The shits.

I expanded on a story. I posted the beginning on Dec 11th. I will post the whole thing this time, for those who didn't read the first part.
_________________

If it wasn’t from the cheap beer or open-all-night diner food, than it was from nerves. The news said he was out again tonight, and in my area. Living alone in the woods had its advantages but this wasn’t one of them. I was virtually glued to the pot with icky business passing through my guts. I don’t care how tough of a guy you are, the combination of diarrhea and crazy murderer in your area will do anyone in.

My physique normally scares people away. Being well over six feet tall and over three hundred pounds of solid muscle will do that. The shaved head, goatee and tattoos don’t hurt either. But this guy got to me.

The news said they received a report of him seen with a pack of wild dogs. Fitting isn’t it? Some crazy guy running with a pack of wolves? It would be, if that were the case. He wasn’t running with the wolves, he was attacking them. Dismembered may be a better word. My neighbors were finding pieces of animals in various places on their properties.

I had over a hundred acres and as soon as I heard the news I hightailed it out of here, he was targeting tough looking mother fuckers after all. So, I went and got drunk, then got some food well away from here. If pay day wasn’t until tomorrow, I would’ve gotten a hotel room tonight, most of my neighbors had. Sure, I could’ve stayed at the diner all night, but who can have diarrhea in a public bathroom? Not me. No, my tough-looking, leaky ass hauled itself back home to die.

And that’s where I sit, glued to the pot, stinking the universe up to high heaven and wishing that I hadn’t ordered chili cheese fries at the diner. The bathroom was getting dangerously warm. My cheeks were overheated and my breaths were coming in short breaths. I used the newspaper I was reading to fan myself. Reading the article about him wasn’t making me any more comfortable.

The tree outside scratched against the side of the aluminum-sided house. I was in a fucking horror movie. My only saving grace was I didn’t have a basement to run to, a second story to get trapped in or a barn full of sharp implements hanging on the wall. Things could always get worse.

The scraping turned to a sharper, more defined noise, then was replaced with a wet noise. It sounded as if a wet towel had been smacked against something. Turning my torso around, I saw a dark wet spot on the small window behind me. He was here.

Grabbing the shotgun I placed next to the commode, I was ready for action. I could almost smell the musk that was associated with him. I smelled dirt, and blood and death. I’d been in a scrap or two in my life. I knew the smell of fear, but there wasn’t any, at least any that wasn’t coming off me. He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t even angry. Hungry didn’t even cover it, he was just out looking for a good time, but our definition of a good time vastly differed.

My heart rate increased when I heard the screen door open with a creak. Heavy footfalls tromped over my floor. He didn’t even try to conceal his presence. The clomps neared the bathroom, becoming ever louder. He was close enough now that I could hear his wheezing through the door.

He knew I was in here, hell half the neighbors could smell I was in here. I was dumb for coming home, but this was the only place in the world I would choose to make a last stand. I would’ve preferred it to wearing pants and not in the bathroom, but now wasn’t the time to be picky.

Pumping the shotgun into action, I aimed at the door. The second that fucker opened, I was blowing a hole or two in it. Eyeballing down the barrel, my innards rumbled, distracting me. Aww shit, helluva time for another bout. I let my ass explode, no reason to hide, I may as well try to be comfortable.

A thump sounded on the door. The handle turned and the wheezing grew to a higher pitch, coming faster. He was excited. I heard the latch on the door release from its housing. I fired. Then I fired again.

Leaning forward to see my kill that fell through the doorway, I grimaced. That didn’t look like him and the smell wasn’t as strong as I expected it to be. The bloody mangled figure on the floor moved, slowly turning. I fired again. The body landed facing me this time. Fuck! It was my neighbor, who not only had just been shot three times, but had his throat ripped out.

Glass broke behind me and I shot backwards through the window. Glass cut my arms; my pants got stuck on a piece of broken glass. He pulled me harder; my ankle broke as I was forced through the window to the ground.

I closed my eyes and I saw a shadow rise above me. My stomach threatened to revolt at the smell. The shadow rose closer, blinking out the light I saw through my eyelids.

I snuck a peek then. I wish I could say that I couldn’t remember, but I do. That wasn’t my last memory either. The man kept killing, but the killings became more frequent, for now there were two—of us.