Short Story: Accident

Short Story: Accident

The moonlight was shattered and splintered. Shirley moved. Panic overwhelmed her. A great duvet was smothering her, wrapping and binding her limbs. She began to hyperventilate as pain forced her back to a vile and frightening reality.

The splintering, glinting light danced on the windscreen and she realised that the sobbing sound was close with her, escaping from her own throat. She struggled to consciousness as her mind organised the scrambled jigsaw to show her the full picture.

The duvet was of course her air bag, the pain was bearable and she didn’t think that she was bleeding anywhere. Keep still, that was the thing, just keep still for a moment, think and assess. Okay, there had been a small cat running across the road, a deep dashing shadow in the glare of the headlights a flash and gone. Then just a blank, “Shit.” She laughed to herself a small desperate sound. “That’s an understatement Shirl,” speaking aloud, the little noise in the great silence wasn’t comforting but rather an underscore to how alone she was.

The car was nose down in a ditch, she shifted and was reassured she wasn’t trapped. The pain in her legs was bad but she could move them. Her head flopped back onto the seat. Weakness overwhelmed her as she felt the beginning of a shuddering ripple through her body. No, she wouldn’t let herself give way to shock, she would get herself out of this mess.

Pushing at the door she winced as screeching metal graunched against metal. Moaning against the ache in her body she slid across the seat and tried the passenger door. That was jammed tight as well. Panic crept in tickling at her nerves, nibbling at the corners of her resolve. She sniffed, fire was the greatest danger but she detected no burning smell, again she steeled herself. She scrabbled on the seat for the handbag holding her mobile. Not there, could she reach the foot well? Yes with difficulty. Her hand hit something soft, she grabbed at it.

As she hefted the soft mound it moved, a squirming, screeching mass of muscle and bone leapt from her hands. Claws lashed at her face, her eyes. She felt the tearing of flesh and the gush of blood, her lips were slashed her eyelids torn as needle claws ripped at her face and fangs chewed and gnawed at her flesh. Her arms flailed in the darkness as the creature hissed and growled tearing and rending.

As her consciousness left her for the second time, blood, not the result of the crash, flowed in runnels across her ruined face. She saw in the myriad tiny panes of the shattered windscreen a leering, laughing, ghastly visage. A brief moment of clarity showed her the cat leaping to the shoulder of the ghoul and as she sank into oblivion she heard the whispered endearments, “Well done puss. Oh yes, good work puss.”