What Lurks Between - A SciFi Horror Novella - Part Two

This is the next part of a novella I wrote and published a few years ago. I'm posting it here in serial form because I love you guys and want you to be happy.

Artwork copyright Revensis and Mikhail Matsonashvili, licensed through Dreamstine

What Lurks Between - Part Two

When I returned to my apartment three days later, I was exhausted. The kind of tired where you see spots and talk to someone only to realize you are totally alone. I barely had the energy and wherewithal to kick my shoes off and drop my duffel before I collapsed onto my old threadbare couch.

Then I slept the sleep of the dead.

I came to eighteen hours later. It took a long moment to figure out where I was. I looked one way, then the other, and it was like I was staring at a foreign land.

Well, almost.

The pictures on the walls, the stuffed leather chair in the corner, the oversized video display unit on the wall, the kitchenette tucked into the rear corner, the door to the hall off to the left, a small door on the opposite wall leading into the bathroom, and behind me the double-doors that housed my pull-down bed were all familiar, but I could not place them at first. I was still that tired, even after that much sleep. Plus, I felt like hell; I had a sour taste in my mouth, like I’d been sucking on a lemon or something, and I ached all over.

Eventually it clicked. Home. A crappy little studio in a crappy portion of town.

No place like it.

It took a minute to push myself up off the couch. My aching muscles protested all the way. At least that made sense; I had worked hard on the station, though strangely my memories of what exactly I worked on were foggy. I chalked it up to my earlier exhaustion. Add to that the weird transition from full gravity to zero g on the shuttle to .5g on the station to zero g back to full gravity again and I was not the least bit surprised about the soreness.

I stumbled over to the little bathroom - it was the only separate room in my apartment - and, resting my hands on the sink, stared at myself in the mirror for a moment.

I looked like hell, too. Hair tussled, shadows under my bloodshot eyes. It was almost like I had been out drinking, except for the lack of headache.

“Get it together,” I told myself, and pulled my toothbrush out of the medicine cabinet.

I was in the middle of brushing when I heard it. A rattling, or a scratching really, out in the main room.

More roaches? Sonofa… I just had the place fumigated a month ago. How could they be back so quickly? Muttering angry nothings under my breath, I dropped my toothbrush into the sink and stalked out into the room.

It was not roaches.

Whatever it was was shaking my duffle bag, almost as if something was inside and trying to get out. I gulped. I did not want to go see what this was. Killing bugs was one thing, but to make the duffle shake like that…was it a rat?

I used to play baseball in high school, then for a while in a local league. Though I don’t play anymore, I kept my bat, a genuine Louisville Slugger. They are hard to find these days, and it was probably worth a bit of money, so it would have been a shame to get rid of it. Besides, I always told myself I would get back into baseball at some point; I used to be pretty good. In the meantime, the Slugger made for a handy home defense weapon from time to time.

I darted over and snatched up the Slugger from where it lay propped up against my stuffed chair. It made me feel a bit better to hold the solid wood in my hands. Rats ain’t got nothing that can handle this.

Drawing a deep breath, I eased my way over to the still shaking duffle and, grabbing it by the zipper handle, dumped its contents.

The items from the bag tumbled out and I retreated a step, the Slugger held up, ready to swing. The clothes and towel landed in a heap, but the lunchbox rolled a foot or so before landing on its side. There was nothing else.

Ok…what was going on?

The lunchbox lurched and actually bounced a centimeter or so off the ground. I had to bite back a little yelp of surprise - not sure how well I succeeded - as I retreated another step and ran into the side of the couch.

The lunchbox lurched again. The rattling and scratching sound was louder now. The top of the box shook, and the latch holding it shut seemed to strain.

Inwardly, I willed the latch to hold. Whatever was in that lunchbox, I did not want it coming out. I should probably wail on it with the Slugger. I could probably bust the box up pretty good; that would at least knock silly whatever was inside it, give me time to figure out what to do with it. The food macerator under the sink drain sprang to mind, but I shoved that thought down. Too gross.

But I could not bring myself to move. I watched, Slugger held impotently at my side, as the top lurched and strained against the latch again. And again.

Then the latch broke and the lunchbox top flopped open, hitting the floor with a tiny metallic thud.

I gulped again.

Another rattle issued from the lunchbox and out crawled…a bunny rabbit?

*****

Previous Posts:

1. Part One

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