Stay Awake Stay Alive

I had no idea a person can stay awake this long. I know I’ve never done it before. It’s been over 48 hours since this sinister voice took up residence in my head. The beast that’s speaking isn’t even in the same building I’m in. His pod, its term for the community of creatures that have taken up residence in the building next to mine, call themselves The Originals. According to their leader, the species predates man by over twenty thousand years. People haven’t always been their primary source of food, but as the planet transformed, they adapted.

My tormentor’s talkativeness has allowed me to learn a lot about these creatures. I’m not sure what frightens me more, that they can speak to my mind directly from theirs, or that they can change their shape at will. Having the ability to shapeshift gives them an enormous advantage over humans. One minute, the being might look like a neighbor, and the next time you see it, you would think you’re looking at a chair or a dog. It’s very disconcerting not being able to trust your own eyes.

Tenacity appears to be a strong characteristic of theirs. Nothing is stopping them from hunting another person to fill their food locker, but they remain focused on me. Maybe they’re worried I might report them to the authorities. Just imagine that phone call.

“Hello FBI, I want to report shape-shifting telekinetic creatures that are killing humans for their arms and legs. I’m sending you their location, but you won’t be able to see them because they’ll look like furniture or maybe a rat.”

I suppose being locked away in a mental hospital would protect me, but it’s not how I want to spend the rest of my life. No, this is a problem I have to take care of on my own.

Is it hot in here or is my excessive fatigue giving me hot flashes? I have the air conditioning turned as low as it will go, so it must be my lack of sleep taking control. In the meantime, the creature’s voice continues to drone on in my head. What else can I do to stay awake? My old CD player sits idly on a shelf, which gives me an idea. If it worked for the CIA when they flushed out Panama’s Noriega, maybe it will work for me. I insert a Metallica CD and crank up the volume.

The droning voice suddenly lets loose with a blood-curdling scream of pain and goes silent. Smiling, I mute the sound and call out.

“Hey dipshit, you still there?”

“What was that horrible noise?” the creature answered in a quivering voice.

“You have a problem with Heavy Metal? So, you’re not only shapeshifters, you’re music critics too?”

“That noise causes us great pain.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re trying to kill me for food and I should be concerned about your sensitive little ears, I think not.” I reached over and cranked up the sound. More shrieks of pain followed, then once again, silence.

“I have a proposition for you. If you want me, you’ll need to come get me here in my home. The front door is barricaded, so you’ll need to transform into a bird and fly to the balcony. It’s that or more metal.”

“We’ll be there shortly in our natural form.”

They say the best defense is a good offense which in this situation starts with a home-field advantage. I know there are only two ways into my penthouse, up the elevator, and through the door, or fly onto the balcony like a bird. If they use the door, I have no idea how many will come or how big they will be. As birds, even eagle size, I stand a fighting chance. My weapon of choice for this encounter is an antique Samari sword that I purchased while on a trip to Japan. I still had my pistol, but I didn’t want to scare the neighborhood with the sound of gunfire.

What came to rest on the balcony railing was as bizarre as this whole situation has been. Five gargoyles stared through the glass at me. They were as grotesque as any that I have seen sculpted into building facades. One, their leader, I presumed, cocked his head similar to a bird, and spoke telepathically.

“Now you see us for what we truly are. For centuries, your artists have used our likeness to adorn your buildings. Humans have always fantasized that we were angels or devils but had no idea we were real. Now you know the truth. Unfortunately, that knowledge dies with you tonight.”

“I think you’re wrong, ugly bird!”

I pushed the slider open and hit the remote for the CD, which immediately blasted more Metallica. The gargoyles cringed in pain, giving me the advantage I was looking for. In a matter so seconds, five severed heads rolled across my patio floor, the bodies careening off the building to the street below. As I watched in disbelief, the heads slowly crumbled into piles of dust. I slid the door closed and turned off the music.

It was time for bed.