The Shell of a Man

He sat forlornly in his chair. The only light coming from a lamp on the end table and the screen of his desktop.

shreeks in the night. they were coming. coming in droves.

the screen wasl filled with folders of different projects he had slaved over, obsessed with, worked his fingers to the bone to complete but none of them mattered to him now. all that he saw was the picture behind them all. a woman and a little girl reading a book together on a swing on a sunlit lawn, a grand oak giving them shade.

the screams grew louder. a crash. he knew it was the picket fence. they were coming.

he looked down at his desk, strewn with papers. research, work, efforts to stop these monsters who only sought to devour, but they had all ended in disappointment. on top of all this were two items, a handgun and the inside of a music box. the latter he picks up with delicate fingers. he examines the bottom which is marked in marker "Princess's First Birthday"

A slam at the door followed by pounding and more shreeks. they were at the door.

he cranked the small metal nob and then held it up to his eyes. the little cogs began to turn and the tiny instrument began to pluck out its sheery little tune of home and flowers and little girls smiling up at you as you walk in the door.

Slam!

He set it down on the desk and listened to the song, tempo slowed with age to the point where the melody transformed from chipper to nostalgic. a single tear splashed onto the papers that littered the desk, soaking through and smearing the ink.

Bash! Smack! A bone chilling wail!

Somehow the song rose to a crescendo to where it droned out the banging and the shouts. He forgot about the monsters and remembered. His wife holding a pink baby crying as it adjusts to the newness of life. a little girl waddling up to her awaiting father who catches her in a loving embrace. The princess catches something. Some foreign ailment. it saps her strength like a leech and shrivels her body like a leaf whose tree has died before it can bloom. Then the shouts. Finally the princess is gone. Then the princess died.

The solid wood door cracks.

A darkness crosses his face. They took her. He could not save her because they took her with their poison. They ate here alive while she was still in his arms. before they truely came they had taken her. The woman was soon to follow. Now he turned to the handgun laying on the desk. He grabbed it and stood from his chair. He strode over to the door.

Bang! Smash! Another deathly screech! There were many. They all wanted inside.

He cocked the weapon and unlatched the bolt locked. The door immediately bulged inward as the hordes pressed in harder feeling the hunt was soon to begin. He would not be hunted like an animal. He would die like a man.

He grasped the door handle and threw open the door.

A shot rang through the night. Shreeks. Nine more shots. Then the shreeks continued and crashes and bangs joined in the din.

Ten days later.

The men slipped in the house through a back door, their rifles aimed ahead at all times, they were weary of what may lurk around every corner. they soon discovered the house was empty, void of danger or otherwise. the only signs of life were a few bones scattered on the floor licked clean. One man saw something peculiar on a desk. He stepped forward and picked it up. it was the mechanism to a music box. he cranked hte lever and listened to the resulting melody. Without explanation tears welled up in his eyes and he turned away from his comrads fearful they might see.