Cannibal Lunch Lady

Cannibal Lunch Lady

by Lisa McCourt Hollar

 

Timmy heard his friends calling for him, their voices first angry that he was hiding from him and then worried. The same thing had happened last week when Danny hadn’t shown up for baseball practice. At first they had thought he’d ditched practice, still sulking over having to sit on the bench the last game because of the F on his math test, but then when they’d gone to look for him at home, his parents had said he’d never come home from school. That was last week and Danny hadn’t been seen since.

Timmy struggled against the ropes that tied him to the chair and tried to scream for help, but there was a gag in his mouth and all he could do was grunt. He tried to make his groans loud enough for his friends to hear, but the voices were getting further and further from the room he was in. Then he heard Mrs. Swans voice, the head cook in the school cafeteria. She’d always been stern, but for the most part Timmy had never had a problem with her, at least not until today. Principle Skinner had sent him to work in the kitchen instead of going to recess with the rest of his class. He’d forgotten his homework three days in a row.

“Maybe a little hard work will teach you not to be so forgetful,” Skinner had said, staring down at him with a huge frown.  “Mrs. Swan will know what to do with you.”

It had been a long thirty minutes, and when it was over Timmy had rushed back to class, forgetting of all things his notebook. He would need it when he went home, so as soon as the last bell of the day rang he rushed straight back to the kitchen. Mrs. Swan wasn’t there and neither was his notebook.

“Maybe she put it up,” Timmy reasoned. That’s what his mother would do. But where would she have put it? Timmy began pulling out drawers, looking for his missing notebook. It had the math problems in it that he’d copied during first period. If he had to go back and ask Miss Winters to copy them again, she might send him back to Mr. Skinner. The last thing Timmy wanted was to spend another recess washing dishes.

He’d opened up all but one of the drawers, finding silver wear, cooking utensils, notepaper, but not his notebook. Then he opened the last drawer. It resembled the junk drawer his mother kept at home. There were keys, pencils, change, a few confiscated toys, his notebook and something else… Danny’s baseball cap. Danny had been wearing it the day he went missing. Timmy knew that because he’d taken it off of Danny’s head during lunch and he and Bryan Ciccone had played a game of keep-away with it…until Danny knocked over a pile of dishes, breaking them and bringing Mrs. Swan out from the kitchen.

Danny and Bryan had rushed back to their seats, leaving Danny standing in the pile of broken glass to take the tongue lashing the big woman had to offer.

“What are you doing here?”

Timmy froze, his hand on Danny’s hat. “I forgot my notebook.” Dropping the hat back in the drawer, he picked up his notebook and turned around, showing it to Mrs. Swan.

“Find something else there too?”

“No.” Timmy’s voice was shaking. He knew from the look on her face that she didn’t believe him. When she advanced on him he knew it was going to be bad. Very bad. He’d always had a problem with his bladder. His mother made him sleep with a rubber pad under his sheet.  When Mrs. Swan grabbed him by the back of his collar and drug him out of the kitchen and into the utility closet he tried to scream, but instead he wet his pants.

“Look at what you did, you disgusting little thing.” Mrs. Swan sat him down on a chair, cracking the back of his head against the wall. Before he could recover she’d shoved a dirty wash rag in his mouth and wrapped duct tape around him, binding him to the chair.

“Don’t move,” she chuckled, before shutting off the lights and leaving him in the dark.

Now, as his friend’s voices began to move away he heard her voice again.

“What are you boys still doing here?”

“We’re looking for Timmy,” Bryan said. “Have you seen him?”

“I’m afraid not since he helped me with the dishes. Perhaps he’s gone on home, which is what you kids should be doing. Your parents will worry.”

“Maybe.” Bryan didn’t sound convinced.

“I’ll bet that’s what he did,” Mrs. Swan chuckled. “He really hated missing recess; he’s probably getting a head start on his homework so it doesn’t happen again.”

“I’m gonna pound him, worrying us like this.” That was David Jones. He was always pounding somebody. Timmy struggled harder, this time trying to knock the chair over. If he made a loud enough racket maybe they would hear him.

“Go on, get going,” Mrs. Swan said. “Don’t keep your parents waiting on you.”

Timmy felt the chair begin to tip. Pushing harder, he tilted to the side and then fell, hitting the floor with a loud thud. It hurt and he felt his wrist snap. Wincing against the pain, Timmy looked towards the door, hoping it would open and his friends would be there.

Outside he heard footsteps and hope soared within him. He was saved. Then the door opened and Mrs. Swan stood there shaking her head.

“What am I going to do with you?” Reaching down she straightened the chair and then pulled it out into the hall and into the kitchen. In the center of the room she’d cleared off the stainless steel counter of everything but a huge butcher’s knife. Timmy wet himself again when she took it and cut the duct tape from him. She wasn’t gentle about it and opened a gash on the side of his arm. Tears spilled from his eyes.

“Well, will you look at that?” Mrs. Swan clucked her tongue. “Now I’ve gone and scared you. Did you think I wanted to hurt you? You poor boy.”

Timmy’s heart started to slow a bit. Maybe this was all a mistake. She was just playing a practical joke on him. Trying to teach him a lesson about snooping. Now she’d let him go.”

“Were you scared,” she asked, bending over and looking him in the eyes. There was something in them that scared him. She didn’t look concerned, like his mother did when he fell off his bike. She looked like she was searching for something, but he didn’t know what. His heart started pounding again and a new fear rushed through his body. She smiled then, seeing the terror in his eyes.

“Good! I like it when you’re scared. Makes it so much better. See this?” Mrs. Swan pointed to a machine he’d never seen before. It had a grinder on one end that worked at pushing  something through the other end. She smile, her grin stretching manically across her face. “It’s a meat grinder. We’re having bratwurst for lunch tomorrow. Guess who’s going to be the brat I put through the grinder?”

Timmy’s bladder was empty, but he felt his bowels loosen as the lunch lady lifted him from the chair and lift him onto the table. Then she lifted the butcher knife and the room went black.

Love Me Daddy

I wrote this for a contest on writing.com called Absolute Horror Flash Fiction Contest.

Love Me Daddy

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

Penny woke to the sound of her mother screaming. Curling into a ball, she buried her head in her brother’s shoulder, to try and mask the sound of her crying. If Brenda heard her, she might decide to take her into the toy room. She didn’t want to go back. She didn’t like the games her older sister liked to play.

Scott’s arm wrapped around her, briefly giving the girl a false sense of security. For just a moment she forgot that Scott couldn’t protect her, no more than her mother and father could. But the gesture was nice, even though it was only a result of his arm being shackled to her.

Her mother screamed again, an agonizingly drawn out sound. Over the sound of her mother’s wails, Brenda was screaming, the same thing she screamed with every game. “LOVE ME DAMMIT! WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME?”

Penny jumped and her hand slipped off of Scott’s shoulder, landing in something wet and gooey. Penny shrieked, clamping her hand over her mouth at the last minute. Her mother was no longer screaming and she wondered if her sister had heard her.

Biting back another scream, Penny wiped the goo off her hand, smearing it on a dry part of Scott’s clothing. There weren’t many of those. Her brother’s intestines were splayed out across his belly and maggots were squirming in and out of him. When Brenda had come for her the last time, she had been relieved when Brenda unchained her, dragging her off to play a game she called Penny Fingers. Then she found out what Penny Fingers was.

Penny heard footsteps coming towards the room and started crying louder, not caring now if Brenda heard her. The door slammed open and the room was flooded with light. “Penny! I almost forgot about you.”

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” Penny begged.

“Why would I hurt my little sister? I love you. You love me, don’t you?”

Penny nodded her head, eager to please her sister, even though she no longer resembled anyone she used to love. She had cut Scott’s ears off and sewn them over her own ears and now she wore her mother’s hair over her own. Fresh blood still dripped down the side of her face and bits of flesh clung to the scalp.

“Then let’s go play a game.”

“Not Penny Fingers,” Penny begged, sucking on her right hand. It was the only one that still had fingers.

“I have a new game in mind.” Brenda unlocked the chain that kept Penny tethered to her brother’s corpse and lifted the girl into her arms.

The Toy Room was glowing when they got there. Brenda had candles lit, revealing several Pentagrams drawn in blood around the room. Penny’s mother was hanging by a rope, her eyes seared shut by a hot iron. Her mouth hung open and her tongue dangled from the opening. Like Scott, she was no longer alive. Her blood was splattered on the walls and floor. Brenda had a tub setting underneath to collect the drippings.

Penny tried not to look at her father. Brenda had nailed him to the wall. His eyelids were torn off, leaving his eyes exposed so that he would be forced to watch Brenda play.

“Look Father, I brought your favorite. You went to all her piano recitals. But you never went to my dance recitals. YOU ALWAYS HAD TO WORK! WHY DADDY! WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME?”

Frightened, Penny tried to pull away from her sister, but Brenda dug her fingers into her hair. “Maybe if I look like Penny. See daddy, I have most of her fingers now.” Brenda held up her hand, showing that she had sewn Penny’s chopped off fingers onto her’s. “What if I had her face?” She pulled out a knife and held it up towards Penny’s head. “If I had her face, would you love me then? Would you daddy? DAMMIT DADDY, WOULD YOU LOVE ME THEN?”

Terror In The Woods

Terror In The Woods

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

Frightened, Cedric tried to slow his breathing, as the man with the axe strode by. His big feet narrowly missed his hiding place. Cedric shrunk back, his heart beating a mile a minute. He thought for sure it would explode from his chest. The man stopped, his feet just inches from Cedric's face. Turning 90 degrees, the man, a crazed look on his face, scanned the area, searching for any sign of his prey.

Cedric held his breath, holding still and willing his heartbeat to slow, or at least not beat so

loudly. After what seemed an eternity, the man turned once more, moving off in the other direction. Cedric breathed a sigh of relief, listening as the man moved deeper into the woods and out of sight. Silently, Cedric crept from the bush he'd been hiding in. He hurried away from the man and the deadly axe as quickly as possible.

"What the hell," he thought, "had the world gone insane?" At least now he knew what had happened to his friends. Over the last week, they'd been disappearing one by one. The only thing connecting the disappearances was the woods. Each one of his friends had been seen entering, shortly before they vanished, seemingly in thin air. Cedric had led a search party himself, but there were no traces of the victims to be found. That they were victims was a certainty and now he knew this for a certainty. Cedric just hoped he'd be in time to warn the others of the menace that waited for them in the woods. He prayed his wife was safe and hadn’t ventured out.

"Please," he begged, casting a quick glance heavenward, "for once let her have listened to me and stayed inside, instead of running off half cocked, like she usually does."

Cedric should have kept his eyes on the trees ahead and not the sky. Rounding the bend that would take him home, the frightened husband ran head on into the axe man's partner. He thought he'd lost him by the river, north of here, how had he made it back this way so quick? Cedric turned to flee in the other direction, but he wasn't quick enough. He felt the killer's hands close around him, his meaty fingers digging into his neck.

Cedric struggled, trying to free himself from his captor, but to no avail. This man was younger than the other killer, stronger and bigger. He held on tight as Cedric twisted, kicked and even tried to bite him. Unlike the first man, this one didn't relax his grip. Instead, he lifted Cedric off the ground, carrying him in the direction the older man had gone.

Trying a different tactic, Cedric went limp. Maybe if the psycho thought he was defeated he would let his guard down. It was then that Cedric realized the true horror. The man, this monster, wore a belt around his waist and clipped to the belt were several trophies’...rewards from his hunt. Cedric recognized the face of his best friend, his head hanging from the belt, nothing more than a treasure for this man to show off.

Cedric renewed his struggle but there was no escape. The man was too strong and Cedric too weak from the chase. Despair washed over him. He knew this would be the end. His heart ached. Cedric thought of his wife, hoping she would be okay without him. They had no kids. He choked back a sob knowing that he would leave no heir behind. There would be no one to carry on his name.

Shaking him like a rag, his captor called out to the other, having caught up with him. His voice sounded like a gunshot, disturbing the eerie silence that had come over the woods. "I caught him!" He shook Cedric again for emphasis. "I caught him! Can I be the one to chop off his head?"

The eagerness that was in the man's voice turned Cedric's stomach. The other man strode over to inspect their captive, a smile plastered onto his face. The axe shined in the moonlight, the sharpened steel resting on the burly man's shoulder. Reaching his partner, he lifted the axe and handed it to the younger man.

"Good job son! Your mom will be real happy. It's just not Thanksgiving without turkey"

THE END

(Poor Cedric. He will taste good on my dinner table though.)

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar.  All rights reserved

The Other Child

The Other Child

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

Trevor stared out the window into the night. He thought he'd heard something outside, calling to him from the rain, which was coming down in buckets. His mother said it was raining cats and dogs. He didn't know why anyone would say that, though it did put a silly image in his head of the animals falling from the sky.

Trevor didn't see anything. Turning away from the window he went back to his game of cowboys and dinosaurs when he heard it again. Returning to the window he stared into the rain and darkness. Opening the window he stuck his head out. He could hear it better now, a soft crying sound right below his window. Looking down he discovered the source, a little girl, drenched, shivering and crying.

"What are you doing out there," Trevor asked.

The little girl jumped and then looked up at the boy. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'll go."

"Where are your parents?"

"I don't have any parents. They died a few years ago."

"Well who do you live with? You've got to live with somebody."

"I lived with my aunt for a while, but she was mean to me. I ran away."

"Oh," Trevor said. He had run away once. His mom had grounded him and told him to stay in his room. Then she had taken his dinosaurs and cowboys away. He had snuck out the window and went down to the basketball court to hang out. But then he'd gotten hungry and went back home. His mom hadn't even noticed he'd gone, which was a good thing or she might not have let him have dessert with dinner and she'd made his favorite, apple pie! Tommy hadn't gotten wet though. This girl looked cold and afraid. "Why don't you come in here for a little while," Trevor asked. "You could play cowboys and dinosaurs with me."

Trevor helped the girl climb in the window and then he tiptoed down the hall to get a towel for her from the hall closet. "Here," he said, holding the towel out to the girl. "What's your name?"

"Tanya."

The two played for a little while but then Tanya wanted to know why the cowboys couldn't be cowgirls.

"Because they can't be," Trevor said. "They are called cowboys. That's what they are and what they are supposed to be."

"But maybe they want to be cowgirls. Why can't they be cowgirls?"

"BECAUSE THAT'S NOT WHAT THEY ARE!" Trevor threw his cowboys across the room and Tanya started crying again. Trevor could hear his mother coming down the hall and he knew he would be in trouble. "Shhh, Tanya, stop crying. You have to hide!"

"I'm scared," Tanya said.

"Trevor, what are you yelling about?"

Trevor started crying. "It's Tanya's fault. She wanted to make the cowboys cowgirls, but I told her that's not allowed."

"Trevor, what are you talking about, no one is here except for you."

"Don't listen to her," Tanya said. "She doesn't want us to be friends!"

"Trevor, are you okay? What's the matter?" Trevor looked into his mother's eyes and thought he saw concern there, but then they changed and he saw that she was really angry. She was mad because he was talking to Tanya and she was telling him his cowboys should be cowgirls. She was going to punish him again.

"Don't let her hurt you," Tanya said. "Make her leave!"

"Trevor," his mother said, "what's going on in here? Talk to me." Her voice sounded angry.

"Trevor, make her go away," Tanya cried. "She's scaring me!" Then Trevor heard his dad's voice coming down the hall. Did he hear his belt slap against the wall? Trevor covered up his ears trying to block out the sound. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell over.

***

"Was he was talking to her again?" Sondra Evans looked down at the boy, concern evident in her voice. The woman next to her snorted, rolling her eyes at the question.

"She isn't real. I don’t know why you insist on acting like she is.”

The two nurses were taking Trevor's vitals and making sure he was securely restrained in the bed. The last time this had happened he'd tried to take Velma's eyes out when he woke up.

"She is to him.” Sondra bit back her anger, trying to keep her relationship with the older nurse professional. She knew Velma was lobbying the board to replace her; she didn’t want to give her any more ammunition. Securing the strap on his wrist she continued, "I'm worried one day she'll take over completely. Then where will that leave Trevor?"

"Same place he is now," Velma said, "institutionalized, at least until he turns 18. Then he'll go to another institution, probably for the rest of his life."

"Don't you even feel any sympathy for him?" Sondra often wondered why Velma worked in a children's mental institute when she seemed to hate kids.

"The little freak killed his parents and tried to cut his prick off. No, I don't feel sympathy for him."

"She wants out,” Sondra said, “to be a girl. To live like a girl.”

"Like I said, he's a freak."

Sondra pushed Trevor's bangs out of his eyes. She thought his eyes were beautiful. They said he was schizophrenic but she didn't agree. She'd read his medical reports. He'd been a twin. His sister had died inside the womb. When he'd been born they'd been conjoined. Sondra often wondered if Tanya wasn't his twin and a piece of her was still with him. Trevor's eyes opened and he looked around. Trevor tried to sit up but the restraints held him in place.

"Trevor, it's okay," Sondra said, trying to reassure him while Velma ran to get Dr. Baker.

"I'm not Trevor," the boy answered, "Trevor ran away."

"Tanya," Sondra asked.

"Yes," and a smile spread across his face. It wasn't a nice smile.

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar. All rights reserved.

If you liked this story, you might like Halloween Frights 

Or Flashes From The Grave

The Voices

This weeks vamp lit friday flash theme is hidden places.

The Voices

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

Francine didn’t like it that her parents had divorced. She didn’t like it that her mommy had moved them to a new home and away from her friends and she most of all did not like the secret voices that whispered to her at night.

She tried to tell her mommy about the voices, but Francine’s mommy had just shook her head and told her to quit making things up.

“Francine, I know you want things to go back to the way they were, but they won’t,” her mommy said. “Your daddy burnt that bridge when he decided to shag his secretary. Now go finish unpacking your boxes and get your room in order.”

Francine had cried then. Her mommy had been so cross ever since daddy shagged his sec a tary. She didn’t know what shag meant, but she knew it must be pretty bad. She’d heard her mommy’s friend say someone should cut his balls off. She didn’t know what that meant either, but it must be pretty bad.

Back in her room, Francine heard the whispering voices again. They sounded like they were coming from behind the wall. Francine tried to ignore them, but one of the voices was crying and it sounded sad. Finally Francine tiptoed over to the wall and put her ear against the paneling. She could hear the crying louder now.

“Are you okay,” Francine whispered. The crying stopped. She pressed her ear harder against the wall and listened some more. She couldn’t hear the whispering anymore either. “Are you still there,” she asked. No one answered.

Francine went back to unpacking her boxes. She put her books on the bookshelf in the corner. Frowning, she picked up a book that was nearly hidden in the corner of the bottom shelf. It was dusty, with a dark green cover. The words ABIGAIL’S DIARY were written on the front. She flipped it open. There were pictures inside, stick figures of a little girl. She looked happy on the first few pages, but then the pictures started to look scary. There were pictures of the girl listening at the wall. She wrote I HEAR VOICES under the picture. There were pictures of the little girl crying in her bed. The words said, I’m Afraid! The last page that was written on showed a scary man with a big frown standing over the girl, his stick hands raised like he was hitting the girl. Under the picture were the words, HE HURTS ME. Turning back to the front page, Francine looked at the girls name there, Abigail Rose.

***

They were eating dinner that night. Stacey was eating with them. She’d been coming over for dinner a lot ever since daddy shagged the sec a tary. She said it was for moral support. She and her mommy would drink and talk about how worth ess men were. It made Francine sad, because she knew they were talking about her daddy and she didn’t think he was worth ess, even if he did shag his sec a tary. So she was tuning the two of them out when she heard a name she recognized.

“Abigail Rose,” her mother was saying. Francine’s ears perked up.

“They never found her,” Stacey asked.

“Never,” her mother answered. “She just disappeared from her bed one night. They arrested her father, accused him of killing her, but they never found her body.”

“Why did they think it was her father,” Stacey asked.

“She’d drawn pictures of a man doing things to her in her bedroom. Who else could it have been?”

“She’s not dead,” Francine said, speaking for the first time since dinner had begun. The two woman looked at her, almost surprised to see she was there.

“What are you talking about,” her mother asked.

“Abigail Rose, she’s not dead. She’s behind the wall. I think she’s scared cuz she cries a lot.”

“Francine, I told you not to be making up stories,” her mother grouched at her.

“I’m not making up stories,” Francine said, crossing her arms. She was tired of being accused of lying. Lying was bad . “Abigail is behind the wall and so is the man that hurt her! That’s why she’s crying!”

“Go to your room,” her mother said. Francine pushed herself away from the table and gave her mother a final defiant look before she left the room. Just before she was out of earshot she heard her mother say, “I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately.”

***

Francine was sleeping when she heard the voices whispering.

“Stop it,” the man hissed.

“You’re hurting me,” Abigail cried, “Stop it!”

“Leave her alone,” Francine said, putting her ear to the wall.

“Go away,” the man hissed. “You don’t belong here!” Francine jumped backwards, startled to see an imprint of a man’s face appear in the wall.

***

Abigail was hiding in her closet. Her daddy and mommy were downstairs yelling at each other. She wished they would stop.

“You can’t keep me from seeing Francine! She’s my daughter too!”

“You should have thought about that before you fucked your secretary!”

“Do you really want to turn this into a fight,” her father asked, sounding sad. “Think about what is best for the girl.”

“Was that what you were thinking when you stuck it to Jennifer?”

Francine covered her ears and pressed up against the back of the closet. She felt something give and fell backwards into the wall. Standing she turned, trying to find her was back into the closet, but the opening had closed again. When she turned around, the scary man was standing there. He looked angry.

***

“Where is she,” Jim asked, turning towards his ex-wife.

“She was here just a minute ago,” Joan said, looking confused. Turning she called for her daughter, “Francine!”

“I’m here mommy,” Francine called, trying to make herself heard through the wall, but they couldn’t hear her, no matter how loud she screamed.

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar. All rights reserved.

BATS!

BATS!

by Lisa McCourt Hollar 

 

Last night, as I was working on my collection of poetry and short stories for my book, Bugs! And Other Creepy Crawlers, a bat came flying down the stairs, swooped around the living room a few times, amidst mine and my daughter’s screams. My son, only one year old joined in the screaming as well, I think not sure what that thing flying around was, but terrified more from the reaction of those that take care of him. The bat soon swooped back up the stairs.

My husband had been napping on the couch, resting up for his one night having to work 3rds, sat up with the sudden jolt of a corpse jumping from a coffin and looked around the room trying to find the source of our terror. Certainly we were being invaded by zombies?

“A bat,” I screamed, pointing towards the stairs. My youngest daughter was in her room and I yelled at her to shut her door and stay put. Jeff was coming. She yelled she was afraid to get out of bed. “Cover your head with a blanket,” I yelled back at her as I clung to my son, whose eyes were wide with fear. The realization of just why she should cover her head with a blanket spurred Rylie into action and she flew from her bed and slammed the door shut. She told me later she sat with her back against it, just to be safe.

A few moments later my heroic husband came down the steps. Empty handed.

“I locked it in the half room,” he said, the half room being a room inside our bedroom that was too big to be a walk in, but too small to be a bedroom. I think it was originally a nursery and the room we intended to put Caleb in…if he ever stops sleeping with us. “I have to get ready for work; I’ll take care of it in the morning. Just leave the door shut.”

“Well shut our door too,” I said, deciding then and there I was not sleeping in the bedroom that night.  He promised he would, even though it was already behind closed doors and couldn’t get out.  Oh the perils of rational thought.

The front door had no more than shut behind my husband when the bat…or perhaps another, came swooping down the steps and around the living room. Then it flew into the kitchen. More screaming. Rylie was downstairs at this point, having called her down after the first incident so she could sleep in the living room with me. I thrust Caleb into Sarah’s arms and ordered the three of them upstairs and to lock themselves in her room. I went out the door to catch my husband.

My hero, my knight in shining armor, rolled down the window to see what I wanted. He informed me he had to go to work and then he left.  HE STARTED THE CAR AND HE LEFT! I stood there, mouth agape and in complete disbelief.

You see, I may write horror but when it comes to some things I am a complete wooz. Rats, mice, opossum and bats fall into the category of, don’t want in my house and I do not want to touch them. Yes, I had occasion to find an opossum in my home once. That is a story for another time.

So I went back inside, grabbed the broom that my daughter tossed down the stairs at me and went to the kitchen to take care of business. The bat was not there and sine the basement door was closed I felt safe in assuming it hadn’t flown down there. I would have been relieved if it had since this meant it must have flown upstairs. 

Heading up the stairs I spotted the offending invader hanging against the wall above my bedroom door. The one I had asked my husband to close. Peering in I saw the half bedroom was still shut off. Did this mean this was a separate bat and if so, were there more? Inching myself towards the bat I swung at it with the broom. It went batty, pardon the pun. The creature swooped up and down the hall, up and down the stairs and back and forth down the hall again. I managed to dive into Rylie’s room and shut the door. Watching through a crack I watched the thing swoop for about five minutes and then it went back to rest against the wall.  By this point I had to pee…I don’t mind saying so. This creature was scaring the piss out of me! So I snuck past it into the bathroom, took care of business and then went back into the hall to take care of business.  

I had read somewhere that if you swatted a bat to the ground it couldn’t get off the ground, so I decided that was going to be my plan. I slowly moved the broom over top of the bat, which was resting on the door frame. I swung down, intending to knock it to the floor. I had a blanket ready to throw on top. In complete contradiction of what he was supposed to do, this bat swooped down the steps mid fall, back up, then down. It didn’t come back up.

Slowly I went down the steps, broom at the ready.  I saw it immediately, lying on the floor inside the fireplace. I don’t know if it had thought it could get outside by flying up the chimney, but it was lying on the ground and not moving. I guess it didn’t know the chimney was closed up.

We covered it with an old pretzel rod container, (you know the big plastic container they come in from Walmart) and set one of Caleb’s toy dump trucks on top…just to be sure it wasn’t able to knock the container over. Now at this point we wanted to be humane.  Sarah and I tried to slide something underneath so we could let it loose outside, but the thing started moving and quite honestly I was scared it would escape. It wasn’t going to suffocate under there…I didn’t think, so it could sit inside its prison until Jeff came home in the morning.

And in fact it did survive the night.  I could hear it every now and then scratching at the sides as it tried to find a way out. When Jeff came home he scooped it up with a dust pan and put it outside. It must have flown off because when I took the kids to school our uninvited guest was nowhere to be seen. I hope it learned a lesson and doesn’t come back. Hopefully we scared him enough, he warns his friends to stay away.

As for the bat that Jeff thought he locked in the half room, it wasn’t there when he went up to collect it. Was he mistaken and the bat that terrorized us after he left for work was the same one that had swooped down earlier in the evening, or did it find a way out of the room and flew off, leaving his buddy behind?  We will never know.  I do know however that not all creepy crawlers crawl. Some of them fly.

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar.  All rights reserved.