Homecoming

• Lauren Davidson, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2015

Stepping out of the taxi, I instantly know something is wrong. The street lamp overhead blinks on and off, barely illuminating what used to be my house. My eyes sweep over broken bottles and pools of murky substances amongst the innards of my beloved toy poodle, Curly. I scoop up Curly’s limp body and hold her to my heaving chest. Bodies are sprawled across the lawn like ragdolls, their crumpled outlines paralysed in unnatural positions. Desperately hoping that I don’t know any of these poor souls, it’s all I can do to imagine that they’re playing an advanced game of sleeping lions because I can’t bear to linger on the worst possibility.
Whoever attacked my house made sure to leave no space unharmed. Picking my way around my sister’s life-size cardboard Barbie who’s been impaled on a fence post, I take a deep breath before hurdling a deflated pool Lilo. Edging towards what was once the front door, I feel my foot slide on something sticky. Doing my best to ignore the heart palpitations, I glance down. My boot is smeared in a deep red liquid. Hurriedly wiping my shoe on the grass, I choke down the bile threatening to leave my throat. I leap over the railing and land at the unhinged doorframe. At the end of the hall I am greeted with another jumble of bodies dumped unceremoniously with their limbs stretching in strange angles. I squint through the dark to see cutlery and music sheets strewn over our antique couches- their insides gutted- and something dripping from the ceiling. I turn to make a quick exit, passing an upside-down grandfather clock and a mask hanging from a fishing line that looks uncannily like my great grandmother.
I can hear sirens in the distance; I wildly decide that I should leave. But before I can begin my muddled path back through the jigsaw of about a hundred meat pies, a movement catches my eye.
Through the smoke of my Dad’s red van with its bonnet ripped off, the silhouette of a man staggers through the wreckage, a baseball bat clutched in one hand. I’m just about to make a run for it when the figure calls out.
“BEST…PARTY…EV-” And with that, he collapses to the ground.