Joanne stirred the diced tomato and herbs over the sink. The smell of fresh pasta and garlic swirled in the air alongside the tang of rain. She leaned over the piles of dishes and looked out the window to the overgrown grass of the backyard, eyeing the oncoming lightning.

“Whatcha looking at?” Hillary mumbled as she tapped at the keyboard from her seat at the table.

“Just the lightning. It’s supposed to be a big one tonight.” Joanne felt the room around her shake as the sky above rumbled. “Can’t be worse than the one in Italy, though.” The sauce mixture sloshed onto her hands and she groaned, fingers reaching for the aged tap.

The lights around the pair flicked off, the buzz of electricity dying.

“Oh fuck, internet is down. Lights too, Jo,” Hillary moaned, as though she were the only one to notice the sudden darkness.

Joanne sighed to herself as she washed her hands in the very faded sunlight. “You’re a big girl – I’m sure you could check the box yourself.”

Hillary looked up at Joanne with arguments on her tongue, just in time to see a great flash of spinning silver shoot past the back window. “Jo, what the f-”

The ground quaked causing plates to fall from their shelves and shatter. The house was enveloped in white as light beamed through the windows, fending off any shadows that could ever have existed. The girls fell to the ground, covering their faces – the sound of their screams getting lost in their hands.

After a few moments, it stopped. The lights remained off, the two girls remained on the ground. The house was dark, silent.

Then came the sound of heavy footsteps hunting closer.

“It’s happening, isn’t it, Jo?” Hillary whispered from underneath the table. “It’s really happening, just like in France or whate –”

“Shh!” Joanne hissed back, ears straining for the noises outside. She peeked her head up above the sink. She was met by two glowing red eyes.

“Oh my God!” she hissed to Hillary, her heart pounding out of her chest. “Get, uh, get your phone. Flash, uh, light. Thing. Or Google, or, or, or something.” She opened the cupboards around her, looking for anything they could use as a weapon.

She grabbed a can of bug spray and a large pan, as Hillary’s phone torch illuminated her.

“Look for weapons, or something. They’re here.”

“Jo…” Hillary whispered.

“Weapons, Hill!” She kept rummaging through the cupboards.

“Jo, look.”

Joanne looked up to where the torch was pointing – not at Joanne, but at the small spot between Joanne and the stove, where a being as tall as the roof was looking down on her. It had black scales, red eyes, and a mangled hand reaching out to her. She closed her eyes, ready for the impact, ready for her life to end.

Instead, the being reached beyond her head and grabbed the bowl of pasta sauce. It reached one demented hand into the pot of garlic penne, the other hand holding the sauce bowl. It leaned back – its face opening to reveal an endless hole – and poured the meal into its mouth.

Published by daylebeazley

Writer. Editor. Student. Creative.

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