The Nightmare

Scared footsteps of a lumpy man shuffled on the lumber-tiled floor of a three-story mansion. His oily face and sweaty body released all unwanted fat in his system. Exercise? You were wrong. He wasn’t running late at night to lose weight to avoid cholesterol: he was running for his life!

He stumbled on the stairs, bruising his thighs and legs, lucky enough not to have broken his neck. He got up and looked behind the beast, striding on four legs, following him downstairs. Its fierce features seemed to enjoy the scene. Its round, red eyes fixed on the beefy man rolling as a ball kicked on the floor.

“No! Please!” The man begged, hoping the chaser understood his language, but to no avail. It kept advancing towards the limp-bearded target. He couldn’t run anymore because exhaustion drained his remaining energy. He crawled his way down the first floor and was delighted to see the front—his escape!

“Help!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, only to be petrified at the sight of his fallen men. They were all bathing in their pool of blood. The varnished wood tiles were tarnished with scarlet, sticky blood.

The man kneeled to reach the doorknob, but his legs were soggy noodles that couldn’t support his heavy upper torso. His arms too were jelly-like that no matter how he put effort into his action, they failed him.

Thick nails on soft paws scratched across the tiles, filling the air with an annoying screech like that of a rusty knife on a metal surface.

The man remained in his position without looking behind him, even though the door displayed the shadow of the furry beast. He kept twisting the knob while silently praying someone would come to his aid. His heart stopped for a moment when the sticky, hot liquid dropped on his ankle, followed by a low growl. His ears became deaf because of the drumming heartbeat in his chest.

He slowly turned to face his attacker.

It had a long muzzle and mouth with serrated flavescent fangs, hungry for a meaty prey. Its bloodshot eyes screamed death with no mercy. The wild animal drooled with excitement that finally its toy gave up.

The famished predator took a sizeable chunk of his part of the meal, tearing it limb to limb, splattering blood on the wall, the floor, and the furniture nearby.

***

Burning rays of the sun coming from the open window kissed Zillet’s face awake. She squinted at the light invading her privacy, so she got up feeling muscle sore. She washed her hands to her face to cast her sleepiness, but her face distorted to disgust when something stenchy and rusty metallic filled her nostrils—blood!

She jumped out of bed, shocked by what she saw. She even tripped on the shards of the broken window, which puzzled her.

“Ouch!” she gasped when she stepped on a piece of sharp glass.

Terror grasped her entire body when she saw her reflection naked and blood-soaked in the full body mirror. She scanned her room, just to be horror-stricken, seeing her room in complete havoc. The curtains were torn as if razor-sharp claws ripped the cloth. The bedside table close to the window was slashed too: its coating and intricate carvings were carved ugly by something that looked like an enormous animal’s nails. And the worst part? Her white mattress and blanket were tainted with blood as well.

“What the hell happened here?” she asked herself, skipping her way to the door to lock it so that none could come in and see how chaotic her room was. Her mother had the habit of bursting into her room unannounced, and she didn’t want her to be terrified and panic.

She sat at the edge of her bed, plucking out the fragment of the broken glass from the sole of her foot. She bit her lower lip to prevent herself from screaming in pain while pulling the splinter.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Zill, dear? Are you awake?”

It was her mom, Mrs. Ramirez. The always caring and soft-spoken spouse who never failed to look after her only daughter well.

“Yes, mom.”

“Open the door. Your chief called the home phone because your mobile couldn’t be reached.”

Zillet’s body moved in response to her mom’s news. She picked herself up, not knowing whether she would open the door or run to the restroom to wash first. Her mind was also bugged with the thought of not knowing how she would explain her room to her mom.

“I get it, mom. Just tell him I’ll call back.”

She pulled out the bedcovers and stuck them in an empty drawer next to her bed to hide the blood-stained sheaths. The last thing she didn’t want to happen was her mom interrogating her about what happened.

She went to the bathroom to take a shower, removing the stench of blood and smudges of dirt on her tan skin. As the water washed the dirt away from her body, fragments of horrifying images of murder flooded her thoughts.

A horrified man running down the stairs while being chased by something blurry occupied her mind. What made her perplexed was the fact that she knew who the victim was.

It was Dean Castro, a sex- offender and drug dealer who she apprehended a few weeks ago, but was freed because he bailed his way out. His pouchy belly was burst open with his guts hanging out, while his bodyguards swam in their blood pool.

Zillet opened her eyes to erase the terrifying image from her mind, but even her bathroom walls projected how the beastly figure in her dreams had torn Castro’s body.

“Snap out of it, Zillet! It’s just a dream!” She slapped her face awake and hurried out of the bathroom to change. She couldn’t be late for work.

***

Zillet walked into the headquarters while deep murmurs permeated the air like buzzing bees. Some women officers were on the phone; others were entertaining the walk-in complainants. It was a normal day in her workplace that never got old. She smiled at the fact that even when she was a child, her father, Coronel Gonsalvo, would allow her to come to the town’s headquarters to observe how authorities perform their duties.

At eight, she had already foreseen herself in uniform just like her dad’s, giving a hand to those who were deprived of justice. Her father was her epitome of good deeds. Every time Coronel Gonsalvo would leave the house to go to work, she would cling to his pants, tugging them so that he wouldn’t have a choice but to bring her with him. Of course, Valeria would tag along too, just to make sure that Zillet was not a menace to Gonsalvo’s tasks.

During those times, Zillet had seen both male and female, as well as young and old victims of various assaults, crying to get justice for being violated and ill-treated. There were women reporting their misfortune on the streets of Santa Crisantina for being victims of pick-pocketing. Some spouses also sued their partners for domestic violence. Others fight over child custody. She had also witnessed how families of the oppressed victims would swarm over the perpetrators and beat them to a pulp.

Her fascination with being a police officer had manifested at the young age that she used to be seen playing with toy guns, instead of barbies. She played with boys more than she did with girls her age in primary school.

When she was in high school, she always took part in sports harnessing physical skills like taekwondo and even became a champion in that sport, representing their school in the Inter-High Olympics.

She spaced out, smiling at images of the past that played in her memory.

“Help! Please help!” 

That cry pulled Zillet out of a trance, making her aware of what was going on in her surroundings.

A frantic newcomer in a tube white dress, stained with blood, rushed to a vacant desk. She almost slammed her face on the tiled floor when she slipped because of her clanking silver high heels. Her pale face, with smudges of last night’s makeup, gave the impression that she was a call girl.

Zillet ran towards the table the young girl had taken to assist her, but PO1 Airo Delfin had already pulled the chair and attended to the crying lass. Zillet just stood at the side of the table, ready to take notes just in case Airo might leave some important details.

“Okay. Relax. Breath in,” he said, gesturing to the girl on how to inhale and exhale like she didn’t know how to do it.

The complainant, who was barely in her twenties—Zillet estimated she was only eighteen or nineteen—took a lungful of air as she was instructed.

“That’s it. When you feel relaxed, you can start telling us what happened.” Airo looked at Zillet, who still had her backpack on, hinting her to back him up with note-taking. “You okay, now?”

The girl nodded. She then wiped her tears, ruining her eyeliner even more.

“Let’s start by telling us your name.”

“I’m Beatrix Jagger, nineteen. I came here to report a muh—murder!” After uttering the last word, she broke down again, so Zillet rubbed her back to calm her down. Airo just nodded, giving the teenager a sign that she could keep going when she was ready.

“My customer was slaughtered in his house,” the girl said, brushing her hands to her face. Zillet handed her a tissue while patting her shoulder for support.

“Give us the address.”

***

“CRIME SCENE—DO NOT CROSS”

The first group of police officers who responded to Beatrix’s report placed yellow tapes around the vicinity, especially the receiving area of the house, to prevent people from tampering with the pieces of evidence. They labeled all visual proofs that what happened in the house was something extraordinarily mind-blowing.

Splatters of blood on the walls showed that there was a struggle in the scene. The victims at least defended themselves from the nefarious perpetrator. Some furniture even had scrape marks from what looked like nails but from an enormous animal. The mansion was in a chaotic state, worse than a bull rampaging in a bullfight.

 “What in the world happened in this peaceful town of Santa Crisantina?” Airo exclaimed.

That was the very first gruesome scene they had encountered. Their town may not be a utopia, but only minor incidents like drug and human trafficking, as well as street crimes, were the usual cases filed in their municipality. In fact, that was the first bloodbath crime recorded in their town’s history.

“My hair turned grey in service, but this is the first gory incident I have seen,” a senior ranking officer commented, brushing his bearded chin.

“This is way too brutal to be a crime of passion, don’t you think, sir?” Airo asked his senior while taking notes, as those from their crime unit took photos.

“I don’t think so. According to our records, Castro doesn't have a lover to be jealous of and kill like this. And if we based it on the witness’ statement, there isn’t any on her end either. Besides, she’s a prostitute, and she did not know who could be jealous just because she slept with another man. At least that’s what she told us.”

Airo was about to respond when he saw his partner for years, looking sick of the sight.

Zillet walked to the door, lifting the tape above her head so she could get inside. She froze when the pool of dark, dried blood greeted her. It was the exact scene she had in her dreams the other night. On the floor, close to the door, laid a man whose eyes were wide opened, projecting terror in his last glance of life.

The corpse’s stomach had a slit by something sharp, but it wasn’t a wound created by a metal like any knife, even a butcher’s knife. Ants and other decomposer insects swarm over the ripped opened stomach, coming from the door that was left ajar.

The colony emerging from the garden happily feasted on the remains of DEAN CASTRO!

‘You gotta be kidding me,’ she uttered to herself and rolled her eyes in disbelief and terror. Her head became light, and she felt dizzy.

“Hey!” Airo ran to her side and caught her just in time before she collapsed. “Are you okay?” he asked while still holding her in his arms. He guided her to sit on a clean coach, several feet away from Castro’s body. “Did you even have breakfast?”

“I actually didn’t, yet I have to see this gruesome case first thing in the morning,” she said. That, of course, was a lie because she had already watched what really happened in the mansion. ‘Was I even here last night?’ she asked herself.

That question loosened her strength, making her knees wobble like soggy noodles. Thinking that she might have something to do with Castro’s death made her heart run a race with her wits.

“You look pale? Can you keep going?” Airo rubbed Zillet’s back. “I can tell our chief that you’re not feeling well.”

“No, thanks. I can handle this nausea.” She gazed at Airo’s eyes and furrowed her brows when she noticed something strange. “Are you wearing satin grey contact lenses?”

Airo let her go and averted her gaze. He took a step backward, but Zillet grabbed his wrist. She pulled him closer to her so that his face was only a few inches away from hers. Then, she grinned at his face and almost blurted a burst of laughter, but the stench of blood reminded her they were at a crime scene: no goofing allowed. She would reserve her teasing for later.

Zillet drew a lungful of air and stood from the couch, balancing herself so that she wouldn’t slam her face on any of the corpses on the floor. There were five victims, including Castro. Their slaughter was the exact event of what appeared in her dreams.

“Could this be done by a wild animal?” she asked herself, but loud enough to be heard by everyone in the vicinity.

She expressed that, remembering the low growl she heard while she was dreaming about the massacre.

All eyes were fixed on her, considering her thoughts since there were scratches everywhere. They exchanged glances as if telling each other, “she has a point.”

Zillet went upstairs to check the room Beatrix described to them. And true to her words, the marks were also there. The bedsheet was torn to shreds as if a samurai had been there, slashing viciously, without mercy. She walked further to the window and saw the broken fragments scattered on the floor.

“This is the second floor? How come the window is broken from the outside?” she asked. Thinking out loud had become her thing since she joined the investigation team. Doing so kept her focused, avoiding internal destructions, just like the vivid memory of her dream.

“And how did you know the window was smashed from the outside?”

She jumped in surprise at Airo’s question.

“What the hell?! Do you want me to die of cardiac arrest?”

“Of course not. How could I let you die of a heart attack when haven’t even had a taste of life yet?” Airo giggled at his joke. He simply meant that Zillet was still a virgin to die early.

“For crying out loud! Someone had been brutally murdered, yet all you can think of right now is something ridiculous.” Zillet crossed her arms on her chest, like how a mother posed whenever scolding a naughty child.

“Look at you. You can’t even say the word ‘sex’. Prude.” Airo laughed. Zillet’s face turned red like a ripe tomato, ready for harvest.

Zillet was about to answer back when she saw their senior officer in the doorway with a stern face.

‘Did he hear us joking around?’ she asked herself as beads of cold sweat trickled down her face. Good thing Airo git the hint in her glare that he shut up and wore his poker face.

“Any useful thing here?” The senior officer walked in, scanning the area. He adjusted his pants’ waistline, lifting his slouching belly up with the belt.

Zillet was abrupt to point at the stone that was as huge as a fist lying on the floor.

“Sir, I assume this window was shattered from the outside. Someone might be down in the garden and threw it here.”

“I see. The witness didn’t mention this in her testimony. We should call her in again for questioning.”