Face to Face

Jordan worked her way down from the roof to the front yard, landing as the last rays of the sunset illuminated the sky.

While she was sure her family was still watching their show, Jordan still tried to be careful crossing the yard. It was only when she reached the sidewalk that she felt herself relax.

Going back to Elijah’s house was quick enough. The streets were empty, no cars nor people walking about. Apart from a few houses with lights inside, Jordan wouldn’t know that anyone was around.

Elijah’s house didn’t have any lights on. Jordan thought he might not be home at first. But then she saw his car in the driveway.

That was when Jordan saw that the front door had been knocked off its hinges. Jordan rushed to the porch. But the door didn’t look like it had just been bashed in. There were large claw marks raked across the door.

The slash marks went from the top left of the door and crossed to the lower right, carving deep into the wood and slicing off the doorknob. Jordan placed her hand at the top of the slash and traced its motion.

No doubt about it. The marks were at a person’s height.

Jordan stepped over what remained of the door and inside. “Mister Moore?”

Someone had ransacked the place. A coffee table had been split in half and thrown into a ruined couch. Pictures and glass were strewn all over the floor; the path to the upstairs had a grandfather clock blocking it. The lights had been smashed too – none of the bulbs in the ceiling were in one piece.

The lights in the next room flickered. A body lay face down on the dining room table. His clothes had been sliced apart and bloodied. Nothing fatal if Jordan could administer some first aid.

Jordan rushed to his side, gently shaking him by the shoulder. “Elijah?”

There was a muffled groan. Elijah’s fingers lightly curled and uncurled.

She tried to wake him again. “Mister Moore? Are you alright?”

The head rose from the table but the groan remained muffled. Light continued to flicker as Elijah turned to face her.

But Elijah had no face. No eyes to see, no nose to smell, no wrinkles from age… no mouth with which to scream. Only a muffled cry from his throat and perfectly smooth black skin.

Jordan leapt back and screamed. The figure stood on its feet and clawed at its absent face, continuing to try to yell. But it still had ears with which to hear. And it began to move towards Jordan.

She backpedaled into the kitchen, striking her lower back with the counter. The lights here were on, and between her and the refrigerator rested a fully stocked knife block.

That faceless thing stumbled into the kitchen after bumping into the door frame. Its arms reached up and out, grabbing at thin air but drawing closer.

Jordan pulled out the largest knife out of the block and edged to the side of the room. The figure kept shuffling to where she’d been moments before, bumping into the counter as she had. The arms grabbed on the counter to steady the faceless Elijah.

Sneaking back into the dining room, Jordan was about to bolt for the door. But before she could she heard someone talking upstairs.

“CQ, CQ, CQ, this is November Zero Bravo Uniform Zulu Mobile, November Zero Bravo Uniform Zulu Mobile, over.”

The ham radio!

Jordan could hear Elijah still scuttling around in the kitchen, trying to make his way back to the dining room. Gently, she moved the grandfather clock away from the stairs. Step by step, she climbed.

Whoever had done this, they had not come upstairs. Everything looked almost normal.

The radio repeated itself when she got to the last step. Her right hand clutched the knife a bit tighter while she went into what looked like Elijah’s office. Sitting directly across from the door to the office was a small desk with the ham radio and a small sign.

N0WTF.

Jordan’s mouth twitched. She quietly sat down in the desk chair and started adjusting the dials. It was an old habit coming back to the light. Then she picked up the receiver.

“November Zero Bravo Uniform Zulu Mobile, this is November Zero Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. You are five-nine.”

There wasn’t a response for half a minute. Then: “You are five-nine, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. …That you, Jordan?”

It was then she clocked in who’d been speaking. She finally felt some relief. “DeVon! Are you okay?”

“For now. I guess the old man’s letting you use his radio?”

Jordan heard noise downstairs but tried to push it aside. “Something’s wrong. The house is a mess and I found him and… and…”

“He doesn’t have a face, does he.” Jordan could hear a long sigh on the other end. “I warned him. I warned him this would happen if he didn’t leave with me.”

That raised too many questions. “What are you talking about?”

“Call me back later and I’ll explain it all. You’ll need to move the ham radio to a safer location, they’ll be back tomorrow. You can trust Frank. One more thing. The Lethenine. Stop taking it.”

Jordan pulled the pill bottle out of her pocket. “No, no, the doctor said it’s supposed to help me remember.”

“No, Jordan. It makes you forget.”

Her breath caught itself. Would the doctor lie to her? That sounded insane. But nothing had been adding up right since she woke up. Could she really trust the words of someone she barely remembered?

An arm wrapped itself around Jordan’s neck and pulled. The bottle of Lethenine went flying across the room, Jordan kicking and screaming as she was pulled off the desk and knocked over everything on it.

Jordan had been so wrapped up with DeVon that she hadn’t heard Elijah make his way up to her. She couldn’t break free, her arms flailing while the grip grew tighter and her vision fading at the edges.

She turned into Elijah and flung her arm, hitting something. The arm immediately slackened and Jordan could breathe could breathe again.

The faceless Elijah stepped back, the kitchen knife plunged into where his heart should be. He reached for the blade and tried to pull it out. But after a few more moments he felt forward and did not get back up.

Jordan was ready to panic. She’d just killed a man. She’d just killed a man who’d thought the world of her. She felt like she was going to throw up.

Focus.

The ham radio. She picked it up off the ground. It looked like it had been damaged from the kick. Jordan pulled out a backpack from one of the other rooms and stuffed all the pieces inside; she’d have to try repairing it when she could stay calm.

She bolted down the stairs, out the front door, and ran headlong into the pitch black night.