The Decameron 2.0

Day 7.10 Humor - HOMEOWNER'S DOESN'T COVER TEMPORAL CALAMITIES Krazydiamond

The clattering thump on the roof woke her.

It wasn't Christmas, which nixed the possibility of cousin Murphy setting up the landing lights. He never did accept Santa as an imaginary creation. Her section of the house slanted rather low to the ground, Jet blearily squinted at the digital clock on her bedside. Not much help, since the clock was on the fritz; the blurred red lines flickered and sputtered in rapid succession before the clock's internal wiring went off with a sharp pop and a curl of smoke. That woke her up.

She lifted herself on her arms, wincing at the taste of ash and tequila in her mouth, a chaser to the throbbing hang over knocking between her eyes. I'm never going drinking again, she promised herself, gritting her teeth as she struggled against the sheets tangled around her legs. It was a battle she lost, flailing and sagging in a sad bow half hanging off the bed.

"Bugger," she said. Another thump sounded above her, or rather a series of them, skidding thumps as if something was trying to gain its footing. It rained the other night, and if the New Year's party of '09 proved anything, her roof was notoriously slippery. She stared up at the ceiling, debating whether it was worth the effort to go another round with the bed sheets when there was a tremendous thud, followed by a rolling clunk, clunk, clunk down the roof. Something flew past her window and hit the ground with a soggy splat that made her wince in sympathy for the poor idiot.

She'd just decided to go back to bed when the oddest sound yet made her pause. It should a bit like a whale choking on a percolating coffee maker. "Ugh, I am that person in the horror movie," she muttered, dropping to the floor and to inch worm her way to the window. The movement made her head feel like a midget was tap dancing atop her skull but Jet managed to heave herself up on the sill and shove the screenless window open with a well aimed bump of her chin. She poked her head out, grateful for the cool night air to clear her head as she peered at the ground.

She blinked, giving her eyes a good rub with her shoulder. She looked again. If not for the incessant pounding in her head, she'd insist she was still drunk.

Sprawled on her front lawn was a creature. Eight legs stuck out straight in an almost complete pinwheel, emerging from a bulbous body flopped over on itself. Bronze plating covered the thing, knobs and cords gleaming in the street light. And inexplicably, what looked like a bronze top hat sat at a jaunty angle atop its ...head? Was that a head? The creature broke her confused train of thought by unleashing another dreadful burbling noise. As she watched its legs curled inward, revealing rows of suckers. There were several odd wet pops that almost sounded like a contortionist, covered in bubble wrap, performing in a vat of petroleum jelly. Yes, that was the sound exactly.

The bulbous top flopped the other way, revealing one big yellow eye covered by an orb of glass. A horizontal slit pupil shifted in her direction.

"Shit!" Jet fell backward, rolling in her blankets until she hit the legs of her bed. What the hell was that? An armored octopus in a top hat, obviously, her hung over mind supplied. "Shut up brain, you're still drunk."

You wish, said her treacherous brain.

A metal clad tentacle slapped over her window sill. Jet squeaked, worming her way under the bed as the creature clambered into her room in a graceless heap, bronze plated limbs clacking over her floor boards. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream as it shakily got to its feet, its limbs wobbly as a newborn deer but it managed to get its footing and move toward her. Its legs moved in a mesmerizing undulation that would have been hypnotic if she was scared out of her freaking mind.

The creature stopped a foot away from her, tilting its head left and right to look at her with both goggled eyes set just a bit to the side of its head, not quite facing forward enough to get a good look at her from one angle. One tentacle lifted toward her as the creature emitted a series of wet squelching noises. Jet's mind was blank with terror, her face twisted in a mask, mouth open, eyes bugged out. The tentacle brushed her face, the bronze cool against her face. A small strained squeak fell from her mouth as she flexed her throat.