About 7 PM, that was when the last breath of day left the city of Folsom, California. The streets grew cold and people got home, tired from work. That was when the highway started clearing up, and TVs are turned on in every houses. Outside, the world grew quiet. Insects don't make as much noises in cold winters, and every other living organisms, from human to the smallest animals, gradually fell into the sleep of their biological clock. Folsom was a quiet place once more.
But something else was happening, away from the people's mind and knowledge. As they laid as sleep, something invaded their town. It wasn't an animal that could caw or sing or howl, so it arrived undetected. It lived in the body of a man name Frederick Alonzo. He was from Calhoun, a much smaller town to the west. Nobody knew why he came to Folsom. But in the midst of the night, he came on foot, his shoes were torn from walking too much, his clothes tattered and bloody, his face a mask of dazed expression, and he walked the empty streets of Folsom city like an apparition, inside him, coursing through his body, he carried the blood of the damned.
…...
Also around 7 PM, a family was getting ready for dinner. The Derrickson family was feeling like Christmas. Elaine and Chris were busy in the kitchen. Chris heaved the big pot of cooked potatoes to the large round table, where they had set up six chairs, napkins, plates and utensils, all six portions, and the table was situated under a bright yellow light. Chris almost dropped the potato pot on the table, his arms and back were taking all the weight, and as he placed it on the table, his back ached momentarily, his age was catching up with him, he thought. It wasn't a good thought for a fifty year old like him to have, but he had been having these bone aches since forever, yet it hid it from Elaine, his wife, and the rest of his family. He looked at Elaine in the kitchen, her neck bent to one side while she sliced the tomatoes and he wondered if she had experienced the signs of old age, and if she had, why didn't she tell him.
He snapped out of his inner world, and looked at the clock, almost seven thirty. His parents were going to come over at eight. No worries, the dinner was almost ready. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen his kids all day, they had been upstairs, doing their own thing, Jason and Marie, and hadn't helped out at the dinner. Chris was growing annoyed with them for their negligence, sometimes, he felt that they were growing apart from him and Elaine, especially Jason, it sometimes seemed as if he did not want to be a part of his family-
"Ouch!" Shouted Elaine from the kitchen.
Chris rushed to her, she was holding her hand, squeezing the index finger. On the white plastic cutting board, among the tomato juice was a redder liquid, her blood, the knife was dropped into the sink.
"You're alright?" He asked.
"Yeah, just a small cut, definitely ruined the tomatoes though." She said.
"Well, it's still edible." He joked, she turned around, giving him a disgusted look. Then they both laughed. "I'm just kidding, hon."
"I know only you would eat a tomato with blood on it."
"Your blood. And not only me, the kids will too if they don't come down here and help."
"Oh leave them alone. They're studying." She defended.
"Really? As a mom you're telling me that your two teenage kids are studying? Jason and Marie?"
"Of course. What are you supposed they're doing?"
"Hmm. Let's see, Jason would be on some conspiracy websites, looking up things that don't exist, and Marie, well, what else beside Facebook?"
"Those things are learning, too. If you look at them from a different angle."
"I think you're spoiling them a little." He looked at her and smiled, then brushed her hair, which was matted with some white strands. It saddened him a little.
"Of course, they're our kids. Other kids have no such privilege." She smiled back. "You're letting me bleed to death? Go get me a bandage."
"Right away, ma'am." He left.
Jason Derrickson came down about five minutes later, finding his dad rummaging through the medical cabinet.
"What you looking for, Dad?" He asked.
"Your mom just cut herself while cutting some tomatoes. You know where the bandage are?"
"Just use some Vaseline over the wound, that'd seal it off in no time."
Chris looked at his son, who was walking away, with mild amusement.
Chris stopped looking for the bandage. He came into the kitchen with a tube of Vaseline, and found both Marie and Jason sitting readily in their chair on the round table.
"Let it me guess, it's around eight o'clock isn't it?" He joked.
"You are correct! How'd you know?" Jason looked at his watch.
"Because I didn't see you guys all day, and suddenly, you both are here?"
"That's very mean, dad." Marie twisted around and said.
"Yeah, dad, we found that offensive." Jason smiled.
Elaine brought in the last dish, fried fish, and placed it on top of the table. The aroma immediately soothed their nostrils.
"Got you some Vaseline. Jason said to smear it over the wound."
"Wow, how'd that work?" Elaine said.
"He probably learned it from Wikileaks." Chris said and burst out laughing.
"Do you even know what Wikileaks is, Dad?" Jason said.
"It's all the same, isn't it." He laughed some more.
Twenty minutes later, all the four of them were situated around the table, under the brilliance of the light and around the table. Grandpa and grandma did not show up. The fried fish stopped smelling so good, and the foods were growing cold. Elaine looked very dissatisfied, but she did not say anything, she loved Chris, and they were his parents.
Chris, however, grew worried. He got up and tried calling the old folks. They weren't home. They probably just left, but they didn't own cellphones, either. They lived about half an hour away. Where could they be? He sat back at the table, and silence ensued.
"You guys remembered what I told you about the rabies-like virus in Europe?" Jason broke the silence.
"Yeah." Chris said, without looking up.
"Well, I read on the Internet today, they rumored that the virus surfaced in America a couple days ago, but the authorities contained it."
"Okay?" Chris was disinterested. The rest of the family watched him.
"So what I'm saying is that we all escaped death." Chris looked at him, his face full of worries. "So I think we should pray."
Chris looked at his wife.
"I don't think they're coming. We might as well eat." She said.
He nodded and they held their hands together, praying.
A shriek erupted in the distance.
It was a woman's sound. It sounded as if she screamed until her throat split, the high pitched sound pierced the night like a firework explosion and died abruptly as it started.
Jason ran to the windows and drew the blinds back, looking outside. The rest of the family followed him.
"What is it?" Chris asked, the pulled the blinds further back, gaining a visual.
They scanned the quiet, dark street, illuminated only by dim, Eco-friendly street lamps. There were two people hanging out in front of a car across the street, they too, were distracted by the noise, but a second later, they resumed their conversation like nothing happened.
"A woman screaming." Jason said. They listened for the noise again. Nothing.
"Well, looked like somebody was having too much fun." Then he suspiciously eyed his wife, who was standing behind him, and raised one eyebrow and smiled mischievously. She hit him lightly on the shoulder and smiled.
"Back to dinner, everyone. The food is getting cold." Elaine said. They raced back at the table at once, leaving Jason still looking outside, a dark fear stirring in his heart.
…...
After making love to his girlfriend, George lied in bed with her. Amy was asleep like a baby, the soft sheet wrapped around her tender skin, she breathed the softest breaths that made her delicate chest rise and fall with each rhythm. He watched her sleep, and marveled at her beauty. A sleeping beauty, he thought.
He felt lucky to have her fall in love with him. He met her in a high school party about a year ago, but he saw no chance with her, added to the fact that he was nineteen, and she was just seventeen, the odds of them being together was nonexistent. But they got together, under her parents' noses. Her dad grew suspicious, and being a strict family, he spoke of his intention to send her to school far away when she turned eighteen and graduated from high school, so that she would never see her secret "boyfriend" again. He wasn't secret, she had talked about him with her parents a few times, but all of those talks were met with hostility from her father, disapproving her dating a nineteen year old, or dating at all. She would argue with him, and she would lose the argument and run up to her room, cry herself until morning.
But no longer did Amy had to cry anymore, George thought as he looked at her. He stroke her hair. They had planned to elope. Tonight. It was the night she turned eighteen, the night she gave her virginity to him, and the night their future together would be decided. He would wake her up at midnight, and together, they would drive his car far away, maybe to another state, or even Canada, as long as they could be together. She would write her dad a letter before she left, a letter that would say more than Amy had ever said to her dad, about how much she loved George, and how ancient was his ideology of love, pretty much words that would have her slapped by her father if she said to him face to face.
Tonight. Less than four more hours.
He had to pee. He got out of bed, the sheet pulled out of him, and he shivered. He'd love to go back under the sheets, but his bladder wouldn't let him. The burning sensation under his stomach was unbearable. He ran to the bathroom, and without turning on the light, he relieved himself. He closed his eyes and listened to the urine hitting the toilet bowl. One could meditate on this sound, he thought, and giggled to himself.
BAM!
George was startled, he spilled all over the place, some landed on the toilet seat, some on the roll of paper to the left.
"Aww, shit!" He cursed quietly.
Someone was slamming on the door.
It wasn't Amy's parents. They were on a business trip and wouldn't be back until next week.
A visitor? No, she would tell him in advance. She told him everything.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
His heart thudded in his chest. He quickly put his peter back in his pants. Amy moaned in the bedroom. Someone was hitting on the door, not knocking on it.
He ran downstairs, where the source of the sound was. It sounded like it came from the front door. It was a large door, made of wood.
Bam! The door was being slammed again.
"Fuck you, asshole!" He yelled. But his whole body was shaking. He wasn't a fighter, and the situation sent his adrenaline to the roof.
He slowly inched his way toward the large door. There was no peeping hole. What kind of fucking house that didn't have a peeping hole?
He pressed his ear against the door, that was only thing he could think of. There was silence for almost a full minute.
Then another bang against the door that sent it vibrating through every one of its hinges. George jumped back, almost having a heart attack.
"Go away you stupid fuck, or I'll shoot you!" He yelled again. I don't have a gun, he thought.
The door was bashed again. The sound shook the house.
George went into the kitchen and pulled out a meat cleaver. The blade was bigger than his hands and he had trouble keeping up with the weight of the knife. He didn't know if he could use this on somebody, but he had to defend himself, him and Amy. Amy. The thought about her calmed him and gave him a small boost of courage. He didn't shake as much.
He walked toward the door and cursed it. Dumb thing had no peeping hole.
He opened the first lock. A click.
Now there was only one lock left on the handle. His hand started to shake again. Fuck. He did not want to open it. He didn't know what was standing on the other side, excited for him to open the door. He held up the meat cleaver, the weight bore down on his tiny arm.
He unlocked it.
One arm holding the gigantic knife, on the other arm, his hand encircled the cold metal door knob. He slowly twisted it. When it reached its maximum rotation, he pulled.
The door slowly opened to...
Nothing.
There was a Welcome mat in the front of the door, and further out were the porch decorated with strange plants grown in big vases and pots, and further ahead, these vases and pots were lined up to make a walkway, and further ahead was darkness.
The plants swayed in the wind. The streets were quiet and dark.
He couldn't remember how long he stood there, but his arm holding the meat cleaver started to hurt, so he dropped his arm.
The wind blew into the house, cold, chilling wind that made his hair standing on their ends. He picked up a strange odor in the wind. It smelled like copper, no, not copper, blood. Also, the smell of old meat left outside for too long. It smelled disgusting.
He reached for the door knob and was closing the door when he looked down and saw, on the Welcome mat, were drops of dark, shiny liquid.
It was too dark for him to see, but he was afraid it was blood. Whose blood? Do I care?
He was closing the door again, but stopped. What if somebody needed help? What if it was a dying person banging on the door, seeking help? Nonsense, if somebody needed help, they'd say it? What if they're mute, or worse, their mouth was taped up?
He wanted to hit himself for caring about these things. In about three hours, he and the love of his life would drive away from this town and never to look back...
Fuck! He cursed himself. Then he knelt down near the mat, dropped his meat cleaver and looked closely.
They sure looked like blood, he thought as he inspected the dark liquid.
It's blood, alright. Real fucking blood!
He stared at the drops on the mat and when he looked up...
Someone was standing in the door way.
It was too dark to see who. The person stood there, shoulders hunched lazily. It was an average sized man, and George could see the balding head.
He stood there, dazed, his invisible glare bore down at George.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound distracted George, he looked down at the man's feet and saw dark blood dropping on the ground. The man stood there, motionless.
"You're alright?"
Terrible move. Terrible fucking move. George realized it was a big mistake, because when he talked, at the sound of his voice, the man twitched. It was a violent twitch, like he was suddenly jammed with a large needle.
George froze in complete fear. Then he made an inch of movement backward.
The man rushed at him.
He moved on his ass backward, and kicked the door shut with his leg, the door slammed shut and the man pounded on the wood like a rabid animal, shrieking.
George got up, the meat cleaver again on his hand, he didn't mind the weight this time. The pounding stopped.
He didn't lock the door, he couldn't. He was too scared to go near it.
Then, the knob turned by itself. Slowly. When it reached its end, it held there for a second.
He armed his knife, ready for the assailant at any moment.
The door swings open and the man rushed in.
George swung the knife. It caught the man on the neck and slammed him down on the ground.
There was a big slit on his neck, blood were running through it, forming a big puddle, and the carpet absorbed it almost instantly.
The man stopped moving, his open eyes glared at George. They were large and red. His entire face was bloody. His eyes, nose, mouth, hair. The blood was everywhere. The man was sick. Too sick. And why did he want to kill George?
He knelt down again, the knife firm in his trembling hand.
The man was dead, alright. Blood stopped flowing from his neck, meaning the heart had stopped pumping blood, his bloody eyeballs fixed onto the ceiling.
No running away with Amy tonight, he thought with great disappointment. He would have to inform the police. Her dad would find out they were fucking each other and planned to run away on the same night, he'd never see her again. Why did this happen to us? Why did I have to open the damn door?
Tears suddenly welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision, so much that he couldn't see...
The man's eyes turned toward him.
He wiped his teary eyes just in time as the man retched a bucket of blood upward into his face.
George dropped the meat cleaver. The blood was in his eyes, his nose, his mouth, it was everywhere. He was disgusted. He was going to pick up the knife and cut the man when his eyes burned.
They flared up in an intense pain, his eyes. It felt as if someone put acid in them. It felt dry, he didn't know if he was blind or not, it was too painful. He held his face, the pain wouldn't subside. Then his tongue burned, he started to spit and spit, at one time he thought his tongue and teeth came out, but they didn't. The blood got under his saliva glands and entered his blood stream. His entire body was scalding, soon, he started throwing up, his stomach was on fire, he retched and what came up and out was lots of blood that was his own. It was painful. He collapsed and found himself clawing at the ground, his nails dug into the bloody carpet. Less than fifteen seconds later, George wasn't the same man anymore.
He ran through the house, looking for things to kill. He vomited everywhere, staining the house red. He rummaged through the first floor, ripping through the furniture, shrieking and screaming. Then he found the stairs and ascended, leaving red foot prints on each steps.
He ran through the corridor. When he passed the bathroom, he saw something moving inside.
He bashed on the door with his bloody fist, it swung open. He looked inside, nothing was moving, except his reflection on the mirror. He looked at the thing in the mirror, it was ugly, hideous, and it hated him, it stared at him with bloodshot eyes, taunting him. He threw up on the mirror and smashed it to bits with his fist.
"George?" A voice came from the bedroom.
He jerked with anger. He ran out of the bathroom and dashed for the source of the sound, his rapid footsteps pounding on the floorboards.
The bedroom door swung open and there was Amy, lying on the bed, wide awake, covered in white sheet, beautiful green eyes looking up at him, a horrified look on her face.
His infected eyes burned down on her in a glower of pure hatred. Blood surging from a corner of his mouth.
"Babe? What..."
He charged for her.
She screamed for about a short second as his hand dug into her tender skin, he grabbed her beautiful golden hair in his two hands and started ripping and tearing. When the hair came loose, he punched and clawed her, and soon, she was not moving anymore. He hit her some more and stopped. The white sheets were inked red.
Blood drenched and sweaty, he went to the windows, looking outside. Her skin and hair still stuck in his hands, the girl he was going to elope with. But he forgot everything, his past, his family, his history. Nothing was on his mind, there was only Rage.