IN THE CLOUDS

Genre: Horror 

 

 

 

IN THE CLOUDS

By Randy Romero

 

 

 

Fire, was Shawn Downey’s first thought when he woke up and saw that the neighborhood was bathed in an ominous, reddish-orange glow.

But he didn’t smell any smoke, he didn’t hear any sirens or panicked screams ringing out in the streets. There was a quiet commotion that Shawn could hear outside, but it wasn’t full blown hysteria.

He checked the time on his cell phone. Four PM.

Shawn got up awkwardly, groggy, still half asleep. He wrestled his way into a faded pair of blue jeans and threw on a plain black T-shirt. Shawn worked overnights as a cashier. He clocked in at midnight and clocked out around 8 AM, sometimes later if the morning crew was running late for their shifts. He usually fell asleep around nine and slept through the afternoon if he didn’t have any classes. Downey hated all of his classes. And he hated his last name too, mainly because he was tired of his fellow students asking if he was related to Iron Man. And morning classes can be daunting when you work overnight.

A lot of colorful characters frequented Quick Stop Convenience in the wee hours of the night. Most of them came in looking for beer or cigarettes, most of them whacked out of their minds on God only knows what, struggling to keep their balance or form coherent sentences. The rest of the clientele were all-nighters like Shawn, just stopping in for coffee, soda, or energy drinks, and maybe a little snack for the road.

He wasn’t thrilled with the job, and neither was his dad. But it was a job nonetheless, at least until he worked his way through college.

Shawn let himself wake up a bit, then made his way downstairs, only to find that his parents were strangely absent. Normally they were both home from work by three o’clock.

Shawn went outside where the whole block was gathered. Mrs. Glick, the benevolent old lady next-door was there with her Pomeranian, Farfel. Mrs. Brunswick was there with her husband and their two doe-eyed children, staring in disbelief. The look of terror on their tiny faces was palpable. But what was all the fuss? Dennis Caldwell was on the sidewalk, nursing a twenty-four ounce can of beer tucked inside a brown paper bag. He was one of the nightly regulars over at Quick Stop, always stopping in after the bars closed for a nightcap.

“What’s going on?” Shawn asked Billy Mitchell, whose five-year-old son was clinging to his leg.

“Take a look for yourself,” Billy motioned with his head.

They were all standing there with their heads cocked back, eyes gazing skyward. Dark red storm clouds raged overhead. Shawn had never seen anything like it before in his relatively short nineteen-year life.

A terrible roar tore through the sky, and something even worse came with it.

“Look, up in the sky!” Billy Mitchell’s boy cried out.

It wasn’t a bird, it wasn’t a plane, and it sure as hell wasn’t Superman. But something loomed overhead, hiding behind those crimson clouds. Downey could just make out their vast wings, pointed tails, and what looked like talons.

His phone pinged. One text message from his mom.

It read: Shawn, no time to explain. Your father and I got detained on our way home from work. They are evacuating the city. Don’t waste any time. Get out now!