MicroHorror

Sheila panted heavily as she moved toward the small shed. Her legs pumped as fast as possible considering the fact that she was running for two. Seven months pregnant is no time to be chased from one’s home by a pack of ravenous, flesh-eating ghouls. Sheila’s water-retaining, swollen feet pounded the patch of ground from her back door to her husband’s small work shed. As she reached the door, Sheila glanced back to see her husband, Clint, shambling from the doorway surrounded by his poker buddies, holding his head upright to prevent it from falling to one side.

She had never really minded the ragtag group that would congregate at her house every Thursday night to play penny ante poker and smoke cigars… until they died. The next-door neighbors, the Fergusons, appeared suddenly at the doorstep earlier. Clint answered the desperate knocking and was nearly decapitated by a hungry, undead, Mr. Ferguson. Clint’s poker buddies attempted to rescue him but were no match for the extended Mormon family and succumbed quickly. Sheila barricaded herself in their tiny kitchen and forced back retch after retch as she listened to the Fergusons feasting on her husband and his friends. It became quiet for a time until the kitchen door was assaulted, loudly and violently. Mr. Ferguson and his seven children had managed to split the cheap door (that Clint promised to replace) in two. Sheila scrambled for an escape and opted for the small kitchen window. It was a seven-foot drop to the ground below but she had to take the risk.

Sheila barely avoided the neighbors and fell to the ground. Less agile than a few months ago, Sheila smacked into the ground and prayed that her baby was unscathed. Pain shot through her abdomen and back as she got to her feet and headed toward the shed.

Sheila entered the shed and quickly bolted the door shut. She moved to the farthest, darkest corner of the small building to wait it out. Quickly, the shed erupted in a cacophony of pounding and shrieking. The little shed rocked and shook for what seemed like hours to Sheila… until it abruptly ceased.

The shock of losing her husband had not settled and, for the moment, she felt safe.

Sheila screamed in agony. She grasped her abdomen and doubled over, feeling as if someone had shoved a chainsaw dipped in hot sauce through her stomach. Sheila fell to her knees, crying out, and vomited fiercely, blood and bile splattering the dirt floor of the shed. Her body twisted and contorted from the pain and she flung herself backwards, landing on the dirt with a thud. Sheila’s eyes went wide in absolute terror–maybe her baby wasn’t all right after all? The skin of Sheila’s stomach stretched as she watched and, unless she was hallucinating from the pain, she could make out the shape of a tiny, newly developed hand that formed in the outstretched skin.