The Stuff of Nightmares

She runs down the desolate beach track, breath coming in ragged, searing, wet gasps. Her feet lose the ground beneath them as she slips across the rough, loose stones. Blood seeps into her eyes from the gash across her cheek. Her knees and hands are grazed, burning from where she crashed against the gravel on the uneven ground. She needs to keep pace, to maintain her balance. She dares not fall again, though her limbs are fatigued. Adrenalin is surging and causing them to tremor with an uncontrollable ferociousness. He is right behind her, breathing hot fear into the void. She can’t see him, but he is there. He is always there.

Her chest constricts with a searing pain as she pulls in bursts of air, but she needs to keep going. Just a little further. Her vision is shaky and blurred as she sucks air into her lungs. The late afternoon chill is setting in. Raw, numbing cold stings her skin while she flames from within. Fear and exhaustion are pulsing. The terror rises into her throat as the darkness descends. She can hear his steady foot fall just behind her. Always right behind her. Relentless. Menacing. The consistent crunching of dirt beneath his boot echoes against her throbbing temple.

The house is in sight. If she can just reach the door before the stranger catches up, she might stand a chance. She glimpses him behind her, around a bend in the track. An involuntary sound comes from her very core, like a wounded hysterical beast. It flows from her belly along with the horror in seeing the glinting machete in his hand. There is a ringing in her ears as the blood from her escalated heart rate fills her head. Nauseating panic, so close to paralysing every inch of her body.

The blade is just inches away from her back, almost touching the edge of her long blonde hair. She wails hot, angry tears filled with terror as he gains on her with each step. Silent, persistent evil. Never ceasing. “Please! Please! Stop!” she screams, pushing herself forward. With a piercing, shattering cry she reaches the door, bursting inside to where her friends are waiting. Should be waiting. She cries out for them, searching upstairs. Leaving the door unlocked. Swinging open on its creaky hinge. Giving the dark, stalking stranger passage into their safe haven.

“Move ya twat love!” Ella cries out, gripping her knees into her chest as if that will protect her from the fictional scene currently playing out on the big screen TV in front of the girls. Tess is gripping a cushion under her chin. Her big eyes opening wider with each passing terror. Stevie, leaning back, legs flicked over the end of the couch, slowly drawls, “Would you not bloody slam that door and make sure everything is bolted before looking around for your latest root hey?”

It’s their usual Friday night special at Ella’s. Nasty food, even grottier talk. Booze, scoobs and a B Grade Horror to settle into their suburban weekend. The dudes were at the local smashing down a few ales, the kids at various sleepovers, so the crew are in their blissful, urban Goddess element. Shoes and bras are off, space cowboys. It was a no holds barred, estrogen filled Dutch oven.

Ella shouts, “Safety first mate! Saaaafety first!!!” In between shoving a hand full of Doritos into her gob. Elle catches Stevie grinning, watching the constant stream of corn chips filling her hole. “What! I’m stress eating!” Ella justifies through a mouth full. Stevie holds up a hand, “No judgement here babe. I just don’t want to have to resuscitate you when you choke on those carbs you’re inhaling like the last supper.”

The blonde on screen decides to take this opportunity, as unusual as it might seem to the everyday woman, to change into an even tighter white shirt with an exceptionally low cleavage. “No time for a wardrobe montage white chick!” Ella shrieks at the telly. Stevie snorts into her bourbon, giggling at Ella’s intensity. “Seriously though,” Tess says earnestly, “She could take someone’s eye out with those boobs. They’re astonishing.”

Ella takes a swig of her beer and says, “Why do chicks in horror flicks have their tits up under their chins, you reckon? It’s like a pre-requisite.” Stevie circles her foot in an air bound lazy eight, as she crosses her legs, twisting her body into an interesting, yet awkward shape. To be honest, there was nothing wrong with the hourglass on her rack, even in her early forties. The sensual sway of Stevie never diminished through time or babies. She was a small, compact unit topped with a lush explosion of ginger curls, set against earthy dark skin. “It’s not natural hey,” Stevie says, “Tatas are meant to have a bit of bounce to them I reckon. Bit of sag and droop never hurt anyone.” Ella responds emphatically, “That’s reality mate! Got to have some jiggle in your giggle.”

Tess gives a naughty chuckle saying, with a very gentle lady of the manner type vibe, “Those mamas are bolted to her chest. Rock solid.” Stevie cackles, throwing a chip in Ella’s direction, “Jiggle in your giggle hey?” In response Ella jumps out of her chair and pounces on Stevie, pinning her on the lounge, aggressively checking down the front of her shirt. She asks, ‘How’s your jiggle then old girl?” Stevie, weak from laughter and unable to fend Elle off, ineffectively shrieks, “Get the fuck off, you later life lesbian!” Ella looks Stevie dead in the face, mock offended, before giving her the full grace of a Dorito, beer burb. “That’s rank, filthy mole.” Stevie chokes out, trying to diffuse the odorous waft by waving it away.

“Did you know that a group of young girls is referred to as a ‘giggle’ in today’s urban dictionary?” Ella provides knowledgably. “What’s that make us then?” Stevie asks, “A bloody cackle!” Ella gives her best impression of an aged, crowing war cry. “Shoosh you lot!” Tess flaps her holographic, purple fingernails at the grotty chaos to her right. “It’s getting to the good bit!” Elle sits on the floor in front of Stevie, sticking a cushion between her knees, and commandeering the gauc and chips. Stevie pours herself another drink before settling back on the couch.

Our inflated blonde is now hiding in the bathroom, crouched behind the door, listening to the intruder destroying the house in his search for her. “Why would you go to the smallest and least escapable room in the house, you tripping troll?” Ella spits, gesturing wildly at the TV. “Her makeup is still flawless too, by the way, " Stevie adds, pointing at the girls glowing, luminous complexion. Stunning under the lightest sheen of sweat. Tess nods, “I’d definitely look like a racoon by now.” Ella laughs, “With or without the fear of impending death, I generally look like a hungover telly-tubbie with a three-day growth.” Laughing gently into her chest, Stevie taps her extended toe lightly against her friend’s shoulder.

The machete is coming through the door. Our heroine is melting in a pool of her own aching nightmare. The intensity is mounting, and the girls are silent for once, absorbed in the escalating drama on the screen. Stevie is leaning forward, elbows on her knees. Ella chews on the edge of the cushion she’s holding. They are so intensely focused they don’t see the shadow passing in the corridor behind them. Dread is mounting on screen as the door’s lock starts to split and crumble. Tess is hiding behind her own cushion, body folding in on itself.

There’s no awareness of the chilling dread cruising right behind them. Trepidation is tripping lightly against the backdrop of security, ready to fly off the screen and into their reality. Someone is watching the girls. Breathing quietly behind them. Feeling into the crescendo of horror within the room. Ignorance of the impending cruelty adds to the atmosphere of dread.

The blonde’s screams now seem involuntary. She is confined in the small space between the toilet and the wall as the door splits apart. There is no escape. Nowhere to go. She is alone and trapped. Fear is ricocheting off the walls with each blow. The door is ripped from the hinges, as the slicing steel of the knife plunges into the confined space, jabbing towards the girl’s face.

From the darkness and without warning, a giant growling, horrifyingly, terrible sound echoes through the house behind the girls’ heads. Stevie’s flesh prickles, hairs standing on end as she jumps to her feet, knocking over her drink. She’s ready to punch first and ask questions later. Her legs give way under her, as her bladder starts to loosen its grip on dignity. It comes again, sounding like a cross between a wild boar and an injured creature of darkness. Tess howls out an anguished cry, flapping obsessively, as Ella crawls behind Stevie’s legs. “Where the fuck is it coming from!” Elle cries, paralysed with terror. Stevie grabs her bottle in both hands preparing to swing. “It’s behind the lounge! Behind the lounge! There! There!” Tess shrieks, pointing but not moving.

Then comes the snickering, drunk arse, girly man giggles. Stevie takes two giant steps over Ella, toward the couch and looks behind it yelling, “Motherfuckers!” She throws cushions and shoes, whatever she can get her hands on really, at Elijah, Ben and Joe who are falling over themselves, laughing and carrying on like a mob of school louts. “What the fuck is your caper!?” Ella scolds from her mortifying position on the floor.

Joe is practically choking on his own bloody tongue he’s laughing so much. He wheezes out, “Your faces,” as more absurd guffawing is forthcoming, “Outstanding.” Ben gives him a high five, wiping the tears from his smug, shit eating dial. “You are cancelled my friend!” Stevie says sticking her finger in Elijah’s face. He laughs gently as he grabs her outstretched hand, trying to pull her in for a kiss. “Nup!” she shouts, “You’re done! Fucking flog!”

Ella starts laughing and gasping, holding her chest. “I think I crapped my pants?” she says, trying to look around at her arse. Tess is straightening the cushions and patting down her hair as if that will fix things. “Shits,” she says quietly, a smile playing on her lips. “Don’t laugh at them!” Stevie roars, “What a shit thing to do to a group of chicks alone in a house, you giant tools!”

Ben starts rocking on his heals before punching her lightly on the shoulder. “Looks like you could hold your own in an apocalypse champ! Came out swinging there, Sunshine!” He gives her a one, two jab that she swats away before adding, “You’re on the shit list too, son. Piss off, you epic drongo.” Ben laughs before pulling Stevie into a play headlock. “Did you get a little fright love?” he says as he noogles her head boisterously. “Knock off drifter!” She slips out from under his arm and starts passive aggressive tidying of the room. Childish man babies, she thinks.

“The rest of you need a good hard look at yourselves though,” Joe states matter-of-factly. “I’m not sure how you’d fare in the zombie invasion? Hiding behind short stack here, swinging her bottle like Ali. Worried about your grog Love?” He says, pointing in Stevie’s direction. “Defend at all costs,” comes Stevie’s grumbled reply. The lads are set off on another round of hoots. So frigging funny hey. Not. “Caught me by surprise, that’s all,” Ella responds. “Next time expect a punch right in the dick hole!” She feigns a jab in the direction of Joe’s nether regions and he does a ninja-like block and ‘Cawww’ noise just to emphasis the deft move.

Stevie looks around for her smokes and booze. “Well, now you’ve wrecked a perfectly lovely evening with your tom-dickery I need to calm my nerves. Ladies?” The goddess tribe file outside, throwing dirty looks over their shoulder as they head out for a late-night J. Tess starts loading kindling and paper into the fire pit as Elle and Stevie settle in on the old outdoor lounge. Stevie starts rolling, ready for their ritual nightcap and yarn. “Bunch of cock nobs,” Ella says sternly. They look at each other before getting the giggles themselves. “Don’t tell them it’s funny though,” Stevie warns. “They’ll think they’re king shit of pranks and we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I hate being scared hey. I feel like I’m going to implode,” Stevie says, handing over the roach. Ella takes a toke before breathing out emphatically, “I fucking LOVE it!” Tess laughs as she sips her wine. “You sure looked like you enjoyed it there on the floor.” Ella chuckles and chokes on the smoke before saying, “Shut your trap.” She goes on, “I love horror movies. Have since I was a kid. I love the anticipation and even the bullshit. I love the formula of the genre. I think I get off on a good pretend mind fuck.”

Stevie pours a whiskey and leans back in the chair. “That’s the thing though isn’t it,” she says looking at the girls, her luscious, green eyes heavy. “What?” Tess asks. Stevie rolls her glass in her hand before saying, “Real life is scary enough I reckon. Without the make believe boogey men.”