The Open Door (15 page)

  He looked over at his second story
window—not a great option.  It was approximately thirteen feet
down, and waiting below was concrete due to an extended back
patio.

He could jump, but would most likely injure
himself to the point where running would be impossible.  He
decided to await the predator and stand his ground. 

 
Bam! 
The door continued
to be repeatedly kicked, wood could be heard splintering, and the
molding on the inside of the frame was giving way.  One more
good kick and it was go time!

  The door gave and violently swung
open.  The hall was ink-black.  Cody could only make out
the silhouette of a figure, while the tip of the large butcher
blade—most likely taken from his kitchen—was shimmering in the
light offered by the bedroom. 

  The figure stood in the darkness that
concealed it, silent, as if savoring the moment before the
kill. 

Cody stood frozen in time, waiting for the
attack, hoping the police would arrive before it was too
late. 

  Whispers hissed, barely kissing Cody’s
ear.  He couldn’t tell if it was a man’s or a woman’s voice—it
almost sounded like several voices at once. 

A low level, thunderous growl came from the
intruder’s direction.  Cody wondered:
does he have a dog
with him? 
Laughter followed the growl, as if the
mysterious person found Cody’s reaction to the animal-like noise
humorous.  The laugh was more of a sadistic clown chuckle.

  Confused by the multiple sounds and
voices displayed by the intruder, Cody’s fear grew more intense by
the second, not knowing who or what he was facing. 

Where the Hell are the cops? 
His
patience grew dimmer while the fear inside grew brighter. He
couldn’t help but curse the police in his mind, knowing that death
could be imminent.  He paused mid-thought, remembering what
had been written on his door.  Was the tall man coming to make
good on his promise?

  He lost control and shouted out, “Who
the Hell are you?  What do you want with me?” 

  There was no response, just sickly
breathing.  The breathing stopped, and then a seemingly long
pause filled the air with utter silence.  A voice broke the
stillness, a woman’s voice.  “Cody?  It’s me, Lisa.”

  He dropped the pool cue, forgetting he
had hold of it.  She had been half dead and completely
unconscious when he made up her name, there’s no way she could have
heard him.  “Please leave,” he offered.

  She stepped into the light, just
inside the doorway.  Her eyelids were sewn shut with black
medical sutures; blood and pus oozed from the fresh wounds on her
face.  Her greasy hair still contained matted blood, dirt,
sweat, and asphalt.  There was a brace on her exposed injured
leg with pins going into her skin, and dried scabs formed around
the untreated punctures.  She wore a hospital gown that was
only partially tied in the back.  Her skin was pale as were
her lips—she looked like the walking dead. 

  She smiled, exposing her blackened
rotted teeth, and then spoke.  “I’m here to repay your
kindness, Cody.”  She sounded like a serpent, as she whispered
through her cracked bluish lips.  “You and your friend are
suckers for a damsel in distress, aren’t you?  It will be your
undoing!” 

  She lunged at him with the knife; Cody
sidestepped forcing her to fall into the wall.  The leg brace
was her only obvious handicap, and he would have to take full
advantage. 

  Thinking he had a clear shot at the
door, he ran for it out of sheer desperation.  The possessed
intruder let out a deafening scream that he couldn’t escape soon
enough, and both ears rang at shattering volumes. 

  He ran down the stairs too fast,
almost losing his footing and sliding to the bottom, but regaining
balance at the last moment.  He made it to the bottom; the
front door was in sight. 

  A cackling echoed throughout the small
home. 

He looked up the stairs. She wasn’t there. He
ran towards the door.  “Don’t leave me,” a sweet, innocent
sounding voice let out. 

  Cody slowly looked up.  She fell
from the ceiling like a spider dropping from its web, and landed
directly in front of him. 

  Petrified, he stood motionless,
staring at the grotesque female he once thought
attractive. 

  “What’s the matter, Cody?  Don’t
you love me anymore?”  She said in a frightfully eerie
tone.  “I can be pretty again, Cody.  Watch!”  Her
voice became masculine, angry, and before he could take his next
breath, she grabbed her hair with each hand, and ripped out fist
sized chunks of hair and scalp. 

It was apparent that the demon wanted to put
on a show for him, making his final memories as horrifying as
possible. 

  After ripping out half her hair, she
reached for her eyes, grabbed both the upper and lower lids that
were attached by the self administered sutures, and violently
ripped them off, exposing both afflicted eyeballs, now looking at
Cody with a crazed and desperate stare. 

  “Like me now?  Huh . . .
Cody?  No?  I can do more.”  She then reached into
her mouth, and one by one picked out rotted teeth, flicking them
into his face.  It was as if the demon inside not only wanted
to torture Cody, but the possessed girl too. 

  Her breath—the demon’s breath smelled
of death, as if the inside of the female’s body was rapidly
decaying.  He wanted to, and almost vomited, but held
back. 

  Troubled at what would happen next, he
watched as she dug her nails into the left side of her nose and
pulled to the right, removing the last beautiful part of her face,
exposing the cartilage of the skulls nasal cavity. 

A horrible wheezing and slurping sound came
from the now exposed, ventilated skull.  “How about now? 
How do you like your little bitch now?” 

  The more demonic the female became in
appearance, the more she sounded like one. 

  An acute jolt of pain came from Cody’s
neck.  She had hold of his throat, and he didn’t even see the
strike unfold—telling that the demon possessed better than human
speed and strength. 

  She came within an inch of his face,
eye to eye, as she squeezed the life out of him.  Just before
he was about to pass out, she threw him across the room. He slid
across the floor after landing, and skidded to a stop against the
wall. 

  Unable to move, Cody watched as the
possessed attacker ominously approached with death in its
eyes.  She stopped a foot away, and stared down at him—taking
pride in a job well done. 

  The entire attack only took minutes
from the time Cody called the police, but it might as well have
been hours—the damage was done. 

  Police sirens bounced off the walls of
homes throughout the neighborhood, a pounding on the front door got
the attention of the incubus. 

  She grabbed Cody by the arm, and
carelessly pulled him to the backyard.  “Time’s up. 
Death is imminent!” 

  The police forced their way through
the front door, and a search began with officers going up the
stairs, systematically checking every room in the house.

She grabbed the top of Cody’s hair, pulled
his head back, and grabbed his throat with the other hand. “In case
you’re wondering. Her real name was, Samantha,” it said in a voice
not likened to a human.

Cody stared into her eyes and barely found
the strength to speak her name, “Samantha?”

Hoping she was somewhere inside, that he had
somehow reached her, he locked into her eyes. She stared back, but
with a cold emptiness that left Cody feeling completely hopeless.
And with that, he accepted his fate as promised by the tall man who
wore a top hat: death is imminent.

Scott’s doorbell rang; he rolled over to
check his alarm clock, it was 2:26 A.M.  He grabbed the gun
from under his pillow, and slowly walked to the front door. 
Peeking out the corner of the window, he saw two police cars. 
He ran back, placed the gun back under the pillow, and then
answered the door immediately. 

  “Are you Scott Abrahamson?”  One
of the Officers questioned.

  “Yes sir, how can I help you?  Is
there something wrong?”

  “Do you know a, Cody Wells?”

  “Yes . . . did something happen to
him?  Scott feared that the tall man had gotten to Cody
already.

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure
out.  When did you last speak with Cody?”

  “Yesterday, at about 11:00 A.M.”

  “He called 911 last night, complaining
of an intruder—he told the dispatcher that he had been
stabbed—“

  “Stabbed?  Is he alright?”

  “We’re not sure, he’s still
missing.  We searched his home, and when we got to the
backyard, we found a dead woman.  Her prints were on a knife
found in Cody’s room, and the knife had Cody’s blood on it, so
we’re thinking she was the intruder.”

  “A woman?  Who?”

  “We had to go by her prints because
her face had been badly injured.  Have you heard of Samantha
Jacobs?”

  “No sir and I don’t recall Cody
speaking of a girlfriend.” 

  “Here’s a card . . . would you
please contact us if you find out anything about his
whereabouts?” 

  “Yes, and would you please let me know
if you find out anything?”

  “We have to alert family first, but
I’m sure you’ll be notified eventually.  Thank you for your
time.” 

  After the police left, Scott called
Ella out of fear she had met the same fate.  Ella
answered.  A flood of relief washed through him, and hope was
again restored.

  “Ella, Cody was stabbed by some
woman.  They found the woman dead and Cody is missing.”

  “Oh my . . . I’m so sorry, Scott!”

  “I know . . . I am too.  I think
it would be best if we all came together tonight.  We’ve got
to be better off together than separated.”

  “Agreed . . . I’ll finish packing and
head right over.  How about Mustapha?  Did you get in
touch with him?”

  “Not yet—I’ll call in a few hours when
he wakes up, and ask him to come over then.  For now, you can
come over and get settled in, and that should it make easier for
when Mustapha arrives.”

  “OK, I’m really sorry, Scott.  I
know how close you and Cody were. ARE!  I’ll pray he’s alright
and contacts you soon.”

  “Thank you, Ella.  I’ll see you
in a little bit.”

  Somehow, Ella’s words made him feel as
though everything would be fine, despite how chaotic everything
seemed at the moment.

  He worried about Cody, and found
the story to be perplexing.  Had Cody killed the woman? 
Was she possessed?  Had he gotten away with minor injuries, or
were they life threatening?  If they were minor, why hadn’t he
contacted him?  If they were life threatening, wouldn’t he
have gone to the emergency room?  There were so many
unanswered questions, but thinking about it was pointless.  He
would have to wait to hear from either the cops or Cody.

  Ella packed with desperation and
determination: desperate to be with Scott as soon as possible, and
determined to live through the growing nightmare. 

  A door slammed.  Ella ran out to
the living room—the front door was closed.  She checked it . .
. it was still locked.  She turned to check the other doors
and ran face first into the tall man’s chest.  She looked up
and saw the pointy nose and chin, but the eyes were still cloaked
in darkness under the brim of the weathered hat. 

  “Going somewhere, Ella?”  His
voice contained intensity, but was calm and smooth.  His mouth
was wide with thin, tight, pale lips, and when he spoke she
expected a long forked tongue to lash out at her, smelling her like
a snake would a tiny field mouse. 

  He leaned closer, sniffing her neck
before pressing his nose against her cheek.  He paused,
touched the tip of his tongue to her soft porcelain like flesh, and
then pressed harder, licking her while moaning with delight. 
“A virgin . . . I can taste it . . . smell it.  So fresh and
pure . . . I’ll have fun inside you.”  He said as he chuckled
to himself. 

  Ella didn’t say a word.  She held
still instinctively, straining to keep her emotions
contained.  She had never felt fear like this before; it was
overwhelming, and her heart felt as though it would explode any
second. 

  He grabbed her throat, pushed her to
her knees, and peered into her eyes.  She stared back as his
eyes rolled into the back of his elongated skull.  Unable to
stand the sight, she closed her eyes and began to pray. 
Praying was all she could do.  Only God could help her now,
and she believed with all her heart that if it were meant to be, he
would somehow save her. 

  The whites of his eyes started to
shake uncontrollably, veins began to pop out of his temples, his
throat and mouth tensed up, causing tendons and muscle to line his
neck like ropes, blood pooled from under his eyelids and overflowed
onto his face.  He let go and stumbled back, grabbing his face
with both hands as he gasped for air. 

  Ella opened her eyes and observed the
spectacle.  She thought about running, but something kept her
in her place.  Perhaps she needed to see why the Wraith-like
man appeared to be in distress. 

  He ripped his bloodied hands from his
face; his eyes were now completely red as if every vein had
erupted. 

He looked at his hands and then looked at
Ella.  “You!  You did this!  You may not let me in
now, my dear, but your precious boyfriend will.  And when that
happens, I’ll be sure to pay you another visit.” 

He bowed and tipped his hat to her, in a
gentlemanly but disturbing way, and sauntered out—leaving her on
the floor, bewildered at what she had witnessed.