Disclaimer: I own nothing but the creature, Sara, The Check, Sara's family, and her lovely suitcase :)

CHAPTER ONE

The Creature

Sara's heart raced. Goose flesh had erupted on every inch of her skin, her frail body tucked up into a dark corner where, hopefully, no one would find her. It was still there; it was still upstairs. It was going to find her. Sara didn't know how it killed, but it had sharp teeth, perfect for eviscerating. She had no idea how she was going to escape, but she wasn't going to let herself die willingly. Sara knew that her demise would not be cooped up in a corner waiting for it to find her. She was much stronger than that.

Sara stood, the darkness still enveloping her, taking a baby step into the light. As she bit on her thumbnail, she felt her tooth break open the skin underneath the nail, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. She could smell death all around her, the faded yellow tiled floor beneath her bare feet cold and ominous. Sara looked around feverishly, her breath coming out in short gasps around her thumbnail, still in her mouth. Her tousled brunette hair didn't give her the greatest look, but it's not like that really mattered now. She didn't know if her mother and father were dead, let alone her three-month-old baby sister Natalie. The last time Sara had seen her sister, she was fast asleep in her crib. Sara loved her little sister, and didn't know what she would do if anything happened to her baby sibling.

Her heart was thudding in her ears. Her brain was reluctant to take another step, but her body moved anyway. The perspiration on her feet made them sticky on the tile floor, and with every step it made the sound of a band-aid ripping off skin. Sara felt terribly alone, not really knowing why – her parents and her baby sister were just upstairs. Natalie hadn't made a sound she was obviously still sleeping.

A few more steps were taken when Sara felt carpet beneath her. She had made her way into the living room. Now she was able to see the stairs, where she had first seen it. It had crawled up the stairs with lightning fast speed, the leathery dark brown skin wrinkling when its body contorted different ways. Now it was in the upper part of the house, where Sara's parents were most likely fighting off the creature. They wouldn't let a stupid creature kill them, no way. Was the creature even real? She wanted to believe with all her might that this was a dream; it was just a figment of her imagination, but the sweat dripping from her forehead persuaded her differently. The sound of crashing glass upstairs let her know that she was living in reality – the glass had come from Natalie's room.

Sara impulsively took her thumb away from her lips and ran up the stairs, her hand resting on the guardrail as she always did when she went up those stairs – it was instinct. When the stairs ended, Sara was gazing right into her baby sister's room. The glass had been a snow globe belonging to her mother – she had placed it in Natalie's room for good luck. Natalie's crib was spattered with blood; she looked down and saw more on the tan carpet below the crib. The red trailed across the carpet and stopped in a corner. She saw a dainty and mutilated pile of flesh and blood on the floor. It was Natalie. She hadn't been sleeping.

She felt so nauseous at the sight in front of her she could barely think. But what she was about to see was worse. Her breath whistled in and out of her, her lungs getting that same piercing feeling right after you've run two miles. A sloshing sound hit her ears, another instinct set in – she looked over to the left, where the noise had come from. There she saw that same creature gorging on the flesh of her deceased parents. Sara whimpered, suddenly aware that she had drawn attention to herself. The creature turned its head to gaze upon Sara. The girl's eyes widened, she could feel the icy crimson eyes of the monster eating her parents upon her, ready to dig into her live skin. Shivers went up and down her spine, her brain deciding to quit on her. She couldn't move. Her feet were rooted to the floor. They both gazed at one another for no more than thirty seconds, Sara's nightgown rustling against her calves, abruptly springing her back to life. That was when it jumped for her. Sara turned and ran down the steps with everything she was. She ran through the dining room, and into the kitchen, scrambling to remember to put one foot in front of the other or it would get her. It would eat her right up. Just like her parents and her baby sister.

Her chocolate eyes searched frantically for a weapon. This was a kitchen for Christ's sake. But in her rushed state, she forgot where her mother put the knives. So Sara went into the living room, where the fireplace was, and grabbed the iron rod her father would prod the fire with in the winter. Some of the soot on the end of the rod flew into the air as she hurled it up in front of her, in defense mode. Her throat was on fire, and as she sucked in air harshly, soot got into her throat and she began to cough loudly, the whooping sound ringing in her ears, she wasn't used to so much noise in an otherwise quiet house.

That was when she saw it come around the corner and begin to pounce for her. She glimpsed at the door on her right – no, she couldn't leave now, it had to die first, it needed to die.

It ran at her like a freaked dog, pouncing and pouncing closer. It neared her enough to see the rod clutched in her pallid fingers, and stopped. Sara, not really knowing what she was doing, gritted her teeth and suddenly swung. It collided with the thing's head; Sara swore she heard the head crunch before it fell to the floor on its side. The teeth of the monster gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the window behind her. Its eyes had closed, and while it lay there Sara wondered if she should hit it again or if now was the time to go. She stepped closer to it, touching it slightly with her toe. Her breath was coming out in short gasps, the hair in front of her face waxing and waning with her erratic breathing. The skin was leathery and felt a bit scaly like a reptile's flesh, but much stranger. This time, Sara brought her foot back, and whammed it right into its stomach.

A searing pain exploded in her ankle. Sara cried out and peeked at her ankle, where she saw long fingernails, tinted yellow with age and dirt, digging into her skin. The blood was trickling and oozing down, the blood flow becoming more and more as its fingernails went deeper in her skin. She stood there, practically immobile from the pain. Sara couldn't take it any longer. Placing her other hand on the iron rod, she drove it right into the creature's temple, coming out the other side of its head, and into the floor. The grip on her ankle ceased and the nails resurfaced from her skin. Five moon shaped lacerations were now carved into her ankle, the fresh blood smell reaching her nostrils. Now she was aware of what she had to do.

All she knew was to grab everything and run. Just run.

She left the creature lying there, dropping the iron rod and going upstairs to gather some things. Sara still felt sheer terror in her stomach as she raced up each step, her whole body uncontrollably shaking. She turned right when she reached the top step, heading to her room. Sara didn't take the time to say goodbye to what was left of her family members as she crossed to the other side of the hallway, opening the door to her room and stepping in. The last time Sara was in her room her parents were alive and her sister was in a deep slumber in the crib… but she tried not to ponder those things as she went across the room to her closet. Inside was a suitcase in which Sara could pack her belongings. She reached her whole upper half into the closet, taking out the suitcase. As she pulled herself out, an out of place hanger scraped her hairline, striking blood. It ran down her forehead and her cheek, drying before it reached her jaw line. Her ankle throbbed from open wounds and then running on it, but she didn't care. Pain was nothing now. It was just a mere obstacle.

Sara opened the suitcase, taking clothes still on their hangers, and stuffed them into the suitcase. Then she grabbed a drawer from her dresser and emptied its contents – jeans and pajamas. Her earnings from years of collecting babysitting money and having summer jobs were in there also. It was stuffed full, but before Sara closed it, she grabbed a picture of the family and placed it neatly on top of the clothes. She snapped it shut, and walked out, making sure to grab a bobby pin to pin back her hair. Sara always despised hair in her face.

With the same speed as before, she left the house, clunking down the steps with her suitcase trailing behind her. At the bottom of the steps was the door, the door that would lead her to salvation. Sara was going to have to leave this behind. She stopped right in front of the door, reaching for the knob, and took a peek behind her. She needed to confirm it's deceased state. It was really dead. Green slime was seeping out of the wound, getting all over the carpet. Someone would come here and find it. Someone would find all of this mess. And someone would come looking for her. The question was: Where would she go?

Sara took her hand away from the doorknob; seizing the bobby pin she held in her other hand. A clump of her messy hair was dried in the blood, and she pulled it out to pin her hair up, the crackling sound of the peeling blood grotesquely hitting her ears. Then she grabbed the cool – almost deathly cool – bronze handle and turned. The door swung open, and the fresh, sweet smell of the summer night air hit her.

She filled her lungs with the warmth and comfort, even though she had only felt alone and cold for moments it seemed like too long. It was like someone protective was hugging her, making her feel loved and safe. The feeling soon ended when she heard echoes of intoxicated individuals down the street where a small restaurant stood. It had been there ever since the housing development was built, it was called The Checkerboard – the townsfolk nicknamed it The Check. Sara could see the two men, as drunk as the day is long, stumbling around outside the door to the restaurant. They both held whiskey bottles in their hand, looking at the plump woman with her hands on her hips standing at the door. She had a yellow dress on, knee-high, and a stark white apron tied around the waist and the neck. Her brown curly hair stood almost straight on her head, her hair had barely grown past her ears, and her pudgy lips were pursed and frowning. She didn't look too happy with them.

'Aww, c'muhh Beatrisss! Don't be like this! We promise to be goooo… Oof!' The man in the plaid shirt trailed off, falling right where he stood. The two men cackled like imbeciles. The man who fell burped obnoxiously and cackled. The woman shook her head, her golden name tag gleaming in the incandescent lights over the gas pumps, and wheeled around, walking inside.

That was when Sara saw it, a lone car in the parking lot of The Check. It was unattended – whoever was driving it was inside grabbing a bite. She scurried out of the house, closing the door behind her. Her baby blue suitcase was a vintage suitcase, made in the fifties or sixties, it used to belong her grandfather until he passed on. That suitcase was the only thing in her grandfather's will for Sara. She took it wherever she went – it had been to London and Thailand, and now it was with her to start a new life. Her heart was still thudding, she was not excited about running away, but as she drew closer to the glimmering black 1967 Chevrolet Impala, with a white stripe on each side, she felt safer. Still shaking, she yanked out her bobby pin and held it determinedly in her fingers. She crossed the street, walking down the dark path with the moon overhead, a light breeze keeping her hair out of her face.

When she was almost to the car, she stopped. 'Hey, pretty ladaaayy.' The other drunken man, in a tan shirt, called to her. The front of his shirt had a stain on it; Sara guessed it was from vomit. His drunken friend, who had fallen down moments ago, was asleep on a gas pump. The man in the tan shirt was probably too drunk to even realize that she was much too young for him, but she didn't care about that. She pointed with the bobby pin in the direction of the Impala.

'Is that your car?' It didn't come to her attention that her voice would be so shaky, but she tried to pin it off as nothing so the man wouldn't suspect anything was wrong.

'Why you all bloody? Dids you get in a ffffight?' His ghetto Texan accent fumbled as he tried to ask her questions, but she stayed adamant about hers.

'Is this your car?' Sara pointed more fiercely at it with the bobby pin.

'You're in your nighty sweetheart. I can get you out of it.' Sara rolled her eyes, crossing to the car and sticking her bobby pin in the lock to the trunk. 'You know, thaaat's breakin' and enterin'.' He said.

'Not unless it's your car.' She told him absentmindedly, twisting the bobby pin. She heard a click and the trunk opened. Sara lifted it just wide enough to get her trunk in and shut it. Before slipping the bobby pin back into her hair again, she unlocked the driver's side of the Impala. Making sure the drunken man wasn't going to reveal her hiding place, she glanced left and right, and got into the car. There was no way she was going to steal it – she climbed over the front seat and slipped into the darkness of the back, fitting herself snugly between the back and passenger's seat. Sara closed her eyes, quickly drifting into a dark, dreamless slumber.

Sara had yet to shed a tear.