The Neighbors, Chapter 5

Lying naked on the black burnt floor was Phil. A woman lay next to him, but her skin was blackened, red, and covered in scars; she was completely bald. A piece of her head was missing, exposing the skull and brain beneath. They were engaged in coitus, his jeans down around his ankles.

Lana screamed, and Phil looked wildly around. Seeing Lana, he smiled and got to his feet, pulling up his pants as he did. The burnt woman remained on the bed.

“Hello, darling,” said Phil, his green eyes ablaze with deranged madness. He reached down and retrieved a gun from the jumble of clothes. As he raised it, Lana’s eyes widened, and she forced herself to run. BANG! She ran back downstairs, and she could hear Phil’s footsteps behind him, creaking on the burnt floor. BANG! A second shot whizzed past her and struck and the wall.

Lana screamed again and flew towards the living room, where there was still a set of fire pokers near the fireplace. She dived toward them and snatched one of the pokers up. Panting heavily, she pulled herself back to her feet and heard Phil’s footsteps coming closer. She hurried and flattened herself against the wall so that she would be out of sight as he came in.

Phil entered the room, the gun raised. Raising the poker, Lana brought it whistling through the air and WHAM! The poker made contact with Phil’s back, and he was flown forward, crying out in pain.

“You bitch!” he shouted as he got back to his feet. Lana rushed forward, raising the poker, but Phil was too quick: BANG! The shot struck Lana in the stomach, and she froze. Her grip on the poker loosened, and it fell with to the floor with an odd-sounding thump against the rotted wood.

Lana looked at her stomach and began to pant heavily when she saw the blood. She sunk to her knees and then fell to her back, looking up at the destroyed, black ceiling. This was how she was going to die: the smell of rot and ash in her nostrils, the black ceiling the last thing she saw.

Through squinted eyes, a dark shadow covered Lana. Phil was standing over her.

“You will die now,” he said. “You will die, and Emily and I will finally be together.”

“She’s not real,” Lana said weakly. “She’s dead. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s a ghost. It’s been manipulating you, lying to you.”

“Liar!” screamed Phil. “You cold, damn liar! Emily loves me! She is real!”

“No,” said Lana, coughing. “She’s dead, Phil. But I…I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

She reached out and placed a hand on his foot. This touch seemed to snap Phil out of his trance. His shoulders relaxed, and his breathing became steadier. He blinked and looked down at Lana. At the sight of her, a look of horror spread across his face.

“Lana!” he said, and he noticed the gun in his hand. He dropped it like it was a hot to the touch. He bent down and cradled Lana in his arms.

“Lana,” he said weakly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Phil,” said Lana, touching his face with her hand. “Have you come back to me?”

“I have,” he said. “It’s me. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Phil,” said Lana again. Now, her voice was a whisper. “You would’ve made a wonderful…father.”

Her hand slackened, fell to the floor, and moved no more. Lana’s eyes glazed over, and she drew her last breath.

Phil held his wife’s body in his arms, unable to move or speak. How long he was there, he did not know or care. At last, he lay Lana’s body down on the rotted floor and got to his feet. He walked over, retrieved the gun, and returned to Lana’s body. He raised it to his own head, and tears began to roll down his face. As he pulled the trigger, he thought he heard Emily scream.