Dale Needs to Get Out

No, really. Dale needs to get out.

* * * * *

Firefly was on. Having enjoyed Serenity, Dale found himself understanding why everyone was so upset about the series being canceled. What a good show. And River…he thought it best that he didn’t know how old she was, seeing that–

The phone began ringing. Dale put down his coffee and got up from the table. “Hello?”

“Dale!” A woman yelled. How did this stranger know his name? He was straining to think up something witty. “Dale, are you there? Dale?”

It was his wife. “Yes, I’m here. You okay? I didn’t recog–”

“Is Connie with you?” Her voice was raw and winded, cracking as she spoke.

“Yeah, sure, what’s wrong?”

“No, is she with you? I need to know. Can you see her?”

Dale had never heard Linda like this. “No, but she’s okay, she’s upstairs.”

A shadow skittered past the kitchen window. Somewhere, a dog began barking.

“Dammit! Dale, listen to me. You have to get her right now and you have to leave.” Dale could make out voices in the background. A horn blared and the voices grew louder.

“Leave–why? Where are you?”

“Dale, get Connie and leave now! I’m on my cell, heading north on eighty-one. You need to go south.”

“Why? What is it?” He picked up the remote and clicked channel three. Commercial…must not be too big a deal.

The cracks in her voice gave way. What came over the phone now were wheezy, tear-filled pleas. “I’ll tell you–but first, just get my baby out of there, Dale please–tell me you’ll leave now.”

“Okay honey, everything will be fine. I’ll go upstairs right now and get Connie. I’ll go south on Twelve and I’ll call you in a few minutes. You gonna be alright?”

“I’ll be fine, just call me. Hurry!”

“I will, don’t worry.” He hung up the phone and patted his pockets for the car keys. This was nuts. What the hell was going on? He walked to the kitchen window and looked out at the sky. Clear. A little ruckus from a couple dogs fighting, but that wasn’t too unusual here in town. Better get Connie, he thought. Dale left the kitchen.

From under the kitchen window, a black shape rose. With a faint tearing, it pushed itself through the screen. A long insectile limb, ending with three black fingers groped along the counter-top for purchase. Coarse hair dragged across a wooden cutting board, sweeping breadcrumbs as it went. The pointed tips of its fingers ticked on the formica. They dipped into a half-eaten bowl of Fruit Loops coating themselves with warm, souring milk. Before reaching the edge of the counter, the fingers bumped a coffee cup onto the floor. The shattering porcelain halted Dale at the bottom of the stairs.

Upstairs, Connie screamed.

∞