The Key to Everything (21 page)

Abram spins the dial to the left and then jerks it back quickly the other way. He glances at the tattoo on his forearm and looks up at Emily. His eyes follow her stare out the window, and he sees for the first time what is frightening her so deeply. 

“What are the numbers?”

“I…I…I think….” 

“Emily!”

“I think it might be 5-21-2.” Her eyes dart quickly between the glass door and window, watching the light outside disappear behind this seething mountain determined on getting to them. “But I’m not sure.”

“…21…2.” Abram pulls at the curved metal bar. “…not working!”

“Um…uh…try 7-6-1. Maybe it’s our anniversary.”

“Still not it, Emily.” The foam-lipped, clawed army outside is throwing itself one by one into the window and the kitchen door, trying to get in. A small crack appears in the middle of the sliding glass door. “Anything…what other three numbers might have meant something to Auden?”

They both glance at the second hand of the clock moving too slowly around the circle, and then look at each other. A loud BAM! comes from the window above the sink, and both of their bodies reflexively jump. The crack breaks into a longer lightning strike in the door. BAM! Another crack starts  toward the bottom of the large glass pane. BAM!

 “What do we do now?” Emily asks, looking around for some kind of weapon. Abram opens the pantry and grabs the broom, giving it a good shake to check its sturdiness. He points to the knife holder next to the microwave, but Emily has a better idea. 

She reaches into a cabinet, sliding the remaining dishes over. A few fall out and crash to the floor. Moves on to the next filled with glasses and plastic kid’s cups. “Damnit.”

A clicking noise starts quietly. As it speeds up it grows louder and louder.

BAM! 

Click click clickclick clickclickclickclick clickclickclickclickclick clickclickclick

“Emily?” Abram moves toward the door. “Whatever you’re looking for, you’d better find it fast.”

 “Fuck.” The glass of the door curves inward into a giant bubble, vibrating faster and faster until it finally gives way from the constant onslaught of bodies. She opens drawer after drawer after cabinet, throwing things everywhere. “Where did we put the damn thing?”

One more drawer slides opened and, “Yes!” She pulls out an old battery-operated Ronco carving knife that somebody gave them for a wedding present. “This thing better fucking work…” She pushes the switch to ON. A high-pitched whine screams from the tiny motor inside the plastic casing, sending the two serrated blades whirring back and forth next to each other in a blur. 

“Emily!” Abram’s voice shouts from the hallway behind her. She looks up from the knife just in time to watch the window cave in on itself and rain glass into the sink and all over the counter top. Shards of glass fly inward, followed by mud, fur, and nightmare howls of victory hungry for the kill.

Blood drips slowly down over the window ledge from the body of a squirrel impaled on a large stalagmite of glass left standing. The thudding intensifies against both the wall beneath the window and the sliding door at the side of the room. Quick glimpses of brown ears pop up over the bottom edge of the window with an increasing rapidity as the animals continue in their attempts to charge into the house. 

Clumps of fur held together by some revolting-smelling black fluid fall through the open window or stick to the glass and slide down slowly, leaving a nauseating streak behind. The still-unopened lock is on the table. Abram’s eyes widen with horror. The glass of the door finally gives way and crashes in on itself, sending an uncountable mass of teeth and claws tumbling down to the kitchen floor. 

Some climb up on top of the refrigerator, kicking at the smooth casing for grip. Others run out of the sink onto the countertop, knocking over the coffee maker and mugs set there the night before in anticipation of the next morning’s breakfast. One makes its way to the oven, climbing over the back, twisting the dials with its back legs, turning the temperature up to 421 degrees. 

“This is what Hell must sound like.” Her eardrums pound with a destructive, unnatural beat filled with so much vehemence and ferocity that she can barely will her legs to walk. She runs around the corner into the living room, grabbing Abram’s hand along the way. He runs for the stairs, but she pulls him toward the front door instead.

“This way!” she screams over the horrific hippodrome rhythm. “If we go upstairs, we’ll be trapped.”

“What if they’re out front too?” His question comes one second too late. Emily has already turned the doorknob and started opening the door. 

She laughs with relief, seeing none of the animals bearing down on them when they step outside onto the lawn. Her smile fades immediately upon looking back into Abram’s eyes. He puts his hand on her shoulder and rips her back into the house, slamming the door as soon as she is clear. He turns both locks and peers through the peephole, breathing hard and fast.

“But I didn’t see anything… there was nothing out there.” 

“
He’s
there.” Abram steps away from the door, giving her a chance to see. “Walking across the street.”

Sgt. Harmon’s voice sounds close, as though he is standing directly next to them, even through the thick wood of the door. The melody is a song Emily is certain she doesn’t know. But she rises and falls along with the melody, like she’s heard it every single day of her life.

“Open yourself… 

for me… 

and let’s play… 

for a little while …”

Abram is shaking violently, loosing the battle to keep his teeth from chattering. They both try to run, but while the man is singing, they stand still, frozen in place. Fortunately, the squirrels are affected similarly by the song and gain no further ground in their attack. 

“Awfully un-neighborly of you to keep me locked out like this, my dear.” Sgt. Harmon sets his fingertips against the door. “You need to let me in now, Abram.” There is a moment of silence, suddenly broken by a pounding that shakes the door in its frame. Abram and Emily both jump back together. Sgt. Harmon slams his forehead into the center of the door again. Hard enough to break bone, this time cracking the wood.

Abram moves first. He takes Emily’s arm and heads back for the kitchen. She turns at the sound of the next explosion to see blood and that same black fluid splashing through the remains of the splintered door. He pulls back again for one more blow that will certainly fell his obstacle and grant him entrance to the house.

Emily kicks the first squirrel that comes at her. It tumbles through the air, landing in the center of the mass of brown swirling around the living room. Abram reaches over his shoulder to pull one of the beasts off his back and throw it against the wall. They barely make it a step or two without having to fight off more and more of the small demons. 

After what feels like hours, they make it to the edge of the kitchen. Covered in a mix of their own blood and fluids from places they dare not imagine, they round the corner, looking for the lock. Abram looks at the hellish ocean spreading over everything in sight. For the first time he actually looks hopeless. “I don’t think we can get to it.”

“We don’t have any choice now.” Emily pushes past him and runs into the kitchen. She swings the electric knife across the table, sending flailing bodies, whole and in chunks, down to the floor. Scratches and bites dig into her hand, but she barely flinches. 

Abram sees another squirrel running across the floor toward her and shouts a warning, “Behind you!” The animal leaps in the air, all claws and teeth. Emily flips the oven door open and drops onto it belly first, flat out, straining the old hinges. The squirrel flies inches over her back, through the smoke coming off of her now-burning shirt. She rolls off the door and kicks it shut, trapping the malevolent creature inside. 

It slams itself into the oven window over and over, trying to get out. Emily pulls the burning shirt over her head and stamps it out on the floor. Coughing through the smoke, she looks around to find something to block the oven door. Abram rushes to her side and pulls the oven mitt from its hook on the wall. Trying to find anything that will help lock the oven door, she remembers something from their old apartment. She leans down inches from the glass and looks up beneath the door handle. Now smoking, the squirrel is even wilder than before. Rampaging inside, continuously slamming itself into the door. Emily watches, unsure if the beast is simply trying to escape or if it still wants to attack. She reaches up and finds the safety lock used for cleaning the oven. Her hands sting from the burns, but there is an oddly satisfying click as the lock slides home. 

The squirrel slams into the door one final time before collapsing in a burning heap on the top rack inside the oven, smelling faintly of chicken with a hint of black licorice. Dozens of claws scratch and scrape for purchase on the linoleum kitchen floor as more of the small army sweeps into the room. Emily makes sure the electric knife is still working and braces for the attack.

Standing still now, the horde of shiny black eyes focus over her head. A shadow passes across the window above the sink, and she is too frightened to look. A deep laugh resounds through the backyard. “Would you like to come over for tea?” She can see a shadow in the shape of Sgt. Harmon’s head through the broken door now. 

“Are you okay?” Abram carefully examines the lock for any breaks or cracks.

“No. I’m definitely not okay.” Emily looks down and hisses at the red skin of her stomach, and then turns the dial up to HIGH on the oven. “Just open that fucking door.”

They run into the hall at the side of the stairs. A burning pain tears into the back of Emily’s thigh. Sharp teeth buzz-saw into her skin, trying to rip further down to muscle and bone. She turns quickly with the carving knife, pushing the blur of blades against the brown and black fur. The animal screams in pain as black-and-red liquid spurts from the now-gaping wound in its back. In an act of self-defense, its head turns, snapping vicious yellow-and-black-spotted teeth at her hand. She pushes the knife forward in between the biting fangs, its whirring blades slipping easily through the flesh of the beast’s open lips. Moving quite smoothly onward into the stretched skin of the cheeks, it sends black and red droplets flying everywhere. When the knife finally reaches bone at the back of the creature’s jaw, its motor whines higher for a moment, fighting and grinding into the gristle and bones. Emily pushes her hand harder into the plastic handle as the desperate animal reaches out with extended claws to pull the tool away and somehow save itself. She wiggles the knife back and forth as it grinds down, adding a white, powdery mist to the spray of blood and gore. Suddenly the blade frees up, slicing deeper into the back of the squirrel’s skull, taking the top of the creature’s head off, leaving the bottom jaw and body to fall lifelessly to the floor. 

Abram kicks the body away, grabbing Emily’s arm and pulling her deeper into the house. Screeches and nightmare yelps grow louder, moving along with the gathering horde, coming ever closer to them as they run on. Emily falls onto her side, grasping for her wounded leg, blood shooting out of the torn muscle and expelling more and more of her adrenaline and life by the second. 

She waves Abram on without saying a word and closes her eyes, knowing they are about to die. He ignores her command, un-tucks the lock from where he held it protected between forearm and ribcage, and moves to the wall in front of him. He holds out the lock and presses it against the drywall between a photograph of Jeremy and Jason playing catch, and a black-and-white portrait of Auden on stage with long hair, holding his guitar.

”You know the numbers. You know you do.” He looks at her with the finality of desperation. “One more try, Emily.”

She opens her eyes half wide and realizes… “One. Four. Two.”

He spins the dial quickly to one. Then back to the right, stopping at three.

“Damnit.” Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm himself. He makes a tight fist to stop the shaking and slowly opens it, speaking the numbers aloud this time. “One…Four…Two.” 

 The metal bar releases itself with the right combination, sending out a small puff of wind against his face. His fingers loosen their grip and let it go. The lock hovers in space, slowly spinning clockwise, around and around. Abram stretches his palm flat and pushes forward. He is like a mime for a moment. But what he pushes is not some imaginary object. Emily’s eyes widen and watch the lock fade into the wall. 

A white glow grows, until the light appears to be outlining the edges of a door. It burns her eyes in the warmest, most soothing way. Not wanting to look away, Emily lifts herself up onto her elbows and starts crawling for the door. Abram reaches out for her hand with one arm while grasping a nonexistent doorknob with the other. She feels herself twisting. Some previously unknown latch unlocks deep inside, permitting entrance to this sacred place. Claws and teeth dig into the soles of her shoes, fiercely clutching and pulling to deny her access. Abram stomps down on the tempest swirling behind her feet, unleashing a terrible growling that shoots fire at their ears. She hears a door close, leaving nothing but the sound of their panicked and strained breath to fill the otherwise quiet room.

-41-

Emily: Very Rare

Abram rips an old jacket into a makeshift bandage for Emily’s wounded leg. The bleeding stops, but the stinging doesn’t. She’s never felt anything like this before. Her body has been through a lot over the past days, and she is definitely reeling from loss of blood. Looking at the wound, it just doesn’t seem like it could possibly ever heal.