>Change blew in on the air that morning, whispering through a sleeping town. An eerie quiet rested along the main road, early commuters not yet disturbing the grey dawn. A wisp of waning moon, brushed pink with the gentle glow of the coming sun, hung low in the ombre sky.

>A subtle shift rocked the heavy foliage of scattered trees, rippling between the houses. The cool silence of night still clung to the shadows. A lone ginger cat stalked between the sentinels of bins guarding the curbs. It paused, hair bristling along it’s back as it sensed a disturbance rushing past.

>A lone mournful howl echoed in the streets, erupting into a sorrowful symphony as others took up the canine call.

>Not a single harsh bark interrupted the lament that awoke the town that morning.

>Back doors opened onto gardens, not quite the same. Concerned residents in an array of dressing gowns, coats and slippers, padded outside to find the same, inexplicable sight.

>Theo hadn’t been home in months. He had told his mum he was getting clean. It was a lie. He hadn’t been clean in years.

>The dark country road snaked before him, a twisting river of retreating night. She had insisted he came home for the wedding. Theo couldn’t stand her boyfriend, but his mum had half chewed his ear off over it, and he couldn’t deny, he owed her this.

>He swore under his breath. The rising itch was dancing across his skin. The hard edge cutting inside him. He needed another hit. He had been driving since 1am, he loaded up before he set off, but the ragged scraping of the comedown was consuming.

>He glanced at the road, he hadn’t passed another car in hours, and he knew these twisting roads.

>One hand on the wheel, he fumbled through the bag on the passenger seat. He couldn’t face that c*nt sober, Aunt Hazel would help.

>His skin flushed with the intense bliss coursing through his veins as he approached the sleeping streets.

>Dawn was pushing towards the horizon, her soft pink glow catching the clipped moon.

>Theo was speeding when he got to the town. He heard the hair-raising call of neighbourhood dogs, raising their cry as one.

>Then he saw it. The change. He couldn’t look away. He didn’t see the tree.

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Theo lifted his bruised head off the steering wheel. There was a swerving in his head; as if the fluids in his head were been tossed by a boisterous wind. His hands were trembling more from the shock of what he saw than the accident itself. He grappled for the door knob, felt it and tried to open the door. His first attempt was unsuccessful. The drug was wearing off just when he needed them most.

The demons in his head crept out of the shadows. He turned to the window by his side trying to see if he was distorting reality. The demons in his head grew bolder with each step. The steps began to echo until it became a pounding. They were about to begin a ritual. A ritual he was all too familiar with - a ritual of blood and tears. For a brief moment, he felt the moisture in slow motion on his face. He wasn’t sure if they were tears or blood. It had been a long time since he cried. It had been a long time since he felt the pain of a cut.

The pounding grew into an ache as he saw a shadow steal portions of the road in slow succession. He needed to get out of the car. He tried the knob again. The door was jammed.

The pounding of the demons synced with his heartbeat while the howling of the dogs chanted the refrain. The shadow drew closer with each note. He stretched his right hand to the passenger seat across him. He always kept one of those in the car for situations like this. His hands were still shaking, as if dancing to the rhythm of his pounding heart. He stretched further to place his hand inside the bag on the passenger seat.

He turned to glance at the window and saw a figure slowing emerging. The demons in his head gathered around his heart to drum a match tune for the approaching figure. They were merciless with each beat. He felt his heart would burst. He wasn’t scared of death. He was scared of fear. Worst of all, he was scared of a fear he couldn’t put a name to. He stretched his right hand even further and felt a syringe sting him. 

In a side of the bag, by a spot only he knew, he felt what he was looking for. He tore the zip open and pulled it out. He turned around in time as the figure stood before him. If he was going to die, it wasn’t going to be at the hand of some hideous creature. He pulled the trigger just as he turned. It was a zombie in his mother’s body.

The ground quaked as if the gunshot had summoned demons from the underworld. There was more than one shadow. Theo fired another shot.

Entry for the [Finish The Story Contest Week 24](https://steemit.com/finishthestory/@bananafish/finish-the-story-contest-week-24)