Chris stumbled from his bed and headed for the shower. The dream was a vivid memory and he wanted to forget it. The water sluicing over his skin helped him fully awake. By the time he had finished his shower he had all but forgotten the dream.
He checked his alarm clock as he got dressed and saw it was nearly lunch time. Chris jumped on the computer and checked his emails and his contacts. Two of his mates were online and he checked in with them to confirm they were coming over after lunch. Both said yes and Barry said that the 4th mate who wasn’t online was already on his way over to pick him up. Simon only lived 2 streets away and said he would be there in 20 minutes.
Chris logged off and headed for the kitchen for a feed. Yanking open the fridge door he swore when he saw it was nearly empty. “Bloody tribes people” he muttered. Why can’t Amy stock the fridge when she’s supposed to? He headed for the pantry and extracted some instant noodles and put them in the microwave to heat. Standing back he gazed idly out the panoramic kitchen window as he waited. The view was of the paved patio area, the hedged grassy area next to the tennis court and the pool. He saw something on the grass and looked more intently. It appeared to be something mowed into the grass, almost like a crop circle pattern. As he looked closer he realised that the grass was actually a different colour in the pattern, darker and glistening.
Forgetting the noodles he stepped out the sliding door onto the patio and then walked around the edge of the hedge to reach the grass. What he saw was enough to instantly bring him to a stop. There right in front of him was a pile of steaming meat, hidden from the kitchen window by the low hedge. It appeared to have been dragged from the centre of the lawn and the pattern now appeared to be a trampled circle with the darkness coming from the blood that gleamed wetly on the grass. Chris looked closer at the pile of meat and then dry retched as he realised it was actually the remains of a freshly killed person, skinned gutted and butchered into large chunks. Recognisable was a forearm with a hand and fingers still intact and centred in the mass was a face covered in hair. Black curly hair. Long black curly hair. “Amy” he hear himself shout, and then he was retching again only this time it was not dry but the remains of his last evening’s meal.
A beeping noise intruded on his awareness and he recognised the sound of the microwave finishing. Frantically looking around he suddenly thought to himself that the attacker may still be here. The blood was still wet after all.
Chris turned and sprinted back into the house. He grabbed the phone from off the wall near the kitchen door and fumbled for the emergency number. It rang, once, twice and then answered. “Emergency Services” a polite voice answered. Before Chris could say anything a strong arm clamped itself around his face and another hand wrenched the phone from his grasp. Chris screamed “Help” and wriggled hard. His attacker thrust his arm into Chris’s mouth in attempt to shut him up while trying to turn the phone off. Chris sunk his teeth into the arm and continued to struggle. His attacker screamed with the pain and gave up and threw the phone across the room where it struck the wall and smashed open.
The assailant used his now free arm to hit Chris on the head in a series of blows that caused the lad to slump to the floor unconscious.
In the middle of this the doorbell rang as Simon arrived.