I fumbled in my purse, searching for the bronze key to the front door. At long last, an evening of relaxation could begin. The stress at work had been suffocating because of a last-minute project for a wealthy client, and the day’s incessant snowstorm didn’t help my mood.
I made my way to the living room and plopped onto the middle of the couch, letting my eyes droop and a sigh escape.
Something stirred beneath me.
I jumped. The movement felt like it was coming from underneath the cushion. Quite odd as it’d been years since I had a pet or anything that required life support. To my knowledge, I was the only living thing in my apartment.
I scrambled to my feet as my anxiety got to work. Lifting the front of the seat, I peeked underneath.
Nothing.
What would there be anyway? The monster under the bed’s twin, Mr. Couch?
Sitting down again, I booted up Netflix. My heart was set on Parks and Rec, my guilty pleasure show. After the day’s workplace mayhem, I deserved some feel-good laughs.
My body jolted upright as something shifted beneath me. Again.
I stood up, grabbed the cushion, and hurled it to the ground. In the gap where the seat had been, a cylinder stretched along the very back of the couch. It was difficult to make out what it was, so I snatched up the corner bolster closest to me and tossed it to the floor to join the other.
More of the pipe-like thing was revealed, gleaming like it was wet where the overhead light reflected off of it. The coloring was deep, moss green with dark brown markings like tiger stripes. Part of the shape spiraled and tapered into what appeared to be a tail. There were scales.
My mouth gaped open, and my eyes grew wide as moons.
What kind of sick joke is this?
The remaining seat on the far corner began to move. Common sense urged me to run and never look back, but a sick fascination kept me glued to the floor, waiting to see the truth with my own eyes. A diamond-shaped head emerged from cover, accompanied by blazing yellow eyes and a forked tongue. I tried to wish the sight away, but it remained.
The prehistoric beast was round and robust. My hands wrapped around its width would leave inches of untouched skin, and if the tail wasn’t curled, it would extend two feet off the couch. I was sprinting to the front door before I even realized I was doing so.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the monstrosity melting down the couch and slithering along the wooden floor. It glided along, picking up speed in seconds. A smile played along the corners of its mouth, taunting me.
My hands trembled and left me struggling to unlatch the locks on the front door.
Hssssssssssss
In the time my back was turned, the nightmare was almost upon me. It bore stained yellow fangs that looked like sharpened daggers. No time to unlock and open the door. I swiveled my head back and forth, searching for something, anything, that could maybe save my life. There was an umbrella holder right next to the door with several options, and I blindly reached for one.
Thank God for rainy days.
I spun on my heels and poised the umbrella above my head as the monster reared up inches from my face, ready to sink its fangs into my flesh. Its breath was hot and humid against my skin.
Like a knight, I plummeted the pointed end of the umbrella into the fiend’s head and impaled the scaly skin as its head smacked the floor. A crunch echoed through the air as the skull shattered. Its body writhed like a worm, but the umbrella skewered the head and kept it pinned against the wooden flooring.
Blood pooled beneath the vermin’s head, and the scent of copper bloomed in the air. The body’s spasms lessened until they stopped altogether, but my grip never softened. I stood there for what I assume was a half-hour, though I felt like I was in a time warp, as the last rays of sunlight dissipated. I was panting, petrified that when my eyes closed, the predator would resurrect in zombie form. Yet the reptile laid still and curved like a sound wave. The eyes lost their fiery glow and faded to a muted yellow. Tears streamed down my face as I collapsed against the door.
Writing With Siena 