MicroHorror

It all started with a grilled cheese sandwich. Then things went horribly wrong.

It was a bad grilled cheese sandwich that tasted like a rubber boot dipped in rotten mayo. My girlfriend, Charlotte, and I use that term loosely, as she was mainly just a “girl-right-now,” who wouldn’t be lasting much longer, in fact, had probably lasted too long already.

I spit out the bite of sandwich in my mouth and threw the rest of it across the kitchen, where it stuck to the far wall, slowly sliding its way down, leaving a greasy, sickly yellow stain.

“You bastard,” Charlotte yelled, and since things between us had deteriorated, she was quick to anger these days, and her temper was something. Something bad.

“I’m tried of your lousy cooking,” I screamed back jumping up, my chair slamming into the wall. “And it’s not just your cooking. It’s everything about you–the way you eat, walk, talk, sleep, even how you brush your teeth. It annoys me. Drives me crazy.”

“Me? What about you, you lazy, drunken excuse for a man?”

We shouted back and forth about our numerous failings for some time until I decided to play the trump card. “Well, at least I was faithful in this pitiful relationship of ours,” I seethed, knowing this was a lie, but one that would enrage her even more. I didn’t care at this point.

“You’re one to talk; you’re carrying on with Jessica, my best friend. Former best friend. And you have no idea what you’re dealing with with her–she’s a witch, so when she tires of you, or you cheat on her, revenge will be worse than you can possibly imagine.”

“I think your spelling is off, like everything else is about you. Yeah, sleeping with her was a lot better than with you.” I wasn’t sleeping with Jessica, hardly knew her, but since Charlotte was insanely jealous, and everything was coming to a head now, why not pull out all of the stops? “Jessica is one hot little package, so maybe I’ll move in with her and live with a sane woman for a change.”

Charlotte’s eyes blazed for a moment, and then she seemed to calm down, smiled weakly at me before replying, “You’re right. This relationship is over. So,” Charlotte grabbed a particularly big kitchen knife from the knife rack on the counter and swung it wildly at me, “why don’t you just die!”

Another fast slice of the knife nicked my hand, and blood starting flowing, which only further energized Charlotte, who made a grand killing arc with the knife, which I quickly avoided, but the strong sweep of the stabbing motion brought the knife right back into Charlotte’s own stomach, a deep puncture wound.

She bled to death before an ambulance could arrive. Explanations of what happened to the police, reconstruction of the crime, the angle of the knife wound, and all that, proved my innocence and “accidental suicide” was the ruling.

So it’s a week later, I’m trapped in my bedroom, hearing my bolted front door being ripped off of its hinges in single-minded fury. Charlotte was sorta correct; Jessica wasn’t actually a witch, more like a shaman, but when she heard what happened to Charlotte, she decided that I needed to pay for it.

Using her occult powers, Jessica raised Charlotte’s body, a zombie on a mission to kill me with the superhuman strengthen her resurrected body now possessed. Decaying and mouth sewn shut (part of the zombie process, I guess), I watched her stumbling down tonight’s dark street, obviously coming for her revenge.

Now zombie-Charlotte knocks the bedroom door off its hinges, and I blast both barrels of my shotgun directly at her head. Half of it grins back at me through a sewn-shut mouth, and I start screaming like hell as she grabs my tongue and eyeballs, and jerks them out. Then in agony and silent blackness, I feel her slowly ripping me limb from limb.