Third Door on the Right

“Just give me the fucking money!” Gerrard Deans needed to get high. He needed to get high now.

“All right my dear, just be calm. I’m an old woman, what harm could I possibly bring you? It’s just that there is no money. We bank it all on Fridays, you see, but you are welcome to any of the spices or magical beads we have... they’re all genuine, you know, imported from the sacred places in India.”

Gerrard had the sweats and the shakes and could feel himself getting dangerously irritable. “Liar! I know there’s cash around here somewhere. Don’t make me kill you, bitch.”

Mrs. Pravati Singh had known for some time that the end was near. Slowly she rested a wrinkled palm on Gerrard’s trembling hand which held the pistol to her forehead. “Sonny,” she said “I have had a rich and full life. If you send me home today I will not begrudge you. But the spirits will avenge me... the music will start and they will come for you at the next sunset.” In one deft movement she sliced the skin of his hand with a sharp thumbnail. He started and squeezed the trigger.

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The third door on the right had a white sign with bold red lettering, clearly indicating that this was the exit. The drums which had started beating faintly in his head that morning had grown deafening. He ran blindly up the stairwell, dumb with fear and panic. He knew they were still behind him, and gaining. He could hear their howls and calls for blood. His blood. Nobody else seemed to notice the two dark wolves chasing him through the streets, and his bullets had no effect on them. All he could do was run. Crashing through the door at the top of the stairs he could almost feel their hot breaths on his ankles, and as stepped on the ledge and launched himself into the air, the drums were abruptly silenced, replaced by the sound of the wind rushing past his ears.