‘Not yet.’ Peggy said with mock sternness, and swatted Jenny’s hand away playfully. Jenny giggled, but couldn’t resist reaching out her finger again when Peggy went off to fetch the serving spoon. Paul was standing in the kitchen when she got there, rummaging through the cupboard under the sink.

‘What’s the rule?’ she asked him, hands on hips, tongue in cheek. He looked over his shoulder at her, smirking.

‘Technically, you’re no longer cooking.’ he said wryly. 

‘What are you even doing in here?’

‘Oh you know, just trying to poison you all.’ 

‘Out you go.’

He left without protest, and she gave him a gentle slap on the behind as he went. No one was to step foot inside the kitchen when Peggy was cooking, that was one of her divine rules. Paul could sometimes get away with sitting at the edge of it, (given that it was open-plan), but only if Peggy wanted someone to talk to. She just had to have her way, and he had realised a long time ago that resistance to it was futile. The house in the suburbs with the triple-glazed windows and hardwood floors, the two children, one boy and one girl, born more or less two years apart, were all by design. Peggy’s design. Paul was just a witness, a passenger. But it never seemed to bother him.

He sauntered to the dining room, where Jenny was gently placing down cutlery beside the plates, humming to herself. Peter was standing at the window, peeking through one of the wooden shutters to the street outside. Paul rushed over and closed it immediately, making Peter jump back and gasp.

‘What have I told you about looking out the windows, Pete?’

‘I’m sorry Dad, I didn’t mean to.’

‘You realise how important it is that no light gets outside?’

Peter nodded.

‘I thought I saw something, Dad.’

‘Something like what?’

‘Dunno. Moved too fast. And it’s dark.’ 

‘Where was it?’

‘Across the street. Where Adam lives.’

‘We’ve been over this, Pete. Adam doesn’t live there anymore.’

‘I know, I didn’t say it was him. But it was over there.’

Paul’s eyes went to the window for a moment before they looked back at Peter, who was starting to look anxious. 

‘Why don’t you go help your sister with the dinner table, huh?’ 

‘Okay.’ he said, and went galloping off.

Paul drew the curtains across the shutters, then went and sat down at the table. A trickle of steam was escaping out of the side of the casserole dish, carrying with it a pleasant aroma of meat and vegetables. Paul was nearly salivating as the smell hit his nostrils, desperate to taste it, knowing that he couldn’t.

‘Don’t touch it Daddy.’ Jenny squeaked at him, as if reading his mind. ‘Mummy said it’s hot.’ 

‘Thanks honey, I’ll be sure not to.’

They exchanged smiles, and she went back to setting the table. Peter put a fork down and she shook her head, bossily, just like her mother.

‘No, no, no.’ she groaned, not quite tantruming, but borderline. ‘Forks on the left and knives on the right!’ Peter huffed and looked over at Paul.

‘That’s okay, slick.’ he assured him. ‘I like to use my fork in my right hand anyway.’ 

‘Yeah!’ Peter said triumphantly at her.

‘But that’s not the proper way!’ she snorted, slapping the table with her little hand. ‘Mummy said…’

‘Mummy says stop it, the pair of you!’ Peggy said as she came in from the kitchen. ‘But she’s right Peter, the knives do go on the right.’

When Jenny was sure their mother wasn’t looking, she pulled a face, but before Peter could react, the lights in the dining room flickered, drawing everyone’s eyes towards the ceiling.

‘That’s the burbs for you.’ Paul scoffed.

‘Will you take a look at the fusebox Paul?’ Peggy asked him.

‘Sure thing honey. Right after dinner. Wouldn’t want us to eat in the dark if I screw something up, eh?’

‘Should we be worried?’

‘I don’t think so, hon. I probably just rerouted it wrong.’

‘Hmm. Okay, dear.’ Peggy sighed, before lifting the lid from the casserole dish, flooding the room with a marvelous aroma.

‘Smells amazing dear.’ Paul told her, and felt her scratch the back of his neck in approval. 

‘Now be careful,’ Peggy told them. ‘The dish is still very hot.’

Peter went to poke it when she looked away, and Jenny slapped his hand away. ‘No.’ she told him with disapproval.

‘Hey! Don’t hit me!’

‘Don’t touch it then, Pizza Face!’

Peter’s mouth flew open when she said that, and he was so quick out of the room that he could’ve thrown up dust clouds in his wake. Before anyone could blink, he was up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door behind him. Jenny’s eyes went guiltily to her empty plate, while Peggy sighed. Paul stared at both of them, bemused.

‘What was all that about?’ he asked.

‘He found a spot.’ Peggy answered him, and started spooning the casserole onto their plates. 

‘For real?’

‘Yep. Found it when you were out this morning. I told him it’s from all that junk he’s been eating the last couple months.’

‘Huh. I didn’t notice it.’

‘Under his hair. Good luck trying to get him to cut it now.’

‘Well, I’ll be…’ Paul was chuckling to himself. ‘My little boy’s becoming a man. You should be nicer to him about that Jenny, pretty soon you’ll probably have a few spots of your own.’

‘No.’ she whimpered, and touched her soft little face. 

‘Why don’t you go and apologise to your brother, darling.’

‘He’ll come down on his own.’ Peggy said bluntly, loading a plate for him. ‘He said he was hungry.’

‘Well I don’t blame him.’ Paul said, looking down at his dinner, the savoury-flavoured steam rising into his face and making his eyes water. ‘This looks wonderful honey. I just wish it took less than five business days to cool down.’

Jenny giggled, and Peggy gave him an affectionate roll of the eyes. 

‘Where’s the salt and pepper?’ he asked, looking around the table.

‘Oh, damn.’ Peggy groaned. ‘They must be in the kitchen. I’ll go get ‘em.’

‘No need.’ Paul said, already rising from his seat. ‘You’ve done enough already. I’ll get ‘em. You two tuck in.’

The girls happily obliged, and started slurping the hot, delicious stew. Twice, Peggy had to remind Jenny to blow on her food if she didn’t want it to burn her mouth, and when she did it was so exaggerated that she nearly blew all of it off her spoon. Peggy laughed and rubbed her back softly.

‘You like it?’ Jenny nodded eagerly. ‘Good. Don’t call him Pizza Face, okay?’ Jenny nodded again, but less eagerly, and the two continued eating. Paul came back into the dining room with the salt and pepper shakers clutched in one hand and sat down, when he noticed Jenny grinning at him. She wanted him to do the voice, (as always), and he obliged.

‘Pep-pa!’ he said in a silly, exaggerated voice, and Jenny was overcome with a fit of giggles. 

‘Do it again!’ she pleaded with him.

‘After dinner.’ he said, and winked at her. ‘Tell me how your lessons with Mummy were.’ 

‘It was okay.’ she said, suddenly bashful.

‘Just okay?’ Peggy asked.

‘Yeah, we…’ She stopped suddenly, like something was caught in her throat, then gagged. 

‘Honey?’ Peggy put her cutlery down, and rubbed Jenny’s back. ‘You okay?’

‘My stomach.’ Jenny moaned. ‘It hurts.’

There were no follow-up questions, as before Peggy could ask, Jenny convulsed violently in her chair and grasped at her stomach, her face contorting into a grimace. She made the eeriest sound, like a mouse squeaking in the jaws of a cat, then lurched forward over the table, and projectile vomited onto her plate so that it mixed with the casserole. It turned a slightly brownish colour, but when the second wave came, it was entirely red, a deep crimson which painted the table. Peggy screamed and grabbed Jenny by the arms to force her back before she collapsed, and the little girl trembled in her arms like a rag doll.

‘OH MY GOD!’ she screeched. ‘BABY! WHAT’S WRONG?! WHAT’S HAPPENED BABY?! PAUL! PAUL! HELP ME! CALL AN AMBULANCE! PLEASE!’

She would’ve screamed all night if she could, but a violent punch from a seemingly invisible fist hit her deep in the stomach. She gagged and wretched, with only a little squeal coming out of her mouth as something hot splashed against her vocal chords. The pain knocked her to the floor and there she hurled and vomited the entire contents of her stomach up all over the floor. Tears stung her eyes as she reached up towards Jenny, who had fallen unconscious, head slumped against the table and dribbling fizzy bubbles of reddish foam from her mouth.

‘J-enn-y.’ Peggy gurgled through her burning lips, before another wave of vomit forced its way out of her. She somehow managed to get herself up, her feet slipping in the puddles of puke, and got her elbows onto the table. Her vision had started to blur, and she could feel another wave waiting to come from deep inside of her, ready to jut out with fiery fury. She looked at Jenny, and stroked her gently on the top of the head, but she was lifeless. The bubbles had stopped forming at the corner of her lips and she lay dead against the table. Peggy only had a moment to utter something like a wail before the third wave hit her, which came out in a horrible reddish-yellow colour, all over the hot dish of casserole in the centre of the table.

Afterwards, in that strange euphoria where things became a little clearer, (if only for a second), her eyes adjusted and focused on him. Paul was still sitting at the head of the table, staring at her blankly. He was completely undisturbed, completely passionless, as if it were no more worrying than someone dropping their fork. She stared into those blank eyes of his, eyes that were neither smiling nor crying, then the world spun out of focus. She slumped against the table, bashing her chin before rolling onto the floor, where she convulsed a little more, and then lay lifeless seconds later.

Paul crossed his fingers and interlocked them, sighing.

‘How ‘bout that casserole, huh?’ he said to no one, but paused as if expecting a studio audience to chuckle and cheer. Instead, the room was quiet. 

Paul poured himself another glass of wine and sat back in his chair while he sipped it, thinking about how this had all started. It had begun with the visitation of course, when those creatures crawled out of whatever hell they’d come from and came to Earth. Paul was a sharp man, sharper than most, and he was the only one in the neighbourhood that had taken any precautions when the news broke across the country. A lot of people chose to flee of course, and Paul had wanted to initially, but Peggy insisted they stay, and Peggy always got her way. So, he fortified the house, and rerouted the power so they would have a constant supply, but even that wouldn’t be enough forever. These creatures were deaf and nocturnal, but sooner or later someone was going to make a mistake – likely one of the children. He’d never been happy with Peggy, and the children were her idea, but this was now about survival. No longer could he just go along with things in this twisted new world; in order to survive, he needed to be rid of them. This had seemed like the kindest way, quick, like cattle in an abattoir, but once again, they had found a way to ruin it.

There was an unmistakable click from the top of the stairs, followed by a soft pitter-patter of feet. Paul resented him for storming off earlier; the poison wasn’t painless but at least it was fast, and now he’d have to improvise. Peter crept through the hallway and slowly peered his head into the dining room, his face filling with quivering terror when he saw his mum and sister lying there in bucketfuls of bloody vomit. He started to breathe loudly, annoyingly, looking over at Paul, who sat there like nothing had happened.

‘Dad?’ he whispered, tears spilling from his eyes. ‘Wh-what happened?’

‘It’s okay Peter, they’re fine.’ he said, finishing off his wine. ‘They’re just a little sick is all.’

Peter didn’t look convinced, and Paul knew that it wouldn’t be long until the shock wore off and the boy became hysterical. He got up and moved over to him, trying to calm him.

‘It’s okay buddy. Come here.’

Peter didn’t move, his eyes were locked on his lifeless mother on the floor. Paul saw a small stain growing larger on the crotch of Peter’s trousers, and put his arm around him, softly shushing him.

Peter flinched a little when he did, but he allowed himself to be held and pulled closer. The boy was starting to shiver, and the urine was starting to drip onto the floor, mixing with the pukey mess already there.

‘D-d-dad…’ he stuttered, but Paul drew him closer.

‘It’s okay buddy. It’s okay. Daddy’s got you. Daddy’s here.’

He pulled him tightly to his chest and felt the shivers start to ease slightly, but Peter’s eyes were still bright and bulging, staring at his mum and sister. Paul rubbed his back calmingly and told him everything was going to be okay.

It was quick. Peter’s eyes went wider than they’d ever done, but he didn’t recoil, and had no time to recoil. Paul took the knife that Peggy had cut her dinner with and slid it into Peter’s chest so quickly that the boy barely made a sound. It felt like poking into a grapefruit, that little resistance on the skin and then the smooth plunge into the flesh beneath. He did this three times, and quickly. The boy whimpered and shook a little as Paul let him drop from his arms, a pool of red enveloping him, before that too mixed with the horrific concoction of fluids on the floor. Peter’s eyes remained open, and fixed on Paul even as he breathed his last. Paul made no effort to close them, but didn’t want to look into them. It simply made him uncomfortable.

He went and sat down at the head of the table and let out a long sigh as he poured another glass of wine. The room was very quiet, and Paul was tempted to play something on the stereo. Something cool and upbeat, something to lift the mood a little. Then the lights flickered again, and Peter was alive, and Paul’s fingers were around the handle of the knife, but he couldn’t lift it. If only it were so simple. If only things could go as smoothly as they did in his mind. If only.

Can’t do it, he thought. God, why can’t I fucking do it? Why did you have to go upstairs, huh? Why didn’t you stay down here and eat your fucking casserole like a good boy? Why not? Why can’t I fucking do it? I have to finish this. Finish it, and be rid of you all. Got to do it. Got to. God, why can’t I do it?!

He knew why, of course. It was because he didn’t have to touch the others; all he had to do was go to the cupboard under the sink and fetch the poison, poison for rats, too good for rats, good enough for them. After that it was as simple as pouring it into the casserole and letting them eat it. They were the ones doing it, not him, not directly, not him. That was why. Because here he was, in a room full of corpses without a drop of blood on him. He was clean. He may have poured the poison, but he never forced it to their lips. And in his mind, that made it okay. Meant that he could do it without doing it. He had wanted to do it for so long, just to have a little peace back in his life. But there was the boy, standing there, looking at him, refusing to go peacefully. Now Paul would be forced to get dirty, but he couldn’t. He pictured himself stabbing again and again and again, but he couldn’t make it happen. And he wondered whether he’d ever be able to. Maybe he could get Peter to drink the poison, he could pour him a drink that was one part orange juice, two parts annihilation, and the boy would drink it and in only a matter of minutes, he’d be taken care of too. Problem solved. Peace at last. Stereo on. But the boy wouldn’t do it, he was no idiot, even if he took a drink right now, he’d likely watch Paul pour it.

Why did you have to go upstairs, Pizza Face?

The lights gave a final flicker like a car dying on the side of a highway, and the whole of the house was plunged into darkness. Peter didn’t scream, but Paul could hear him breathing in the dark. Maybe it would be easier in the dark. He’d have to touch him, yes, but he wouldn’t have to see it at least. His hand slithered back over the table and he could feel the hilt of the knife still there, begging to be used. But he still couldn’t bring himself to lift it.

‘Dad?’

‘Yes Peter.’

‘Did they get Mum and Jenny too?’

Paul felt a shiver run down his spine like an electric shock, and he pushed the knife across the table, away from him. Suddenly the smell of the casserole wasn’t so alluring anymore.

‘What did you say?’ he asked desperately in the dark. ‘Peter?’

The boy didn’t answer, but something else did. Upstairs. Glass shattering. Impossibly. Triple-glazed windows should mean that’s impossible. But it was the unmistakable sound of glass splintering and smashing inwards, shards cascading across the hardwood floor because Peggy never wanted carpets. She wanted hardwood because carpets were too tricky to clean and therefore they could hear every tiny fragment of glass crash across the floor. Then the thud, not at all like something landing, but of something stepping. Upstairs, something had just shattered triple-glazed glass like it was a wafer and climbed into the bedroom. And now it was walking across the floor, and because Peggy had never wanted carpets they could hear every step it took. Paul’s heart started to thump against his chest. 

‘Peter.’ he whispered in the dark. ‘Why did you come downstairs?’

‘Cos I saw something in the window,’ he whispered back, his breathing as heavy as whatever it was stalking around up there. ‘I’m sorry, but I opened the shutter cos I wanted to see. Did they get Mummy and Jenny too?’

Paul didn’t answer, he crept away from the dining room towards the door. The thing upstairs was going to get curious, and Paul wanted to be gone before it did. But he was scared, and slapped a hand over his mouth in case he couldn’t help but scream. Whatever was up there, it might not be the only one. Many more could be waiting for him outside.

‘Dad?’

I will have to chance it, he thought. 

‘Dad?’

Run away.

‘Dad? Where are you?’

Get the hell away from this house and drive until the sun comes up.

‘Dad, please.’

And leave the boy.

‘I’m scared.’

Leave him here with whatever it is upstairs.

‘What do we do, Dad?’

Leave him with whatever it is that’s upstairs.

‘Dad?’

No need to get my hands dirty after all.

‘Dad?’

All of them gone, and not a drop of blood on me.

‘Daddy?’

Paul felt the cold night air on his face, and gathered himself for a moment on the doorstep before heading to his car. The street was completely shrouded in darkness, but he could hear the strange, clacking shrieking of the creatures in the night and decided that he’d heard enough. He got into the car, dipping the beams of the headlights so that he could only see the road ahead of him, and drove off into the night. Even inside the car he could hear the creatures screaming, so decided to turn on the stereo. Something cool and upbeat he thought, something to lift the mood a little.