The Shack

Another story I had to write for a creative writing class. I decided to throw in a little twist just for s***s and giggles. It is also finished until further notice. I know it's not much of an ending.

A soft wind blew, whispering in through the cracks between the rotting boards and fluttering the gauzy curtains that were hung in a last-ditch attempt to decorate the deteriorating shack. Dust lined anything stationary with hurried footprints crisscrossing the floor. A low moan rode the wind, stirring the two bloodied survivors. The larger of the two, built from years of construction work and tanned from long hours in the sun, ran a hand through his black hair, shaggy and a bit gnarled. He sighed and pushed himself up with the help of a shotgun, then helped the smaller of the two up, her sleepy mutterings warming his frozen heart.

            She was smaller of build but years on the run have turned whatever fat she had into lean muscle, her skin matted with dried blood, bile and dirt. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, her once-luscious locks hanging limp against her tattered jean jacket. The man shook her awake gently, calling her name softly so as to not alert what lurked outside. She slapped his hands away and blinked open two sapphire eyes which flicked towards the window and then back to him.

            He nodded once and pumped the shotgun, an empty shell clattering to the floor before rolling and hitting the door. She sighed and checked the magazine in her pistol before shoving two more magazines into her waistband. She grabbed a handful of shells from a rusted coffee tin on a rickety table and tossed them gently to him. He caught them deftly, one after the other and slipped them into the breast pocket of his torn flannel shirt.

            He then removed a zippo lighter, tarnished and bronzed, from his pocket before flicking it open and testing the light. He slammed it shut as he watched her stuff a rag into a half-full bottle of tequila. Three more bottles of varying shape and size and content were already stuffed and lined on a table behind her. Another slight breeze snaked in through the cracks, the moans louder and more frenzied as the agitated predators stalked through the night. She peered out of one of many gunshot holes in the wooden boards, checking to see if she could see any of the creatures that hunted them.

            The bright moon shone down, starkly illuminating everything in a monochromatic color scheme. There was the large oak tree with the worn-down tire swing and there was their truck with the terrible paint job and dead battery, and there, moving in the shadows of a forest that was spread out before the house, were the things chasing them, hunting them. A dark cloud, swollen with rain, passed in front of the moon and she pulled away, shivering slightly before he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

            She twisted around and looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. His lips parted slightly and a small but noticeable smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She returned the small smile then leaned, pressing her soft rose lips against his; a faint smattering of stubble scratched her cheeks but she didn’t care. They were lost in the moment, forgetting the hellish world around them for just a second while their lips met in a fusion of love and lust, fear and misery, sadness and just a tinge of desperation.

            Too soon, always too soon, he pulled away, sorrow clear on his face. She laid a hand gently on his cheek, nodding to show that she understood before he turned away and checked his gun, one last time before the final showdown. She stared at him for a second longer before checking her own, the sounds of the dead and the dying much louder now as they crossed the empty space between the shack and the forest.

            Their eyes locked as the first of the creatures pounded on the door. They understood what they had to do. He tossed her the zippo and she caught it, lighting the Molotov cocktails as fast as the rags would catch. More started to pound on the door, louder, louder, louder until both wondered how the door could withstand such a force.

            With a final crack that split the air in the small shack, the door caved in and the first of the zombified My Little Ponies stepped into the shack, its rotting hoof clattering against the floorboards with a sickening squelsh. The sound of a gunshot rang in his ears as the pony went down from a bullet in the head, a small stream of coagulated blood forming from the entry wound.

Reviews

[ThackeryBinx]

WOW! that story had me hooked. It's very novel worthy. You are a very good writer sir. and the ending, the ending was just a cherry on top. I mean I was expecting some kind of werewolf creature but when you said zombified My Little Pony I was like "hell yeah!" I want to read more of your work. Keep up the great work, with your talent i'm sure you will have a very interesting career.

[Luke Herbert]

Oh man, thanks! I really appreciate you taking the time to review and you literally just made my day. :)

[ThackeryBinx]

You deserve it. It's hard to believe that a story so well written, has been passed up for review do many times. Keep up the great work.

[C. Lee Battaglia]

"zombified My Little Ponies????" Whaaat?
You had me hooked but why not zombies? zombified My Little Ponies? Come on! just kidding it was great though...
(still upset.)

C. Lee Battaglia

[Luke Herbert]

I threw in the My Little Ponies for the benefit of my teacher. I wrote this piece for a creative writing class and we only had about thirty minutes to write a horror/sci-fi piece and so I was like, screw it. :)

[C. Lee Battaglia]

Haha awesome dude!