The Feeders

4 - Things Change

I can hear the racket before I even step into our yard. Something is in our house, banging around on things. As I approach, a few neighbors step out of their doors.

"You need any help, Jan?" Mr. Carpenter asks. He's wearing a shirt that reminds me of Hawaii, his big belly pulling at the buttons around his waist. His face is drawn up like he's worried I might actually need help.

My other neighbor, Mrs. Peterman, is standing on her front stoop wearing garden gloves and has a spade in her hand. I don't know what she plans on doing with that. I smile at her and then Mr. Carpenter. Smiling was the only way to calm them down. It will make them think everything is okay. Maybe that's why Zack smiled at me earlier. He wanted to make me feel comfortable. I don't think anything can ever make me feel comfortable again. But I smile at them and wave his offer away.

"No, no, it's fine. It's just a raccoon. I saw him this morning but I had to get off to school," I say.

He nods, but seems a bit unsure. The expression doesn't leave his face. I don't blame him. My excuse is ridiculous and I'm shivering with the panic that radiates inside my limbs. Something is very wrong in there and I have a horrible idea of what it could be. A Sick One or a Dead One has found his or her way inside and is now rummaging in our stuff. We're supposed to call the cops first thing if we see or even suspect one. I can't call the cops for help, however, because they'll find out about our sick parents.

I take the lid off of my trash can to use as a shield and step inside my house with caution.

The figure is in the kitchen, with it's back to me. It's scrawny with skin that seems to just hang on bones and it's hair is a wild mess. I can't see the face, but I can tell it is female. Something about the way it stands. She's banging around the cans in the cabinet, then she bends to the floor and picks up a pan. She slams it on the stove, which is in the middle of the kitchen attached to an island, and that's when I see her face.

"Mom?" I say.

She ignores me completely.

"Mom, what are you doing?"

Her clothes are different. She has obviously tried to dress herself. She's wearing one of her button-up tops and doesn't have a single button buttoned. Paired with that, she's chosen a pair of silk pajama pants. This morning, she couldn't even move, yet here she is almost dressed and cooking?

She slams a box of unopened macaroni and cheese into the pan and turns the burner on high. I rush forward.

"Mom, no! You'll burn the house down," I say. I click the stove off and pull the pan away with the smoking box of macaroni.

She hisses and snarls at me. I jump back as she steps closer.

"Mom! Mom, it's me, Janis. You know. Your daughter?" I try to remind her as I back up slowly.

My heart is pounding in my ears. She steps slowly closer with an eerie low growl. Her hands are in front of her, spread wide, her fingers hooked like claws. Nails have broken and are now jagged. They've lost their normal shine and now seem very brittle. Her recognition seems to be just as weak as her nail beds.

"Mom, please." I keep backing up and she keeps coming.

Then I see dad come down the hallway. The broken chair leg is hanging from his leg, still tied onto him. The cuffs are still around one wrist. The other wrist is at an odd angle. His fingers are broken. He's clearly struggled enough to pull the cuffs over that hand.

I start to scream.