3.9 Actions

by Matt P.

“Get back!” Walter shouted as the man came at him. The man was so fast all he had time to do was get his hands in vaguely the right place to move the thrust. As the other man bowled in to him Walter managed to push just enough that when he was slammed back into one of the kitchen counters, the blade buried itself in the counter to the hilt.

Scrambling, Walter reached out and grabbed the closest item from the counter to use as a weapon, and with a wet thunk slammed it into the attacker’s head. The bunch of bananas burst with a splurt, and for a moment the other man and Walter just stared at each other. The man had blue eyes so pale they could have been gray, almost a match for his gray hair—although he obviously wasn’t old. His features were as sharp as a knife, although not apparently as sharp as his knife, since the counter was marble.

Walter and the man shared the look for a moment before Walter shrugged, which seemed to be the signal to resume. The man, who Walter dubbed Ninja Grandpa (for his gray hair and distressing speed), drew his blade out of the marble like he was the true King of England, as Walter reached for another weapon. Ninja Grandpa pulled his arm back and began thrusting it forward again for a killing blow. Walter shoved against the man and grunted at the rock solid muscle the thin man kept somewhere, but managed to throw him off just enough that he missed his stab. After which Walter clobbered him on the side of the head with a frying pan from the sink, leaving the man with traces of breakfast on his face as he reeled back and away. He followed it up with a kick to Ninja Grandpa’s knee which should have put him on the ground but felt more like he had kicked a statue; all it got him was a couple inches of room when the would-be killer stumbled back.

“Welcome to pan’s labyrinth, dick.” Walter grunted at the man’s apparent shock and pain at the kitchenware smiting, although the fact that the attacker was still standing at all was really starting to worry him.

“Walter!” Morgan shouted, drawing his eyes for a moment. She had grabbed the fireplace poker and thrown it at him, apparently trusting him to catch it. With a grunt of effort he did, barely, and stumbled back and away from his attacker. The man hesitated for a moment but then came in a blur of speed. His first two attacks were just to cut, apparently, as the sliced through cloth and drew blood at the shoulder and the leg, before he once again lunged for the kill. Walter brought up the poker in a desperate warding motion, hoping only to move the strange knife far enough he could survive the next wound.

He was completely unprepared when instead of meeting resistance the poker shattered the knife in a spray of metal shards. It left the attacker unbalanced but still moving in the thrusting motion, which resulted in Walter being punched in the chest. He heard a rib crack, and the force of it sent him to the floor with a gasp of pain and a curse. The other man stared dumbstruck at his knife for a moment before he looked toward Morgan in outrage and anger. He started to take a step toward them until what had to be the fourth oddest thing Walter had seen all night came in through the door.

Antigone and Siobhan burst in the still open door, both still dressed for the party but neither of them wearing shoes, panting heavily. Their eyes were wide with fright, almost too wide as they took in the scene.

Ninja Grandpa stared in shock himself, as if seeing something wholly unexpected. Walter could sympathize as he pulled himself up to his feet.

“Not everyone at once.” The man said, although whether it was to himself or to the group at large was impossible to tell. All at once he ran. Not toward the door but toward the broom closet, opening the door and closing it behind him. All at once there was a sound of flapping wings and when the door to the closet swung open, it was empty save for a fluttering pair of black feathers drifting down.

Almost at the same moment seven cop cars, lights blaring, roared up on to the lawn outside and started disgorging police like they were clowns. Walter just stared; at his house, at Morgan, at his children, and at his apparently magical freaking broom closet.

“Does anyone have any idea what the hell just happened?” He asked, to thundering silence from all.