The Strigoi (Part 18)
Michael Ward, Jr. ran as fast as he could to the sound of Mrs. Land’s screaming. He had almost reached the lobby, was actually right beside the receptionist’s desk, when he slipped and fell. Michael jumped up only to slip and fall again, and that’s when he noticed that the floor was wet. He carefully stood up, screaming for Mrs. Land, and looking at the dark liquid covering his uniform in bewilderment. The metallic smell of copper was overwhelming and he felt sticky. Michael sniffed the substance on his fingers and immediately went into a panic. “Miss Land!! Patty!! Patty!!”, Michael screamed, slipping through the mass puddle of blood splattered all over the floor. The glass door and windows to the entrance of the building were completely shattered, glass covering the doorway like crystal gleaming in the moonlight. Michael took his gun out of the holster, held it up while walking slowly towards the door. His gut, as well as the bloody smears on the floor, told him that the perpetrator dragged Miss Land out of the door.
Michael carefully walked towards the door, careful as to not step on any shards of glass. He leaned his head out of the top opening of the shattered door, and peered out. Nothing but pitch black darkness, the air warm and thick. He quietly opened the door and stepped out of the building, his firearm at his side. Michael’s heart slammed in his chest, his breathing shallow, sweat dripping down his forehead. To say he was scared was an understatement; he was terrified. Michael didn’t understand why he was terrified, though. He had been a deputy for sixteen years and the sheriff for five. Not to mention his two tours in Iraq. Michael’s father always taught him that human beings are not to be afraid of. If they can bleed, they can feel pain, if they can feel pain, they can be killed. So why was he shaking so hard, that he could barely hold his gun steady? He needed to get to the car and call for the deputy he sent to patrol around the Scott’s and Mrs. Webster’s street. He also needed to call for the deputies to come in as well as the next town, to report a kidnapping and an ambush.
Michael ran to his car as fast as he could, jumped into the driver seat, and turned the ignition. Click. Michael turned the ignition three more times and heard the same clicking noises. “What the hell?” , Michael asked himself, his anxiety increasing tenfold. He grabbed the radio on the dashboard, and pressed the call button for dispatch. Dead silence. No voices, no static, not even a beeping sound. Michael was confused about the ignition not turning over and the radio not working. The patrol car just passed state inspection and it had never had any mechanical problems. Michael did not want to believe it but in the back of his mind, he knew that what he was facing was abnormal. Past abnormal. Suddenly he looked up and saw someone standing in the doorway of the precinct. Michael’s breath caught in his chest as his eyes made out the physique and features of the…. Thing. Tall, long arms, long fingers, sharp nails. Glistening as if sweat or slime was dripping off of it. It was staring directly at him. Its head cocked to the side, watching him, as if in wonder. Suddenly it crouched down and begin running on all fours towards the patrol car at full speed.