by Jack Wegrzyn
They’re coming, I know it. The rain always brings them to me, it’s like some sort of beacon, a signal to the monsters. I can’t discern what it is about the rain that beckons them; the smell, the sound, the sight? I just. Don’t. Know. There is no way to stop them.
The rain has stopped. I don’t see it, I can’t hear it. Now the monsters’ arrival is imminent. Light is pouring through the window now, but there is no sign of them yet.
I run to the kitchen and yank the handle on the cutlery drawer. A six-inch steel knife reflects the light into my eyes as I frantically grab the handle and withdraw the knife from the drawer. I slam the drawer shut and dash over to the window, pressing my back to the cold wall, knife at the ready.
Something splashes against a puddle outside, and droplets leap through the window. I know the monsters are coming now, only seconds away. My grip on the knife tightens, fighting the anxious sweat.
A line of red appears on the floating particles. I lunge at the intruder, viciously stabbing with the blade. The monster is unfazed; I take a nervous step backwards, preparing for another strike. As I draw my arm back, the monster is joined by more of its kind. Orange, yellow, green, and blue intrude through the window, stretching across the full length of the misty droplets. I scream and lunge forward with the knife, shutting my eyes as I make one last attempt to save myself. I slice in front of me rapidly and aggressively, blindly attacking for what feels like forever.
I let my scream come to an end and open my eyes to see the monsters have fled, carrying the misty water with them. Breathing heavily with exhaustion, I lower the knife to my side, having won this battle. But they’ll come back with the next rain. They always do. It’s almost as if they have no end.