As The Swing Saw It – KILLtober Short Story

The eeriness is only intensified as a breeze tumbles through the playground, and giving the swings a gentle nudge. Lincoln spins around, pulling the shovel high into the air readying it for attack. His heart beats powerfully in his chest as a fine film of sweat seeps from his pours, causing a shiver to erupt throughout his small frame like an earthquake.

“Fuck!” He hisses under his breath as he frantically searched the deserted area for any movement, but the squeaking of the swinging swings is all that seems apparent. He turns back towards the school, letting out a sigh of relief only to be confronted by four unmoving figures standing a few feet before him. He freezes in place, tightening his sweaty hands around the shovels handle, as thick slime drips from the statue like figures mouth’s.

His mind begins to race in several different directions as he frantically attempts to come up with a plan of attack, but the most obvious straight forward approach becomes the only option as the figures launch forward. He swings wildly driving the blade of the shovel into the closest ones skull, it drops to the ground motionless almost instantly. The second one hits him just as he manages to free the shovel to use the long wooden handle as a defensive weapon, holding the snapping teeth of the creature at bay.
After several frantic seconds he forces it backwards, causing it to stumble into one of the others. Quickly he winds up, and swings the shovel like a flat blade, removing its head clean from its shoulders, then in the same motion he swings the shovel back and drives the shovels blade into the third creatures skull.
He has no time to ready himself for the final attacker as it hits him like a freight train, sending them both crashing to the ground. They struggle like a pair of feral cats, screaming and hissing until the creature finally straddles Lincoln and goes in for the kill. Out of desperation he forces his forearm into the line of fire, and the thing bites deeply down on it. Lincoln screams in agony but utilises the few moments he has brought himself to roll the creature over and at the same time pull the now in reach shovel into action, plunging the blade into the things skull.
He flops to the ground exhausted, but knows now more than ever that time is not on his side. He struggles to his knees and looks down at his swollen, puss ridden arm and swallows deeply. Pulling his belt free from his pants he wraps it tightly around his arm just above the elbow, stopping the flow of blood, then takes several deep breaths before using the sharpened edge of the shovels blade to slice his arm free. It takes four blows to finally free the arm from it’s home, then he quickly sutures the wound with torn pieces of his shirt. After several agonising moments he stumbles to his feet, sweat pouring down his brow. He tries to focus his vision onto the school which should be somewhere in front of him, as another small breeze blows through the playground causing the swings to let out a high pitched squeal once more.
He slowly turns around and looks over to the play equipment, only to find himself confronted by a plethora of motionless figures.

“F-Fuck me!” He hisses.

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