C. Michael Powers (Christopher Powers) started writing at the age of 16 when his dad and younger brother were out fishing, and he was left alone, with only his thoughts, his sleeping grandfather, and an old typewriter. Since then he hasn't been able to stop. Recently, he has focused his attention on contemporary fantasy; dark, action packed stories, the kind he’d like to read himself. Now, living in his wife's beautiful country of Panama, with she and their four kids, he's finally finding time to write. Living in Panama has given him the opportunity to write freelance about retirement locations all over the isthmus, and has even given him some time to work on his true passion...fiction.
@CMichaelPowers
Isabella wasn’t the
smallest of women, but when a grown man lays his size thirteen boot heel right
into the middle of the door, even the strongest of women is bound to topple
backwards. The doorframe shattered and the door crashed inwards on her.
Isabella screamed. She struggled to keep her balance and in the process stepped
sideways on her foot, popping her ankle. Hot liquid rushed up her leg as she
howled in pain and crumpled to the floor.
“You just couldn’t
leave him alone about HER, could you?” the man cried out as he stalked through
the door.
“Mom!” Joshua
yelled. It was the last thing he would get out of his mouth. He instinctively
dove at the man, who met him with the knife blade directed straight at his
neck.
Huddled in the dark
closet, Isabella struggled to remember everything that had happened. It had
gone by so fast. She closed her eyes and remembered the explosion of the door
as it was kicked in. She remembered the sound of her son yelling, “Mom!” Then
her daughter’s screams. She barely recalled making it to the closet in the
upstairs bedroom, but that’s where she was now and where she’d remain until the
police came or until her husband returned home. Her face twisted in the sudden
urge to sob. She closed her eyes, her lips trembling, as saliva settled at its
corners, close to running down her chin. Tears streamed down her face. A slight
whimper escaped her lips and she cupped her hand over her mouth to prevent it
from happening again. She had no idea where the man was now. She had run as
fast as she could on the damaged ankle. This was her third hiding spot. Under
the bed didn’t seem safe enough and once the lights went out, she was afraid to
stay behind the bedroom curtain.
As Isabella
remained frozen in fear, the light shining through the closet door slats
illuminated her trembling cheeks. Wire hangers scraped against metal as clothes
were slid aside behind her. Fear struck at her gut like a dagger as she
realized she wasn’t alone in the closet. The controlled breath of someone only
inches away sent shivers down her spine. She willed herself to run, to crash
through the closet door and do her best to escape, but her muscles refused to
react. Her fight or flight instincts were replaced by fear and the realization
that she wouldn’t get far on her damaged ankle. She closed her eyes and
accepted that she’d be joining her children soon.
Blue light and the
shadows between the slivers made the psycho’s face seem divided, like evil had
been stacked upon itself, in layers, creating a demented serial killer puzzle
of sorts. He inched closer to the woman, his teeth razor sharp and jagged, and his
nose crooked, as if it had been broken many times and had never healed
properly. A glossy film covered his black, soulless eyes. Hanging around his
neck was a leather band with random body parts dangling from it; a pinky
finger, a nose, an ear, and other chunks of flesh hung in front of him like a
chandelier of horror.
Isabella’s head
began to spin and bile rose in her throat as she waited. She knew that her mind
wasn’t playing tricks on her. However, the chance that it could be toyed with
her. She needed to look behind, to the darkness of the closet, and see for
herself. It was either that or force her feet to finally move and do her best to
escape the house. Unable to commit to either action, she turned ever so
slightly, her head studdering as it moved on her neck. Fear gripped her as out
of the corner of her eye, she caught the glimmer in his. She began to scream,
but just as the sound escaped her lips, the killer’s cold blade ran across her
throat. Her yelp turned to a faint gasp as all sound bubbled out through the
new opening in her flesh. His left hand grabbed her neck as if attempting to
staunch the wound, but then it squeezed, opening the wound wider. Her blood
–and her very life force–poured down to the hardwood floor at her feet.
Outside, four
police cars came to a screeching halt in front of the house. Eight uniformed
cops jumped out; two secured the perimeter and the other six prepared to enter.
The sergeant in charge whispered commands at his people.
“If he’s in there,
he’s an animal. He took out eight at his office. The neighbors reported
screams, so be extremely aware of your surroundings. Let’s go.”
With the front door
destroyed, the cops carefully made their way over the shattered remains and
fanned out as they entered. Expertly wielded pistols were aimed in all
directions.
“Jesus,” the
sergeant in charge whispered as he stared down at Joshua’s bloody body lying at
the foot of the couch. His throat had been stabbed several times and he was
bleeding from a wound in his side. His eyes were wide open, dead. The two cops
who’d gone right made their way into the kitchen, and then one of them stepped
back with a hand over his face, fighting back the urge to vomit. Anna’s body
was draped over the kitchen island. Blood ran down her bare forearm and dripped
from her fingertips onto the linoleum floor. A bloody slash ripped the front of
her t-shirt right down the middle. Her left arm was folded across her chest and
her middle finger had been cut off.
Upstairs, NicNac
was dragging Isabella’s body out of the closet when he heard the footsteps below,
and angrily released her feet. He dropped to his knees, yanked one of her
canvas shoes off and threw it to the side, then grabbed her foot like a
wrestler putting an opponent in a headlock and with a quick clip, her pinkie
toe fell to the floor. He picked it up and placed it in his pants pocket.
“For later,” Nic
Nac whispered.
He shoved himself
up off the floor and made his way into the master bathroom. He could hear the
cops coming up the stairs. With no time left to waste, Nic Nac gripped the
counter top and leaned in close to the mirror.
“I can’t take it
anymore,” he spoke to his reflection.
The mirror began to
shimmer and liquefy, and he watched as the face looking back at him began to
change. The forehead smoothed out and the nose straightened a bit. The jagged,
yellowed teeth aligned and whitened. His reflection’s repulsive features
softened and filled out. Within seconds, Dennis stared out at him, looking
confused and lost. Nic Nac laughed as he reached through the mirror, grabbed
Dennis by his shoulders, yanked him out of the mirror and hurled him onto the
hard floor. He took pleasure in watching Dennis curl up into a ball like a
scared child.
“See ya later,
sucker,” Nic Nac howled just before he dove into the mirror.
The liquefied glass
returned to normal and the terrified Dennis glanced all around him. The door to
the bathroom suddenly burst open, and there, staring down at him, with guns
pointed at his face, were the police.
“Freeze! Don’t
move! Put your fuckin’ hands where we can see ‘em!” were just some of the
phrases shouted at him.
Dennis looked up at
the cops with his hands out in front of him.
“I don’t…I don’t
understand. I’m back?” he asked just before they pounced on him.
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