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“911, what’s your emergency?”
Imani’s words bottlenecked, blocked by the wheezing that tore through her lungs. She second-guessed what she had witnessed moments ago. How does one even begin to describe…
The dispatcher tried again. “Hello, this is 911 emergency services. Can you hear me? Are you in need of assistance?”
Imani closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. She tasted the salt of her own snot dripping down her lip. She vibrated, neck straining as though to contain an implosion. A whimper whistled through her clenched jaw.
The dispatcher said, “Can you tell me your name?”
Imani opened her eyes. Her mind wrapped around the dispatcher’s calm words, they broke through the fog of her thoughts. “My name is Imani Carter,” she said. “I need the police.”
“Thank you, Imani. What is your current location?”
In the kitchen, she thought. A shadow flitted across the tile, and she jumped back, smashing her head against the door she barricaded. She threw a hand over her mouth to keep her panic contained while trying to remember the address. Middle of fucking nowhere, Kansas!
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” she said.
“Alright, I understand you’re feeling unsure. Please try to stay calm. Are you in a safe location? Is there anyone else with you who can provide information?”
Fresh tears blurred Imani’s vision.
Ketrick. She would never again remember him any other way. In a matter of seconds, their memories together—good and bad—had been stolen and a single image stamped over them. With a twist of her stomach, the image returned to her now.
Deep orange sunlight threaded through the windows of the horse stable. A film of dirt sheeted the concrete floor, wooden beams overhead catching shadows down the aisle of empty stalls. The entrance at the far end cut a square out of the rolling wheat hills, a sliver of sky on top.
The ad on Airbnb said livestock hadn’t seen the grounds in a few years, after the last disease took most of them out. Farm owners Tim and Ruby Stockdale rented it out all year round.
In Ketrick’s words, it was exactly what they needed. Getting out of the city, a piece of the country life. A reset button.
2 days in, nothing had reset—Imani and Ketrick were still themselves, the relationship brought its same problems to the country side. A question about dinner spiraled into an argument over Imani’s ex-boyfriend, then the storm door slammed behind Ketrick. An hour had passed before Imani finally went outside to find him.
From the back porch, a loud scratching noise begged her toward the stable. It scraped against her teeth as she drew near. Her figure darkened the closest entrance when she heard a wet sucking, like a pomegranate ripping open. Popping ligaments.
The stench of blood choked Imani.
The skin of his arms were as black as hers, but it was not Ketrick.
Her eyes automatically scanned for the stranger’s face, but in the place of a man’s head was a lamb’s, stitched at the shoulders. Tilted back in a limp state, the lamb’s eyes a nest of popped vessels branching from a milky iris. A white, dry tongue flopped from between its teeth. Her mind rejected the sight, but the man with the head of a dead lamb forced its reality past her defenses.
An apron hung down to the stranger’s knees. He was slouched over Ketrick, a rusted saw gripped in one hand and still wedged inside Ketrick’s throat. Imani never knew blood could be so dark red.
Ketrick’s arteries pumped aimlessly, eyes still blinking.
Black spots flooded Imani’s vision, but she didn’t let herself pass out.
She sank into the depths of her own body, watching the events through a small screen of her eyes, until the dispatcher’s voice brought her back to the surface.
“No,” she whispered.
Footsteps rang on the porch planks, and Imani tensed. On the other side of the door, metal screeched and sparks flew between the rusted saw and railing.
“Please help me,” she said through sealed teeth. One last tear tickled her cheek, and then her eyes dried up.
The doggie door flap hissed, followed by the thud of Ketrick’s head where it landed in front of her. Broken vessels of his eyes leaked into the white.
Imani’s scream rattled the walls of her skull.
