The man is dead.
I need to get off the street and back to the tavern to retrieve my equipment. As I am now, I am the walking dead. Just another man with nothing to defend himself but fists, and I've now seen that won't get me far. The sun is setting deeper into the earth, and the streetlights are starting to burn. Some of the lamps are gas-powered, while others are electric. It's so easy to see which lamps are what.
A house beside me glows with a blue electric light that shines brightly above the front door. It calls to me, whispering in my ear sweet nothings. I'm pulled in by this call, and before I can blink, my fist is rapping on this door. I can hear my knock echo through the house.
I hear the softest footsteps coming to the door.
"Who goes there?" says a soft, feminine voice.
"My name is Ezra, ma'am," I answer.
"Ezra, dear. Is that really you?" she asks.
I stop, a chill running down my fingers. I do not know anyone in this town; I'm an outsider. Maybe she thinks I'm another Ezra? Maybe that man who is dead in the street was also Ezra? So many thoughts were racing through my head.
"Yes, ma'am," I reply.
Slowly, the door opens to reveal a small, fragile, old lady with short white hair. She's dressed in a night gown like she was about to get into bed. All this death outside, and she was about to go to sleep, how strange.
"Come on inside, dear," she says, gesturing that I come in.
I walk into the dimly lit house. Dust lingers in the ventilation, causing my vision to become cloudy. The air is stale and musty. Spores flow through the house like birds on a gust of wind. The walls of the hallway are painted a deep green with raw wood railing running along their middle. The hall leads into a cluttered kitchen with a dining room jetting off the side of it.
The kitchen is out of any stereotypical grandmother nursery rhyme. Hand mixers and butter churners line the walls. Pots and pans hang from the ceiling. A washroom sink lies under the window that's covered in plants. Vines run up the sides of the window and along the cabinets that line the walls.
A pot sits on the stove, hissing and pouring steam.
She leads me into the dining room, pulling out a chair for me before moving to the other side of the table and sitting down. I'm able to get a good look at her now. The wrinkles that run over her face are deep and stained, cracks along her skin filled with dust and memory. Her eyes are sunken and glossed over, as if she cannot see well.
She reaches for a lighter, slowly and deliberately moving her hand over the table. She's using her fingers to find the place where she last set the lighter. I watch her and note that she must be blind due to the way she is searching, using her senses to find something that I can see is laid out in front of her.
Once she finds the lighter, she quickly grabs a candle that sits in the middle of the table. She lights the candle, and the light illuminates the particles that glide through the air around us.
I let loose a sneeze, almost blowing the candle out.
"May God bless you, sweetheart," she purrs.
A smile begins to slowly make its way across her wrinkled face. The lines of her face make it look like she is trying so hard, yet still frowning. Her teeth are dingy and yellow with spots of black.
"Oh, my Ezra. I've waited so long for you to return," she sighs.
"You have?" I question.
"I've thought about you every day since you left," she says.
She looks out of the room like she is looking for someone. It's like she is trying to give them some kind of sign. I turn to look, but there is no one there, just an empty living room with a couch and chairs for people to gather. A coffee table sits between them all with books piled on top of it. Bookshelves coat the walls of the room, floor to ceiling. A staircase is off to the far side, away from us, devoid of light, leading up to the unknown.
"Hunny! Ezra is back!" she screams in the direction of the stairs.
Moments passed before shuffling came from above us, then a voice came from beyond the stairs.
"I'll be down in a minute!" the voice calls, surprisingly feminine like velvet laid upon rose petals.
I hear the footsteps coming down the stairs like hail falling upon snow-covered ground. I don't turn to look. I keep my eyes locked on the woman sitting across from me. I watch every movement she makes, from a yawn to the twitch of her eyes.
The steps continue to get closer, each one making my heartbeat rise. Chills run down my spine like the temperature dropped by twenty degrees. The hair along my body is standing at attention. I can't help but feel like I need to move in this chair, but I'm paralyzed staring into the grey abyss that is her eyes.
I'm uneasy.
I feel a hand run along my back before covering my eyes. I feel another hand run down the length of my chest. These hands are gentle like my wife's, soft, smooth, and delicate. Then hot breath begins to pour onto my neck as someone whispers in my ear.
"I've been waiting for you," the voice says, seductively.
"You've come all this way and thought you could forget about me?" she asks.
My body shudders as I try to form words, but only sounds and mumbles come forth.
"Shhhhhhhhh," she whispers.
Her hand runs back up my chest before resting over my lip. She grabs my face, pressing her fingers into my cheeks, squeezing, forcing my head to tilt while still covering my eyes.
She breathes down my neck.
"I won't tell, Ezra," she groans into my ear.
She runs her hand back down my shaking chest like she's trying to tease me. With every second, I only shake more. She rests her hand between my thighs, gently grasping me.
"Do you know who I am yet?" she asks.
I try to shake my head, but I'm glued to her, every word lingering through me.
She moans with pleasure as her grip tightens.
I think of my wife and child.
Still gripping me between the thighs, she uses the hand that's covering my eyes to tilt my head again, this time using more force. Her hands begin to palpate.
I can feel her breath against my skin. Her lips pressed to my neck like cold iron. She's freezing like she just stepped inside from a harsh winter day.
She tightens her grip more as she bites into my neck, and I feel blood roll down my shirt. I feel her sucking the blood being pulled from my body. I try to move, but she's got strength that I could never dream of. I feel her stop, but only for a second, as she slurps, her wet lips smacking together. I feel her tongue against my neck; she's licking the blood that now drips from my neck.
She moans, savoring the moment, then dives back in for seconds.