Jordan Milden (34:56)
The last box sat on the kitchen floor, mocking me. I rubbed my forehead, brushing off the sweat. Moving was exhausting, and unpacking was worse, but I wasn't in the mood to finish. I needed a break, maybe some coffee, but I was feeling too lazy to make any. I flopped onto the couch instead, pushing aside a stray throw pillow. Then I heard it. A banging noise. At first I dismissed it. I let my head rest against the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. But the noise continued, rhythmic, like someone hammering away at something. I sat up, my curiosity getting the best of me. The sound was coming from outside. I walked to the window and parted the blinds just enough to get a look. It was my neighbor, the guy who lived next door, though I hadn't met him yet. He was standing in his driveway, his back turned to me, swinging an axe down at something on the ground. I couldn't make out what it was at first. Just a shape. A box, maybe. Small and clearly tough. Must have been metal. He went at it with all his strength, but it didn't budge. I half expected it to split open after the first couple of hits, but it held firm, like it was made of impenetrable steel. What the hell was he doing? I felt a twinge of unease. This didn't seem normal. He swung the axe again, this time missing the box entirely and slamming the blade into the pavement. The clang rang out like a bell, and he let out a frustrated grunt. I took a step back from the window, suddenly feeling like I was intruding on something private. Maybe he's just having a bad day, I muttered to myself. People get frustrated. It happens. But it wasn't just that. Something about his posture, the way he moved, seemed off. There was a feral energy to him, like he was on the verge of snapping. I shook my head, trying to dismiss the thought. I had just moved here, and I didn't want to be the nosy neighbor already. Still, my eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before I let the blinds fall back into place. I tried to focus on unpacking again, but the sound kept pulling my attention. The banging continued for a long while, steady, then quiet, then erratic. I couldn't ignore it. My mind wandered to what could be inside that box. Was it really worth all that effort? And why was it so damn hard to open? I caught myself pacing, feeling more and more anxious. Then it happened. A loud pop, like the crack of a gunshot. I froze that wasn't just a loud noise. That was a gun. I rushed back to the window, my heart racing, but what I saw made my blood run cold. He was standing in his driveway, but he wasn't holding the axe anymore. Instead, he had the box in his hands, cradling it like it was something precious. His arms were streaked with blood, and his eyes, they were wild, unfocused. He looked around, muttering something under his breath, but I couldn't make out the words. Then he turned and looked straight at me. I froze in place. His eyes were locked onto mine through the window. For a second, I considered ducking out of sight, but it was too late. He had already seen me. His mouth was moving, but the words were slurred, incoherent. I strained to hear him, pressing my forehead against the glass. It was hard to make out anything clearly, but then his voice rose, sharp and angry. You can't open the box. The box opens you. The way he said it sent a chill through me. There was something off about his tone, something deranged. My gut screamed at me to close the blinds and lock myself in the bathroom, but I couldn't. My hands shook as I backed away from the window. Was he talking to me? To himself? Either way, none of this made any sense. Before I could think it through, there was a pounding at the front door. My breath caught in my throat. No, there was no way. He was just in his driveway a moment ago. I crept to the hallway, inching my way toward the front door. The pounding continued, harder this time, shaking the frame. Open up. His voice was a low growl now, filled with something primal, something wrong. My whole body tensed and my fingers itched toward the deadbolt, as if I was actually considering opening the door for him. Open the fucking door, Nate. He screamed. How did he know my name? I snapped out of my trance and slammed the deadbolt into place, my hands trembling. I had to think. I had to do something, but I was too rattled to figure out what. Call the cops? Yeah. But the second I reached for my phone, the pounding stopped. Silence. It was so sudden, it felt like the world had paused, like time itself had taken a breath. I waited, listening for anything, footsteps, a voice, anything to tell me where he had gone. Gone? Nothing. The stillness should have been comforting, but it wasn't. It was suffocating. And then, through the crack in the blinds, I saw him again. He was in the street now, pacing like a caged animal, cradling that box in his hands. His entire body was shaking. His face twisted into something I couldn't recognize. Then, without warning, he bolted towards the house across the street. A woman had come out into her driveway, probably to see what all the noise was about. I wanted to yell, to warn her, but my throat locked up. He reached her in seconds. I couldn't hear what he said, but I saw her face change, confusion turning to fear. She tried to step back, but it was too late. He swung the box at her, striking her in the head with a sickening crunch. She crumpled to the ground and he climbed on top of her, smashing the box down onto her face repeatedly. I stumbled back from the window, bile rising in my throat. What the hell was happening? He was going to kill her. I forced myself to look again, expecting the worst. But the woman. She wasn't dead. She was getting up. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. She should have been dead. Her face had been smashed in beyond recognition. But there she was, standing back up like nothing happened. Well, not nothing. She was staggering, swaying on her feet, like she'd forgotten how to move. Blood poured from her ruined face, soaking her shirt. Before I could process it, her husband came running out of the house, probably having heard the commotion. He reached for her, panic all over his face. Sarah? Sarah, what happened? His voice cracked with desperation. For a moment, she just stood there, swaying. And then she turned on him. No warning, no hesitation. She lunged, teeth bared, hands clawing at his face. He didn't even have time to react. I watched in stunned horror as she ripped into him like a wild animal. He screamed, falling backward, but she was on top of him in an instant, slamming the back of his head into the pavement open, over and over again. I backed away from the window, heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest. This wasn't real. How could this be real? But it was. And it was getting worse by the second. I ran to the kitchen, fumbling for my phone, my fingers barely working as I tried to dial 911. My mind raced. What the hell was I supposed to say? That my neighbor was attacking people with a box and turning them into what? Zombies? No, not zombies. They weren't mindless. Whatever this was, it was different. They were angry and violent, but they knew exactly what they were doing. The operator picked up 911. What's your emergency? I opened my mouth to speak, but the words caught in my throat. I forced myself to spit it out. My neighbor. He's attacking people. There's blood everywhere. You have to send help now. The operator's voice was calm. Too calm. Officers are on the way, sir. Stay inside and stay safe. Can you tell me where? I didn't hear the rest. My attention snapped back to the window as another scream tore through the neighborhood. This time it came from the house next to mine. The front door slammed open and a man stumbled out, clutching his face, blood streaming between his fingers. Behind him, his wife, or what used to be his wife, charged at him with a broken bottle, slashing wildly. He tripped and fell to the ground. And she was on him in a second, driving the bottle into his chest again and again. I dropped the phone. My hands were shaking so hard and I could barely think straight. This was spreading fast. He was still out there, standing in the middle of the street, watching everything unfold. His eyes darted from one house to the next, as if he was drinking it all in, feeding off the violence. He still had the box in his hands, gripping it like it was the only thing that mattered. As if sensing my gaze, he turned and locked eyes with me again. A slow smile spread across his face, blood still dripping from his fingers. He raised the box, holding it up like a prize, and shouted. It's the answer you see now. I couldn't look away. My body felt frozen, rooted to the spot. As he started walking, walking toward my house. I backed up, my mind racing. I had to get out of here. I had to get as far away from him as possible. But before I could move, I saw another figure stumble into the street. One of my neighbors, blood covering her clothes, her eyes wild with the same fury that had overtaken the rest of them. She ran at him, screaming something I couldn't understand. He barely flinched as she reached him. With one swift motion, he raised the box and slammed it into her skull. She dropped like a stone. For a second, everything was still. Then she started to move. She twitched, fingers clawing at the pavement as she dragged herself back to her feet. Just like the others. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't watch this happen anymore. I grabbed my keys, clutching them in my hand, and headed for the door. But even as I did, I knew I wasn't fast enough. The chaos was spreading. I wouldn't be able to make it to my car in time. My hands were trembling as I reached for the door. I knew I had to move, but my body didn't want to cooperate. Outside, the street was in complete chaos. Neighbors I hadn't met yet were tearing each other apart. Blood splattered on sidewalks and screams filled the air. This wasn't some freak incident. It was a full on nightmare. I twisted the deadbolt, feeling the click under my fingers, my heart slamming in my ears as I cracked the door open just enough to peek outside. He was still there, stalking up and down the street like a predator, his grip tight around the box. I needed to get to my car. I could see it in the driveway just a few yards away, but it might as well have been a mile. All around me in the car stood chaos. People screaming, fighting, tearing at each other like rabid animals. He wasn't paying attention to me now, but it was only a matter of time. His eyes were darting from one house to the next, feeding off the violence like he was orchestrating the whole thing. The box pulsed in his hand, and every time he raised it, it seemed like someone else snapped, attacking their own family, friends, anyone they could reach. I swallowed hard, gathering what little courage I had left. My hands shook as I fumbled with my keys, gripping them so tight they bit into my palm. I had to be quick. I had to get out of here before they spotted me. Then the sound of screeching tires cut through the air. Red and blue lights flashed across the neighborhood as police cars pulled up on the street. The relief that hit me was short lived. They had no idea what they were walking into. Two officers stepped out, weapons drawn, shouting orders at my neighbor to get on the ground. I saw the moment he turned to face them, his lips curling into a twisted grin. He didn't drop the box. If anything, he held it tighter. The officers moved in cautiously, guns trained on him.
