green.
"It was probably abandoned since long before the turn. But it seems sturdy," Michonne reassured the group as they assessed the structure. Rick appeared then in the doorway, beckoning for them.
Carol held back as they ran inside, her stomach twisting.
"C'mon!" Daryl shouted back to her, waiting as she caught up and he ushered her inside. The interior was coated in dust. Shards of glass crunched under their feet from a large and decorated broken mirror in the foyer. To the right was a dining room, and to the left a living room. At the end of the hallway was a brown door. The kitchen was off to the right of the door. Much of the furniture was overturned or smashed, but there was plenty of space for their large group of sixteen. A staircase led up to the second floor which hosted three bedrooms.
"Doesn't seem to be any running water," Rick explained as the group stayed crowded in the entranceway, "We haven't really picked through the place, just checked to make sure it was clear of walkers. We should spread out, try to scavenge what we can."
"Where are all the walker bodies?" Carl asked quietly as the group dispersed.
"There weren't any," Rick said, looking at him wearily, "There wasn't anything here."
"I don't like this," Carol voiced, hesitantly as she searched the kitchen area with Michonne and Sasha.
"It's just for the night," Michonne answered, offering Carol a reassuring glance, "The storm will pass and we'll be out of here."
Carol studied her, "But you feel it too, right? It's weird here."
"We lived in a prison; I've slept in death row. Nothing can be weirder than that," Sasha added, rummaging through empty cabinets.
"Yeah, you're right," Carol gave the younger woman a small smile before reaching up for a cabinet over the sink. A small dark figure scurried out when she opened it, causing a surprised shriek to escape her. Michonne drew her sword immediately as all three women jumped back.
"It's just a rat," Carol breathed in relief, laughing slightly.
"What's that?" Michonne pointed the end of the katana towards a small wooden box that sat at the edge of the cabinet.
Cautiously, Carol picked it up, and brought it over to the other women to exam. It fit in the size of her palm. Carol slid it open as the other two peered over her shoulders. Inside was a small frayed and torn photograph of a young man in a military uniform, and a single yellowed tooth.
"Ew," Sasha scrunched up her nose, and Carol laughed.
"Really? Of all the things we see on a daily basis and you're grossed out by a tooth?"
Sasha shuddered, "I hate teeth."
"That looks like its civil war era," Michonne said, fingering the picture as Carol held it up.
Carol and Sasha gazed at her bemusedly, to which she shrugged, "I took a course on war photography in college."
"What are you guys doing?" Noah's quiet voice made them jump again. Carol shoved the picture in the dark casing. She reached up over the sink to put the box back in the cabinet when the faucet turned on, splashing her shirt with water.
"Ack!" she yelped jumping back, dropping the box.
"I thought Rick said there wasn't any water…" Sasha said, clutching the iron poker she had equipped to herself, eyeing the muddy black-filled sink with unease.
"Guess he was wrong," Michonne reached out to turn the water off, but no matter which way she pushed or pulled the handle, the volume staid the same, "Huh…must be a busted pipe. Or maybe a blockage that water got passed."
When she stepped back the water shut off. Carol rolled up her sleeve, intent on wading through to find the wooden box she had dropped but Michonne's fingers were around her forearm, "Just…leave it." She nodded and the three women followed Noah to the dining room.
Upstairs, Daryl and Rick scouted the bedrooms.
"There were no walkers?"
"There aren't even any bodies in the yard," Rick said, looking out to the vast meadow from a window.
"There's always at least one walker."
"I know. But not this time. Maybe someone had just cleared out and moved on before we got here…"
Daryl shifted his eyebrows, shooting a Rick a quizzical look beneath his long bangs. Rick shrugged, knowing that explanation was a little too convenient.
Scratch
The pair turned, alarmed, and faced the closet door at the other end of the room. Rick approached it, as Daryl held the crossbow up giving the sheriff a nod that he was ready to fire. Rick silently counted to three before grabbing the brass knob and pulling. But it was locked.
Scratch
Rick yanked again but the door wouldn't budge. Daryl let his arm fall and joined his friend at the door, giving a half hearted tug.
"Must be a walker. Someone probably locked it in."
"I ain't sleeping in here with a walker," Rick grunted as he kicked at the door.
Scratch
Daryl swept the room with his eyes, and started for a small wooden armoire. He threw open the doors to find some clothes hanging. A glimmer of something caught his eye and he shifted the clothes. Clink. Something fell to the floor of the armoire, and Daryl bent down, thrusting his arm into the darkness and feeling for what he was hoping was a key. A cold, hard pressure wrapped around his wrist and he snapped his arm back with such a force that he landed on his ass.
"What the fuck?!" he yelped, picking up his bow and aiming it. He waited for whatever took a hold of him to crawl out, but the room was still.
Rick gaped at him, "You alright?"
"Something grabbed me," Daryl spat out angrily. The armoire wasn't big enough for a whole walker to be hiding in, unless it had been a child. Getting to his feet, eyes set with determination, Daryl moved towards the armoire once more. Swiping the clothes forcefully to one side, and then to the other, Daryl found the space to be empty of both walkers and keys.
Swift running footsteps took off down the hallway, distracting the men.
"Carl?" Rick yelled out.
"What?!" his teenaged son's voice bellowed from the floor below, much farther away than the footsteps.
Rick and Daryl looked at each other, before Daryl swung the armoire shut.
Scratch
"We cleared out the other bedrooms. There wasn't anything in them though, just some old clothes and some personal items. Old pictures and books," Glenn appeared in the doorway with Maggie.
"There's a walker in this one," Rick told them. The pair looked around anxiously, but saw nothing.
"Where?" Maggie asked.
Rick pointed the barrel of his gun to the closet door.
"It's locked though. Can't get in to kill the damn thing," Daryl explained.
"How do you know there's a walker then?" Glenn asked slowly, not sure if he just wasn't picking up on an obvious clue.
"Can hear it scratching," Daryl answered matter of factly.
The room fell silent as the group listened. "I don't hear anything," Maggie said after a few quiet seconds.
"Fine," Daryl bit, "then you two can sleep in here." He nudged passed the couple, his boots pounding as he hurried down the staircase.
"I'm so tired, I don't even care if there is an actual walker in there," Maggie dropped her pack onto the bed, a cloud of dust rushing up around it.
Rick kept an accusing eye on the door as he stepped out of the room. "Just…be careful," he gave the couple a final warning before rejoining the rest of the group on the floor below.
Dropping the few items they were able to gather at the center of the dining room table, the group harkened at the long agonizing night they were in for. Rosita had scrounged up a lone can of cranberry sauce, and Tara had found a piece of pipe to add to their arsenal. There was some fabric Tyreese had found that would be useful for darning or to be made into a sling for Judith.
"We found something," Carl piped up, nudging Father Gabriel forward. The man produced a small but ornate key from his pocket, plopping it onto the wooden table.
"Think that could be for the closet?" Rick asked.
"That key is too big for a regular closet lock," Eugene answered, shifting uncomfortably, "Probably for that door down the hall."
"Maybe it's a pantry. This can isn't going to make it around to all of us. We should check it," Abraham advised, but no one made a grab for the key.
Hairs stood abruptly at Carol's nape, and she turned with her rifle in hand. She stared at the open doorway that led back into the kitchen. Daryl's hand reached out for her shoulder and she jumped.
"You okay?" he asked, gently, and Carol realized the group was staring at her.
"I felt…something," she looked back towards the doorway, a sinking feeling dragging through her belly.
"So…the possible pantry?" Abraham voiced, trying to direct the conversation back.
"If you want to check out what's behind that door so much, then do it yourself," Sasha snapped, picking up the key and tossing it at him. The group listened as his footfalls pounded down the hall and he grumbled incoherently. He pushed the key towards the keyhole, but it wouldn't go in. He tried again and again but the key wouldn't stay straight enough to make it in. Giving up after a minute he stomped back into the dining area, proclaiming, "Damn thing won't fit." He tossed the key back onto the table.
"Let's just focus on sleeping then. We'll head out first thing in the morning, maybe Daryl will be able to get us something to eat before we leave tomorrow," Michonne directed, gaining a nod from the archer, and the shuffling of the rest of the group as their affirmation.
Carol was still standing with her back to the group, holding a protective stance, when Daryl shifted closer to her, saying quietly, "Thought we could grab one of the bedrooms upstairs."
She looked at him, a twinkle of mischief in her blue eyes hiding behind the alertness, "You don't want to stay down here with the rest of them?"
He toed the floor, "It was actually Rick's idea. Said we deserved some privacy. 'Sides, him and Michonne are taking one room with Judith, and Glenn and Maggie's got the other one. No one's claimed the last one…so might as well be us."
Carol couldn't help but smile fully despite the unease that being away from the safety of the larger group was giving her. But if there was one thing she couldn't resist it was promised alone time with Daryl Dixon. Rick was right about the lack of privacy since the group started their nomadic trek towards Virginia, and Daryl and Carol weren't the couple to knock their boots together in front of everyone, unlike some other duos in the group. Everyone had been subjected to Abraham's pearly ass shining in the moonlight, or even Glenn and Maggie's sweaty groans that they "tried" to keep quiet. But Carol and Daryl shied away from that attention, taking a slower path to bring their relationship to fruition. They were just getting comfortable with each other; they certainly weren't ready to let everything hang out in front of the others. The only other couple who shared their fair share of stolen glances was Rick and Michonne, who kept their status under wraps in fear of Carl not taking to it well, despite the fact that kid had figured out their feelings towards each other long before the two had admitted it to themselves.
Daryl took Carol's pack and reached for her gun, but she clung to it.
"Place is safe, ain't nothing here except a walker holed up in a closet…you don't have to carry it with you," he said, trying to soothe her, not used to seeing her so jittery. It was a jarring reminder of the woman he had first met, fearful and shaky.
"I know," she sighed, "but I'll feel better if I can keep it on me."
"You got your knife…"he pointed to the blade that never left her hip.
Carol let her shoulders sag as she consented, releasing the rifle from her clutches and handing it over to him. Daryl shouldered their equipment and hurried up to place it in their bedroom.
"Wonder who this guy is," Noah said absently pulling a sheet off a portrait that hung in the living room.
Michonne looked at the portrait, and then called out for Carol to come over. She did and they examined it together. "Isn't that the same guy from the picture?" Michonne asked.
Carol nodded, "I think so. Got the same mustache, same age seems like. This one's just not in military uniform."
"This doesn't make any sense," Michonne pondered, "I don't think this house is old enough for this portrait to be here."
Tyreese, who stood on Carol's other side now also staring at the painting, "Could be a family heirloom, passed down until it landed here."
"I ain't sleeping in here if that things gonna be staring at me all night. Cover that shit up," Abraham huffed as he sat on couch with a matching sheet cast over it. Noah picked up the white cloth and tried to throw it back over, but it fluttered to the ground. He looked back at the redhead, and held his shoulders up in a fluster. Abraham groaned then stood, snatching up the cloth and flinging it at the portrait but again it didn't catch.
His eyes narrowed dangerously as he growled, "Fine be stubborn." Grabbing the bottom corners of the frame Abraham twisted, pulling the portrait off the wall and shoved it into a corner before he stomped back to the couch. Noah watched as the portrait seemed to shudder.