The knife tap, tap, tapped against the glass window, making a horrible noise as it slid down like a snake. The yellow-haired one turned slowly in the darkness, face lit by moonlight, but saw nothing. She’d missed the knife, the mask that had been there, the red in the eyes. Not Sandy. She’d been watching that window like a hawk.
“Did you hear that?” the thick one say to the yellow-haired one. “What was that?”
“I knew this was a bad idea,” the yellow-haired one said, her voice wavering like the beating of wings.
“Shhh, let me listen!” said the thick one.
Everyone sat perfectly still, even Sandy. She so wanted to stretch her legs, but if the bigguns were being quiet, she felt a certain obligation to do the same. Besides, the room wasn’t especially interesting anymore, now that the lights had all gone out.
A long, shiny knife stabbed down into the thick one’s shoulder, and he screamed, fell forward, and tried to get away. There was blood all over the place, but what was most frustrating for Sandy was that if the masked biggun was inside, that meant a door or window had obviously opened, and she’d missed it. She was about to beat herself up about it when she noticed the thick one was about to fall into her.
She shot through the air as fast as her little wings would go, weaving left and right to avoid the masked one, trying not to panic with all the screaming going on. She landed on the ceiling, far above the fray.
The thick one was gurgling blood now, trying to protect himself. His fingers got chopped off, and Sandy fought the urge to go see if they were tasty. She liked hot dogs, and these looked like hot dogs. She wondered if this is how they made hot dogs. Hopefully not. It was horribly inefficient.
Now the yellow-haired one was at the back of the cottage, hands gripping some kind of silvery tube thing, pointing it at the masked one.
“Get off him!” she yelled, and he looked at her suddenly. The yellow-haired one aimed the silver thing up at the ceiling, and without warning, the wood right next to Sandy exploded! She took off into the air, zigging this way and that as splinters rained down. She hated the normal rain, but this was absurd!
When she finally got her footing on the wall, the yellow-haired one was exploding the masked one all over his abdomen. Still, the masked one kept on coming, like he was one of those ants that doesn’t need a head to move. Those things were creepy. Sandy could understand why she’d be exploding him.
Finally, the masked one got up close to her, and he stuck the knife right into her eyeball, which was (in Sandy’s opinion) a tragic waste of an eyeball. The yellow-haired one got all jumpy and fell on the ground, looking all quiet.
And it was just as the masked one fell on top of her, blood pumping all over the floor, that Sandy realized what she’d been watching: this was how they made maggot farms! Boy was she glad she hadn’t escaped out the open door after all! What a great night!
This week's story is based on heliosengine's topic: "a horror story written from the perspective of a literal fly.. on a wall."