This is today's offering (day 230) for 
Today's picture prompt (below) is a Photo by Alexandru STAVRICĂ on Unsplash
If you missed the start of this story you can catch up!
Part one: https://steemit.com/fiction/@felt.buzz/panic-part-one-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-365daysofwriting-challenge
Part two: https://steemit.com/fiction/@felt.buzz/panic-part-two-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-365daysofwriting-challenge
Part three: https://steemit.com/fiction/@felt.buzz/panic-part-three-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-365daysofwriting-challenge
Part four: https://steemit.com/fiction/@felt.buzz/panic-part-four-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-365daysofwriting-challenge
Part five: https://steemit.com/fiction/@felt.buzz/panic-part-five-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-365daysofwriting
Part six: https://steemit.com/fiction/@felt.buzz/panic-part-6-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-365daysofwriting-challenge
As I drove back to the town, I couldn’t help but think I’d imagined the whole thing. Creepy animals trying to break into Jacob’s place, shimmery ghost man, the many-man-thing, green covered lumbering dead ex lover: none of that shit made any sense in my world. But if I’d imagined the whole thing why was I driving Sandy’s truck like a fucking maniac whilst trying not to shit myself?
Either I was going insane, or the world was. I decided I hoped it was the first one.
As I sped down the road back into town, I had a sudden thought about Mom. She’d be needing the toilet, and and would be wondering where the hell I was. And I didn’t think she would think that being chased by freaky shit was much of an excuse for forgetting to look after your Momma. My mobile wasn’t working: none of us had had a signal since the fire in the Research Facility. I assumed the signal was being blocked somehow, by the same people who were blocking the roads, no doubt.
There was no way of contacting Mom, or the guys back in the town square without doing it in person. Whatever scary shit was going down, Mom took priority - certainly if I didn’t want an earful of nag - so I took the Forest Road, instead of heading directly into town. The plan: check mother was alright set her up with some food and some coffee and then head back into town and tell them what was going on.
As I drove I kept thinking I saw things in the forest: movements, flickering in the corner of my eye. When I looked I couldn’t see anything. Deer, I thought. Maybe some wild hogs.
But somehow I didn’t think so.
I had that same feeling I had on the drive up to the Jacob’s place: a sense of great fear. Something in them there woods weren’t right.
Fuck, nothing about this whole situation was right.
I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but as I steered Sandy’s truck up the steep drive upto the house, I knew there was a whole lot more not right going on.
I opened the door of the truck and paused for a second. It was very quiet. Too quiet. I realised I couldn’t hear anything at all: no birds or other sounds of nature. No car noises, or other mechanical sounds, from anywhere nearby.
And - oddest of all - I couldn’t hear the sound of mother’s television.
Normally, that infernal device was on from six in the morning until midnight. Mother insisted there was nothing wrong with her hearing - “I ain’t deaf!” - but the television volume was always set on the level just above brain-bleed. The only time she turned the thing down during the day was when the doctor or the preacher came round. But no other cars were parked up here. And no one, round here, walked anywhere.
Ever.
I’ve seen people at the mall, just outside of town, sit and wait in their cars for thirty minutes for a space near the entrance, rather than walk an extra fifty yards.
“Mom?” I called, as I opened the front door. No answer. Another bad sign. The only other time I came home to find the television off, the batteries had run out on the remote control, and as soon as I opened the door Mom was hollering telling me to get my “lazy ass up here and turn the television on!”
The good news was there didn’t appear to be any weird shit, going on, like at Ginny Jacobs. No ghostly shimmering figures in the living room, no banging at the door. Nothing with many faces. No green covered ex-girlfriends.
Just that eerie-as-shit silence.
“Mom? Are you okay?” I shouted as I ran up the stairs, two at a time. I fling the door open and Mom is sitting up in bed. She had her head turned away, from me, so I couldn’t see her face. I’ve seen that behaviour before. Worse than shouting and screaming.
Sulking.
It didn’t mean there wouldn’t be any shouting, or screaming, just that you’d have to wait, bide your time until the icy silent treatment melted away to reveal the red-hot anger boiling underneath.
“Come on, Mom,” I said. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had! There are road blocks everywhere, Jerry - you know Jerry: tall man, crap car, smart ass - he got shot, and looks like Ginny Jacobs is dead, and... and Sandy too.” As I said her name, I faltered. In that moment it suddenly hit me.
Sandy was dead.
Killed by fuck knows what and turned into some kind of walking snot-green monster. I felt a lump in my throat and my voice wobbled.
“Come on Mom, I’m sorry. I’ll get you to the toilet and I’ll put the television on, I’ll-” I stopped, mid sentence - as I glanced up at the television and saw it was actually on. It seemed to be showing some kind of horror film - not my mother’s usual afternoon television fodder - she was more of a quiz show fanatic.
“Oh,” I said. “Okay. Is there a problem with the sound?” I reached for the remote that sat on the bed next to Mom’s hand.
Mom’s hand clasped mine. A sudden movement that made me jump.
“Sh- sugar! You scared the pants off of me. Hey, we need to get your nails cut, they’re kinda hurting me.” I tried to pull my hand away, but Mom just gripped tighter. I could see the skin on my hand turning white where her fingers dug in. I never knew the old girl had such strength.
“Can you let go, Mom?” I used my other hand to try to prise her fingers loose. “Look I know you’re angry with me, but there is some real weird sh- stuff going on. I think it has something to do with the Research Facility, and…”
My mother’s head - or what I had thought to be my mother’s head - turned towards me. Her face - admittedly normally pretty thin and pasty - looked like a empty husk of whiteness. Her eyes were rolled back in her head, whites showing. It was like some kind of scary-assed zombie type affair.
I don’t mind telling you: I screamed like a little girl.
She smiled then. A big wide smile that seemed to crack her face like mud on a dried-out river bed. And then her mouth fell open and the smell of decay swept out of it, followed by a swarm of buzzing winged insects that flew out of the gaping hole and straight at my face.
I screamed again.