Flash Fiction: An Eye for An Eye

She shouldn’t have been out that night. Anyone with half a wit knew this; the EruOro were not deities to be toyed with. Jola, especially, knew this. So it was no surprise she endured the sweltering heat of the apartment; sealing every opening shut, drawing every curtain close.

On the dresser her phone lay abandoned, chirping endlessly, messages slithering in from several media platforms.

Sex tape keh?

Isn’t that the priest that always condemns everybody to hell?

General overseer of which church?

him and his son? Who’s the girl?

Jola, she, was the girl.

which made one thing certain; the video would backfire against her too. She wasn’t ready for that-the shame. But she wasn’t going to hide the truth any longer either.

Disturbed by a distraction, she peeled off her headphones and listened intently, unsure of the crashing noise outside her bedroom.

Thump!

She stumbled upright, the growing pain in her abdomen slowing her attempt to swipe a knife from the table.

“Who’s there?”

Thump…thump!

She gripped the weapon stubbornly. The neighbourhood was safe, but one could never be too cautious could one?

“I said-”

The door swung open, a familiar figure barging in. His chest heaved like he’d been running; eyes wide, searching for a victim.

“You” he growled, crossing the threshold.

“John I can expl-”

His palm connected with her cheek, the force knocking her towards the window. Her head slammed into the glass, the knife slipping from her grip.

Splint!

“Ashewo” He fists her throat, slamming her into the glass again “You worthless hag”

Splint!

She thrashed and clutched the air, dread skittering down her throat with a thousand miniature legs.

“You ruined our lives!”

Of course she didn’t respond; she couldn’t. The window broke open, cool breeze kissing her nape and his face. It was then, in her half-dazed state, that she realized he didn’t mean to end the unforgiving assault. Or worse, close the open exits.

Lightning tore across the sky. A face flashed briefly behind him; Inhuman. Grinning. Approaching. Behind him. Claws extended. Then…gone? She coughed, his grip loosening suddenly.

Seizing the distraction, she hurled at him. They collapsed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Brutal hate and revenge blazed behind her bloodshot eyes, a maniacal babble escaping her lips as she slammed his head down the tiles. He reeled, disoriented, his eyes questioning.

Why?

She wished she knew why too. She wished she could control the unfamiliar madness consuming her, guiding her hand towards the knife on the floor.

Take it!

Take it!

The knife sank into his throat once.

Twice.

Again and again she tore into him. Until his mangled face was barely hanging on to the brutality. Until one of his eyes, as if fascinated, popped out. Until gore and brains spilled from his head, dripping wetly onto her dress. Painting her face bright crimson.

But then from the closet she heard, undoubtedly, a baby’s loud cackle. Her gaze jumped, faster than her senses could process.

Another sinister laugh. Louder. Deeper.

Was that above?

Below?

She turned, her heart pounding.

Searching. Not finding. Seeking. Not understanding.

Did it come from behind?

Distorted laughter broke out, sounding much closer. Too close.

Murderer!

Not one voice. Not anymore. Rather, a cacophony of screaming choruses.

Murderer. Murderer! they yelled.

The door swung open once more. The EruOro emerged; rotten worm-infested things they were. Their skin shedding and dripping to the ground with wet squelches, faces a pot of erupting maggots.

Jola made for the window. It slapped shut, curtains happily sliding into place. The lights flickered, went out, and darkness loomed.

“Help!” She screamed, “Somebody help!”
Another wave of cackles burst out.
They won’t help you remember?

They didn’t look, did they?
It’s no use. You’re too late.
She shrieked, darting around blindly, tears meandering down her face. The deities descended, their teeth sinking into skin. Cannibals digging for brains. Tearing through bellies. Slurping intestines.

Black spots danced beneath her lids, her guts spilling like wine onto the once-white floors.

Finally, a paradigm shifts, this tale blacking out as a mother unplugs the TV.

“Blood of Jesus! What are these children watching? Oya, before I open my eyes! To your rooms!”