Redhouse II
A crazy man was birthed through the plastic slit in the greenhouse wall. Lydia stood stupefied at the juxtaposition of realities. Her serenity was being destroyed by a knife wielding lunatic, but her mind and her motor still seemed to be in disagreement.
“Oh my God, Gerald. Look at that man,” the woman said, pointing with her manicured finger, “What’s he doing?”
It was the whine of her voice, not the squirming grunts of the maniac, which set Lydia into motion. The tone and the choice of words summoned a B-movie horror soundtrack to mind and she bolted.
“What? What are you yammering about?” the husband replied.
Ripping plastic and crunching flower flats painted the killer only a few feet behind Lydia’s own efforts to navigate the narrow confines of the greenhouse aisles. She marveled as horror dawned on the slug couple’s faces. Not at the blood soaked man behind her, just at her sprinting towards them at full tilt.
“Go! Run!” Lydia shouted, flailing her arms, “He’s got a knife!”
“What are you doing?” the woman said, stumbling backward into her husband. They balanced in a precarious grunting dance for a few seconds before crashing into a dianthus display.
A scream erupted elsewhere in the greenhouse as Lydia gauged her leap over the toppled couple.