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He gulped, thinking of the offer given as if it was a mere suggestion. No matter how many times it’s handed out, it’ll always send shivers down his spine. Nails clutched at the door, more so of understanding than deniability. He knows it would help, but a better alternative can be as devastatingly catastrophic as a dystopian end. He knows there’s too many guests in the home. He knows he needs to cut some people out.
Will he reach the same evil as the visitor on the other side of the door?
Through the peephole, he saw how the cigarette in the taller man’s mouth flickered to the other side, puffing out smoke through his nose.
“Well?” The shadowy outline flatly asked.
The hat titled forward, a sign of a growing impatience. He’s seen it dozens of times. When he’d refuse his help, when he always managed to squeeze out survivors before all the supplies were gone. It was intolerance of denied help, the graceful offer neglected over self-righteousness.
“Okay.” He breathed out. “Come in.”
For the first time, he sees the permanent frown turn into a smile. Just a small smile. Not insidious. Almost.. relieved.
His heart thumps when he opens the door, feeling the freezing wind start to numb his senses. Despite the dangerous temperature, the man in the trench-coat smoothly walked inside, making sure to distinguish his cigar before chucking it outside.
The shotgun clicked to life as the door was forcibly shut.
And without a spare glance, the monster headed toward the closest room.
Opening the door and.
Making the room flash white, flash red, flash out the screams that combined with thrashing movement. Maybe it was an item. Maybe it was a head.
They tried getting past him, but his large body blocked the only exit.
From this distance, the proprietor saw hands clutch at the man’s pants, falling limp shortly after.
“What’s going on!?” His neighbor bursted out of the living room, terrified gaze darting towards him and to the dripping blood endlessly pooling into the floorboards.
Her horrified eyes looked at his, betrayed.
Her mouth began to move, but it was too late. The face he grew to have an everlasting friendship with turned into mush before his very eyes. It exploded like fireworks set off during a sunset. Except the cheering crowd was replaced by the screams of a slaughter.
He never realized the flowing tears run down his face until the shattering silence pierced his soul.
Heavy boots neared him, the sounds of a cigarette being lit flicking his eyes upward.
From the lighters glare, he could finally see the faceless visitor’s visage.
His eyes emanated somberness, inhaling a drag.
There was blood as dark as black dripping from his chin.
It was gone as soon as it came.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” The shotgun was still smoking. “If, you’re still alive.” It glanced at the proprietor’s own handgun.
“But you’ve always preferred using your hands, hm?”
He felt his blood run cold, then nothing at all.