Cinder Hollow: Story 1, Part 5 (Final Part)

A horror miniseries

“Rosa”

Rosa tensed, stepping back as the commotion unfolded in front of her. The humans were in a panic, either trying to help the old man to his feet or glancing around with that familiar, terrified gaze they always seemed to have in her presence — well, when she was in her true form, that is.

"She’s here!" he screamed, shaking on the floor just as he had in the forest the other week. "She’ll kill us all — she’ll kill us all!"

The old fool's hysterics only fueled the fear, its stench thickening in the air. The room buzzed with anxious whispers and sharp, uneasy shouts:

"What’s he talking about?"
"Who’s gonna kill us?"
"Somebody help him up!"
"Get him some water!"
"Calm down, Bill."

Bill. She stood frozen in the doorway behind the bar, her thoughts racing. So that’s his name.

She remembered him well. The one she’d spared, allowing herself a closer look at the humans before making her move. He’d been useful to her then — until they'd covered his eye sockets, cutting her off and plunging her into darkness once more. She had known they’d probably do that, even with her limited understanding of their ways.

But what she hadn’t known was how this man, blind and helpless, could still sense her. Even now.

It didn’t make sense. The connection had always been her ability, not one possessed by these weak, fragile creatures. And yet, here he was, writhing on the floor, aware of her presence in a way that defied explanation.

If she'd known, she would have ripped his throat out long ago.

Everything in her instincts screamed for her to run, to slip away unnoticed before they realized who — or rather, what — he was screaming about. But curiosity kept her rooted in place, heart pounding. What was this strange link between them? And why hadn't she noticed it sooner?

Still, she hesitated. These humans had proven to be stupid, laughably so. She had walked among them for seven moons, and not one of them had suspected she was different. Not even the ones they called Ross and Vickers, who were supposed to be hunters of sorts. Why should they suddenly realize now?

At last, Bill was helped to his feet. Vickers had him by the arm and was leading him to a table in the far corner. "Let’s take a seat, buddy."

Bill was sobbing quietly now, the hysteria draining from his voice, but his body still shaking with palpable fear.

"He shouldn’t be out and about yet," Loretta muttered, her gaze fixed on Bill as she leaned in close to Ross. "It’s too soon."

Ross nodded, her expression tight. Even from where Rosa stood, she could sense the younger woman’s unease. Something about this place — or perhaps this night — was rattling her more than usual.

And then, all at once, Rosa felt the weight of Ross’ eyes shift toward her, lingering for a second too long. Did she sense it too? Was something in the air around Rosa tipping her off?

Loretta’s voice cut through her thoughts. "Rosa, honey — go bring Bill a glass of water."

Rosa froze. Her pulse quickened as she caught a glimpse of Bill from across the room, trembling even more violently now that Vickers had seated him. It was as if, even from this distance, he knew.

A creeping dread slid over her skin. What would happen if she got too close? Would Bill start screaming again? Pointing at her, shouting about the thing they still didn’t realize stood in their midst?

And worse still — what if Ross or Vickers noticed?

For the first time in what felt like ages, Rosa was unsure. Her instincts were telling her to flee. Her curiosity was whispering, wait. And all the while, the humans continued to swirl in confusion, oblivious to the predator in their midst.

“Rosa,” Loretta waved her hand impatiently. “Did you hear what I said? Bring Bill a glass of water.”

“Yes, boss,” Rosa muttered.

Her hands fumbled as she grabbed a glass and shoved it under the tap. She twisted the faucet too far, and water exploded out, soaking her sleeve. “Shit.” The humans seemed to love that word, and it had quickly become her favorite too.

She shook off the water, grabbed another glass, and turned the tap gently this time, watching the stream fill it up. As the water flowed, she found herself counting the guns in the room. Ross had one on her hip, and Vickers undoubtedly had one tucked under his coat. A few of the regulars always carried theirs, tucked away in jackets or concealed in handbags.

Ten guns, maybe more. All in the hands of drunk, careless humans. What would the odds be of her surviving if one of them figured out what she really was?

Her hand trembled as she crossed the room, the water swishing dangerously close to the rim. Suddenly, she was aware of every movement — each carefully practiced step, the way she held her body, her forced smile. It was like the first night here all over again, that terrible anticipation of being found out, waiting for someone to see through her disguise.

Vickers’ eyes were on her before she even reached the table, narrowing in suspicion. He knows, she thought. He’s waiting for me to slip up. And Bill — Bill was still trembling, his head twisting as if searching, as though he could somehow see her. The connection between them buzzed in the air like static.

She took a deep breath. Relax, they don’t know anything. With what she hoped was steady composure, she placed the glass in front of Bill.

And then he screamed.

Rosa jumped back as Vickers and the others rushed to calm him, their voices overlapping in confusion:

“She’s here, I tell you. She’s here! Right here, in this bar — I can feel her!”

“Here, Bill. Drink this.”

“Maybe tonight wasn’t a good idea.”

“You’re not ready to be out yet, buddy.”

“You’ve been through hell.”

While they huddled around Bill, Rosa made a quiet move to retreat — to just slip back behind the bar, away from their eyes. But—

“Rosa.”

Vickers’ voice cut through the noise like a sharp blade. Her heart seized. He knows.

She turned slowly, keeping her movements deliberate, cautious, ready to bolt for the door if she had to. “Yes?” she asked, her voice betraying the slightest rasp she’d been trying to suppress all week.

Vickers stared her down, his square jaw rigid, eyes scanning her from head to toe. His hand moved to his coat, slipping inside—

Rosa braced herself.

But instead of pulling out a gun, Vickers withdrew two crumpled twenty-dollar bills. “Get me and the boys a round of whiskeys, would you?”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Of course,” she said, taking the money from his hand.

*****

A while later, Bill got up to leave, apologizing to everyone for ruining their night, though still visibly shaken. Vickers led him by the arm, exchanging a serious look with Ross before guiding the old man through the exit. Most of the crowd trickled out shortly after, the noise in the bar dropping to a whisper.

Rosa sighed, safe for now. And all alone with the beautiful one.

Ross was still seated at the bar, her sparkling emerald eyes now glazed and watery, thanks to the tequila. Her head rested heavily on her hand as she looked up at Rosa, giving her a lazy smile.

Rosa mirrored the smile. “You’re beautiful.”

Ross’ cheeks flushed pink — a fascinating reaction. Surely, that was a good sign. She held Rosa’s gaze a little longer than needed, then looked away, giggling. “Says you.”

Rosa’s stomach fluttered. She really thinks I’m beautiful.

She checked her frizzy hair in the mirror behind the bar, sighing when it refused to sit the way she’d seen in magazines. How any human, especially Ross, could possibly find her beautiful, she didn’t quite understand. Still, her mind thrummed with excitement, wondering how humans measured attraction and what these odd responses — giggling, blushing — were meant to convey. It was a code she desperately wanted to decipher.

Rosa leaned over the bar until her face was inches from Ross’, their lips almost touching. She could feel the girl’s tequila-laced breath, warm and sweet. Her mind raced back to lines she’d overheard the male bartenders use on drunken women. She lowered her voice, trying to match their tone. “Let’s go back to your place.”

Ross’ smiled faded, her nervous eyes widening just a fraction. She gulped, blinking as though a small wave of hesitation rippled through her, but then her smile returned. “Alright then.”

Ross

Ross opened her eyes with a gasp, instantly aware of it — pain.

She whimpered, rubbing her forehead. Her brain felt like a peanut bouncing around inside her tin-can skull, each throb echoing in waves over her temples. She licked her cracked lips, but there wasn’t a drop of moisture to be found; her mouth felt like the inside of a rabbit hutch, dusty and stale.

Then it all came flooding back to her. The beer, the many, many tequila shots, and—

“Good morning.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. She rolled over, finding Rosa lying in bed beside her, eyes bright and lips pulled into a knowing smile. How long had she been awake, just lying there, watching her sleep?

“Oh… hi,” Ross muttered, clutching the cover to her neck. She’d never enjoyed one-night stands; the awkwardness the next morning usually wasn’t worth it. She really would’ve preferred if Rosa had just… slipped out. “Uhm… do you want some coff—”

Before she could finish, Rosa leaned in and kissed her, her lips as soft and sweet as last night. All Ross could think about was her own stale breath. She pulled back quickly, her voice low. “Listen,” she began, looking away. “About last night — that’s, uh, not really my style. I prefer to, you know, get to know someone first…”

Her voice trailed off as she felt Rosa’s fingers trace a slow path up her inner thigh. Whatever excuses she’d planned to make evaporated. Tilting back toward her, she returned the kiss, her only remaining thought one of guilt as she considered calling in sick today.

*****

Ross woke again, this time to her phone vibrating on the makeshift bedside table, a giant cardboard box she’d been using since she moved in. She groaned, fumbling for the phone, and when she saw who was calling, her stomach dropped — Vickers. Shit. She was now late for work and hadn’t bothered to call in sick.

She cleared her throat, practicing her “sick voice.”

“Hey, Vickers,” she muttered, then coughed for effect. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it in—”

“Shut up for a second.” His voice was sharp, and his car engine revved in the background like he was tearing down the road. “Are you alone?”

Ross squinted around the room, groggy, her head still spinning. In the kitchen, through the bedroom door, she spotted Rosa’s naked form moving around, opening cupboards, inspecting the labels on tins as if reading a foreign language. She almost laughed.

“I… I can talk,” she said, trying to shake off the sleepiness. “Why?”

“Did Rosa stay at yours last night?”

Ross frowned, feeling slightly embarrassed but mostly annoyed. “Why would you even ask—”

“Answer the fucking question!” His voice snapped.

“Alright!” she hissed. “Yeah, she’s here.”

“Is she with you right now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ross,” he said, his voice trembling. “You need to get out of there. Right now.”

“What?” she whispered. “What the hell’s going on?”

Vickers took a deep breath. “Bill called me this morning. Said he had another vision. This time it was a young woman — blonde hair, in bed, surrounded by cardboard boxes.”

The gears in her head started to turn, but her gut tightened faster, twisting into a sick knot. She looked again toward the kitchen and froze: Rosa had picked up a jar of instant coffee, and was tipping a spoonful into her mouth. She coughed and choked as she spat it into the sink, scraping the granules from her tongue… a forked tongue, one the length of her arm.

Ross’ stomach twisted, a chill crawling up her spine and spreading out across her skin in icy prickles. Holy fuck.

Vickers’ voice came through the phone, low and shaking. “Ross, it’s her. Rosa is the Fauxra.”

Ross sat trembling at the top of her bed, trying to speak, but fear had stolen her voice. The monster they’d been after, the one who’d killed at least half a dozen people — and eaten some of them — had spent the night with her.

“Ross, are you still there?” Vickers’ voice buzzed in her ear.

“Mhm,” she managed, fighting the urge to scream, to cry, to jump out her bedroom window.

“Look, just stay calm; I’m on my way. In the meantime, try to act normal, okay?”

“Okay.” She hung up, then took a shaky breath. He was right; any hope of staying alive hinged on remaining calm. She would have to act, to smile, to do anything but let this thing know she’d figured it out.

Get up, she ordered herself. She threw on her uniform from last night, then forced a tight-lipped smile onto her face. Just a normal day. Everything’s fine.

When she stepped into the kitchen, she found Rosa bent over the sink, drinking water straight from the tap. Ross cleared her throat, voice catching. “Coffee?”

Rosa turned slowly, wiping the water from her mouth with her arm. Her gaze narrowed, and Ross caught a hint of something alien in her eyes — a dark glint that made her stomach twist. The coffee granules clinging to Rosa’s chin mixed with the water, forming a dark, messy smear.

The same smile that had charmed her last night was still there, but now it seemed sharper, too wide, like she was forcing herself to keep her true face hidden. Another chill crept up her spine. She wasn’t looking at a human; she was looking at a predator.

“Just water,” the Fauxra said in a low voice, almost like a warning.

Trying to keep her hands from trembling, Ross grabbed a glass and filled it from the sink, passing it over with a shaky smile. Then, as she reached for the kettle, something caught her eye: a full jar of sugar on the counter. Her mind raced. She filled the kettle, adding the sugar in too. The rumbling sound of the boil filled the silence as she fought to keep herself busy.

The Fauxra edged closer, wrapping her arms around Ross’ waist. The creature’s warm breath brushed her ear, almost like she was savoring Ross’ scent. “You smell… delicious.”

Ross stifled a shudder. “Th-thank you.” She squirmed out of her grip and grabbed a teaspoon from the dishwasher.

“You’re welcome,” said the Fauxra, her voice a low purr. “But I have to say, you smell a little different than you did last night.”

Fear pulsed through her, prickling her skin, but she kept her expression neutral. “That’s probably because I need to shower.”

“No… that’s not it.” The Fauxra’s face drew close to Ross’, and she took a long, slow breath, her nostrils flaring. “You had this same smell when you called me beautiful… in the forest.”

Ross’ heart thudded in her chest. She knows I know.

“I’ve smelled it on other humans too — Bill, Derek, half the bar last night.” The Fauxra took another step closer, until Ross could feel the faint press of her breathing against her cheek. “Do you know what it is?” Her voice was barely a whisper, a predator toying with its prey. “It’s fear.”

The kettle clicked, breaking the silence.

In one swift movement, Ross grabbed it, yanked off the lid, and flung the boiling, sugary water in the Fauxra’s face.

The creature crashed to the floor, screaming and writhing like a wounded animal. This was Ross’ chance.

She dodged splashes of the scalding sugar water as she sprinted toward the front door… but she was too slow. The Fauxra darted across the floor and blocked her path. One side of her face was now a blistered horror, where melted human skin had sloughed away, revealing something black as tar underneath — crusted, slimy, not remotely human.

With a wild swing of her arm, she sent Ross hurtling across the room. Ross’ hands shot out to brace herself, but she collided hard with the open dishwasher. Her fingers closed around something — cold steel. A steak knife. She fell to the floor, clutching it beneath her body.

The Fauxra let out a raspy laugh, her voice suddenly dark and guttural. “I really liked you, Emily. What a shame.”

She seized Ross by the shirt, yanking her to her feet. But Ross had the blade ready, fingers tight around the handle.

In a flash, she struck, ramming the knife deep into the Fauxra’s eye.

The Fauxra’s scream was a harsh, inhuman wail, and she staggered back, releasing Ross as she fell to her knees.

Ross bolted for the door, yanking it open and scrambling for the stairs, the creature scurrying after her, claws scraping against the tiled floor.

But it caught her again. With a growl, it swiped at her leg, sending her tumbling down the flight of stairs. She landed with a sickening crack in her ankle.

She tried to get up, but her ankle buckled, and she collapsed, pain blurring her vision.

Keep moving, she told herself, though it felt hopeless. The Fauxra swept down the stairs, strolling toward her. “If you stop fighting, I’ll let you live. I’ll only take your eyes.”

“Fuck you.” Ross gritted her teeth and kept crawling.

The Fauxra sighed. “Have it your way,” she said, reaching down to squeeze Ross’s broken ankle.

Ross screamed, the blinding pain unlike anything she’d ever felt as her broken bones ground beneath the Fauxra’s grip. For a moment, she prayed to pass out before it tore her apart.

Then the front door burst open.

Vickers fired his shotgun, blowing a hole in the Fauxra’s chest. The creature flew back to the stairs, and Vickers hauled Ross up. “Come on, Rookie — let’s go!”

With an arm over Vickers’ shoulder, Ross hobbled into the street, where his car sat parked on the sidewalk just a few feet from her front door.

He leaned her against the car, then popped the trunk and handed her a shotgun. “Get ready.”

Ross cocked the shotgun. Together, they aimed at the open door, waiting for the Fauxra.

They didn’t have to wait long. The creature burst out, screaming and wailing, black tar spilling from the gaping hole in its chest.

They fired. Then fired again. And again. And again.

They kept firing until the creature was no more than a pile of broken body parts, some still squirming on their own.

Vickers walked over, pulling out his hip flask and emptying it onto the creature. Then he struck a match, setting the remains ablaze.

Sirens wailed in the distance as he walked back over. He opened the back door, helping Ross sit across the seat with her ankle resting up. Then, smiling, he handed her a full hip flask. “Always keep a spare. You know, for emergencies.”

Ross took a big gulp, the burn in her throat helping to dull the throbbing in her ankle.

Vickers leaned against the front seat, exhaustion hanging off him like his wrinkled coat. “Think it’s safe to say you’ve passed your probation. Planning to stick around?”

Ross met his eyes, replaying their last conversation and the doubts about him she'd wrestled with. “We still have to figure out what happened to Hayes.”

Vickers’ expression tightened, but something softened around his eyes as he held her gaze. No words were needed; she knew he understood.

A small smirk broke through her pain. “But the next monster we run into, it’s your turn to sleep with it.”

Vickers chuckled, low and hoarse. “You got yourself a deal.”