Terror on Emerson Ave

It was late. Most of the houses on our street had long since turned out their lights, leaving the quiet streets of Emerson Ave barren and dark, except for the lonely glow of the street lamps. A slight breeze rustled the branches of the mulberry tree outside our window, scraping a single branch against the side of the house. Inside the house, the upstairs neighbors were silent, even the clicking of their dogs claws against the floorboards and long since ceased. It felt as if Gllen and I were the only people awake in the Lowry Hill neighborhood.

We were absent-mindedly playing poker in between commercial breaks of the tv program we were watching... slightly bored, but calm and content with life. Gllen was going all-in on every hand. Flip, flip, flip, flip... I dealt out the cards.

As Gllen was about to bet on his hand, we were startled by a misplaced sound emanating from the kitchen... a long and distinct "Fsssssssssssst". I bolted up in alertness and Gllen immediately silenced the tv. We stared toward the kitchen, unable to move. "What the hell was that?" I finally asked.

Gllen responded, "I have no idea." We both slowly rose from the couch, with cat-like tread approaching the kitchen. We halted at the archway, both of us uneasy. By unspoken need, we both reached for the others hand. We stood, alert for a minute, hands held tightly, surveying the kitchen. The sound was exactly the sound of meat sizzling in a hot pan. But no appliances were mistakenly left on. No food was left unattended.

I extracted my hand from his and told him with a lift of my chin, "Go look back there" indicating the darkened hallway to the bedroom. After a moment's hesitation and some unintelligible sounds that obviuosly meant "why me?", Gllen inched forward, gingerly walking across suddenly loud and squeaking floorboards. Cautiously he peered into the dark bathroom as I surveyed from a safe distance. He flicked the light on and nervously walked inside.

I was holding my breath until he came tip-toeing out and watched as he ventured towards the closed bedroom door. My breath caught in my throat as the door creaked open and he stuck his head in to check for the intruder we were both sure was lurking in there. Silence greeted us.

He walked back to the kitchen slowly, our eyes locked in mutual confusion. What had made that noise, we wordlessly questioned. We were about to resign ourselves to a sleepless night, alert for the unknown attack we both feared. Then Gllen paused by the kitchen sink. Staring at the dish drain, he asked, "could it have been this?" I slowly approached, and there in the sink were five cans of soda. The very cans that had survived the fatal accident that exploded five of their compatriots that afternoon. I had rinsed them all off and left them to dry in the sink. Sure enough, on closer inspection, one of the cans had succumbed to its fate and exploded in the dish drain, slowly fizzing out its life force.

Relief washed through me. "Of course!" I exclaimed. Popping open the lid of the can, I emptied the remaining soda down the drain and tossed it into the recycling. We both grinned at each other, feeling happy and carefree, and laughing at ourselves for standing in the kitchen, holding hands while terror reigned down on us. We will never survive an apocalypse.