They stared at her in the predawn light. She knew they weren’t alive, but that didn’t keep her from feeling overwhelming nausea. She swallowed nervously, feeling the bile hit her stomach.
They were obviously old, peeling as if they’d been outside for millennia. Their thick manes were incongruously colored a dull black, but the ears were brown. The beard under each lion had been painted white, and the tongues were an unhealthy red. One creature had a dark spot on his tongue as if still tasting the remains of some half-eaten animal. Both lions looked angry. One creature crouched at the back corner of the house, the other 100 feet away next to the guest house.
But it was their eyes that creeped her out. They were green and followed her as she rounded the corner. She quickened her pace until she stumbled on a root and fell. When she regained her balance, both lions were looking straight ahead. She wiped her bloody knee and resumed her walk.
She had begun cutting through the yard several years earlier. The neighbor a few doors over kept two mean curs who resented the relative freedom of her dog on its walk. Even though there was an invisible fence, she feared they would endure the shock for the opportunity to eviscerate her pup.
She looked back at the lions and knew she was being ridiculous - this was obviously a joke by some neighborhood kids. The owners had abandoned the main house and guest quarters ten years earlier. The property once belonged to someone respectable, perhaps a store owner or city official. Now, the windows sported permanently drawn curtains, and the mortared rock on the home was crumbling.
When the house was first vacated, she would occasionally see a car in the drive, but even this last reminder of humanity had vanished. The city would post a citation sign every year in the yard, threatening to fine the owner if he didn’t cut the grass. Once a year, someone would show up on the last day and whack back the yard with a giant machine. But within a couple of weeks, the kudzu was back, eating the South as per its reputation.
The air that evening was heavy, and she could feel a storm. When she walked through the yard, she noticed one lion had moved. Instead of looking straight out, it stared at the second lion by the guest house. Her dog raised his hackles and began to growl. She started to run, dragging the pup by its leash.
As she rounded the corner, panting, she looked back at the guest house. Out of one window, she saw a pair of eyes looking at her. A hand pulled back the curtain and waved. It was then she noticed the Airbnb sign in the yard. She felt like a fool. “You are such a fucking idiot,” she thought to herself. As she left the yard, she looked back one last time. Both lions appeared to be laughing at her.
— opelikakat
They were obviously old, peeling as if they’d been outside for millennia. Their thick manes were incongruously colored a dull black, but the ears were brown. The beard under each lion had been painted white, and the tongues were an unhealthy red. One creature had a dark spot on his tongue as if still tasting the remains of some half-eaten animal. Both lions looked angry. One creature crouched at the back corner of the house, the other 100 feet away next to the guest house.
But it was their eyes that creeped her out. They were green and followed her as she rounded the corner. She quickened her pace until she stumbled on a root and fell. When she regained her balance, both lions were looking straight ahead. She wiped her bloody knee and resumed her walk.
She had begun cutting through the yard several years earlier. The neighbor a few doors over kept two mean curs who resented the relative freedom of her dog on its walk. Even though there was an invisible fence, she feared they would endure the shock for the opportunity to eviscerate her pup.
She looked back at the lions and knew she was being ridiculous - this was obviously a joke by some neighborhood kids. The owners had abandoned the main house and guest quarters ten years earlier. The property once belonged to someone respectable, perhaps a store owner or city official. Now, the windows sported permanently drawn curtains, and the mortared rock on the home was crumbling.
When the house was first vacated, she would occasionally see a car in the drive, but even this last reminder of humanity had vanished. The city would post a citation sign every year in the yard, threatening to fine the owner if he didn’t cut the grass. Once a year, someone would show up on the last day and whack back the yard with a giant machine. But within a couple of weeks, the kudzu was back, eating the South as per its reputation.
The air that evening was heavy, and she could feel a storm. When she walked through the yard, she noticed one lion had moved. Instead of looking straight out, it stared at the second lion by the guest house. Her dog raised his hackles and began to growl. She started to run, dragging the pup by its leash.
As she rounded the corner, panting, she looked back at the guest house. Out of one window, she saw a pair of eyes looking at her. A hand pulled back the curtain and waved. It was then she noticed the Airbnb sign in the yard. She felt like a fool. “You are such a fucking idiot,” she thought to herself. As she left the yard, she looked back one last time. Both lions appeared to be laughing at her.
— opelikakat
I can relate to this tale. I was happy there wasnt a sinister ending! Nice read
ReplyDeleteOh, there could be a few sinister aspects to Air BnB... speaking for myself, I actually wanted something crazy to happen! But it's OK that it didn't. VERY suspenseful, though! ---Macoff
ReplyDelete