Claws

Caroline’s scream echoed down the hall. It bounced off the picture frames and book shelves, rattling the house’s bones. But when her father got to the living room, it wasn’t to rescue her from the horror that elicited such a shriek. It was to turn down the volume on the tv. 

“Your mom is sleeping,” he scolded, setting the remote beside his daughter. 

Caroline was curled up tightly around her half empty bowl of popcorn. She looked away from the monster on the screen to mumble an apology. 

“Just make sure you pick up before you go to bed,” was her fathers response. 

Caroline nodded and shoved more popcorn in her mouth. 

As the tired steps of her father shuffled out of the room and up to the master bedroom, she let her own feet tangle in the throw blanket. Settled back in after the real life disturbance, she was happy to return to the disturbing film. 

Her heart rate spiked again but this time she kept her mouth shut. Why she didn’t shut off the tv even as the gore and blood made the popcorn turn in her stomach is a mystery best answered by all horror movie lovers. Caroline knew she would probably have nightmares later, but kept on watching regardless. 

A sudden rattling from the kitchen, louder than the dialogue on screen, made her spill some of the popcorn. Caroline cursed, using a word her parents still didn’t let her say even as a college grad. She couldn’t help it, feeling both ridiculous at having startled, and annoyed at the mess in her lap. It was just the cat, being noisy as it ate from it’s ceramic bowl. 

Wasn’t it?

The tabby in question was in fact asleep upon Caroline’s mother’s chest. Unaware, the movie viewer shrugged off her fear. She plucked popcorn from her lap and ate the evidence of her mess with the sort of nonchalance that toddlers hone during snack time. We can understand, therefore, why Caroline then ignored the second bout of rattling. 

A shadowed creature leaving behind a trail of entrails somewhere on a Hollywood did make Caroline pause her munching. The movie was getting good. The viewer even felt a chill upon her neck, as if a wind brushed behind her.  Only great horror can elicit such an effect. 

Caroline swallowed another scream as the movie’s hunk, following the remains, meet his own doom. She set the popcorn aside entirely, unwilling to be distracted by even buttery crunch at this plot peak. Her eyes still glued to the tv a moment later, Caroline vaguely noticed a dancing of shadows to her right. 

Tight chested, she looked over. Or rather, Caroline snapped her head to the side in panic. She was unprepared for the sight of the armchair just as it always is: worn from use and a certain tabby sharpening its claws. 

Maybe I should turn this off, Caroline briefly wondered. I’m starting to imagine things.

A hacking sounded from the speakers, as the small nerd, who’s advice was ignored in the beginning of the 93 minute film, gave his best shot at bravery. He was armed with an axe and swipes again and again at the shadows. Even though he was unsuccessful, his effort draws Caroline back in. 

It’s almost over anyway. 

The nerd turns, confused as shadows surrounded him. Claw like hands reached for him, and though they were made of darkness, they take hold of his glasses. Soon, they would destroy him.

The rattling from the kitchen sounded again, accompanied by another chill. Caroline turned, and missed the nerd’s heroic final moments. She barely noticed though, too frightened by what couldn’t simply be an old house creaking in the November winds. 

 

I definitely should turn this off, she thought after taking a deep breath to steady her jumpy soul. I’m absolutely imagining things. 

Yes, the shadows in her real life living room certainly were not menacing. Darkness wasn’t coming for her, clawing it’s way towards destruction. She was simply tired and—

The rattling sound, the chill, the shadows—it all came again. Caroline’s blood froze. 

The ceiling shadows reached towards her, the clicking fingers and nails of the claw rattling the air. With each inch it attempted to stretch nearer, a horrible breeze blew over the girl. 

There was nowhere to run for the girl stuck to her couch. She was no fighter, more comfortable sitting at a desk behind a microscope than battling unseen forces. To be faced with the supernatural unexplained by science was enough to elicit shock. The paralyzing fear was just an extra adhesive working to keep her from flight. 

And as the claw finally snatched her arm, Caroline knew this is her end. It was unavoidable now. She had no axe, and would die torn to bits like those on the tv. Already her throat, desperate to release another scream, seemed to fill with blood instead. She would drown in her own fluids then, before loss of limb or even being able to try to flee. 

This horrific realization, worse than physical pain, is followed by a sharp sting. The claws had begun to tear at Caroline’s arm. 

Her final thoughts go to the uneaten popcorn. Swimming to her forethought is the image of Caroline’s mom being really pissed at finding her couch covered in kernels and blood in the morning....

“Caroline?” 

Already her mother cursed her name. 

“Caroline get up. Murphy get off her!”

Caroline jolted awake, consciousness flooding her just as the morning light flooded the living room.  Her mother, adorned not in mourning attire, but rather a morning robe, stood above her. 

“Mom?”

“Caroline did you spend all night watching that crap?”

The sleep filled eyes of the girl glanced around in confusion, looking for the terrifying shadows. When it was clear there were none, room is left for logic to return. 

“I fell asleep?” 

Caroline’s mother didn’t acknowledge the obvious. She picked up the overturned popcorn bowl and headed to the kitchen, muttering about overgrown children and absent minded scientists. 

Caroline breathed a sigh of relief. It was suddenly quite an agreeable option to quit watching scary movies. Perhaps documentaries following micro-biotic discovery were best suited to her personality, not the fictitious adrenaline inducing crap her artistic roommates had craved. Nightmares like that just didn’t make the viewing worth it. 

Stranding to stretch her stiff body, a twinge on her arm made Caroline glance at the limb. Red marks from a claw had been left there. 

And just when she was about to release another scream, fearing her beloved spectrum of reality and fact, a soft purr gave Caroline pause.

The tabby, sitting on the arm chair, was cleaning his front paw innocently.

 Glaring at him, the young mistress made then and there the harsh decision to forgo the usually morning cuddles with her pet. Instead, she stalked to the bathroom to clean the scratches. As she walked past, Caroline murmured a soft, “Damn you Murphy,” to the unconcerned and unapologetic tabby.