a mighty gasp.
The other was that a sound came from out in the alley proper, penetrating the silent bubble that had enveloped their horrid little cave, cutting through the shock fogging Hillary’s mind and bringing back the drama unfolding in the alley where Mrs. Redfern was trying to save them all: the slap of flesh striking flesh and a woman’s voice crying out in pain.
The thing that had been Valerie whirled to face the sound, moving so fast spittle flew from its half-open mouth, spraying the air in an arc before it. Hillary could see now just how far the thing’s muzzle protruded—an inhuman profile. Dropping into a crouch, it flexed shoulders that strained the seams of Valerie’s sweatshirt, thick and humped with so much muscle the head was thrust forward on its powerful neck. Those black lips, already skinned back, now peeled all the way to the dark flaring nostrils, baring fangs as long as Hillary’s fingers: a full nightmare’s-worth of teeth.
The thing loosed a growl, the sound reaching out to tickle the base of Hillary’s spine with fingers of ice. She might have whimpered in fear, but there wasn’t time. The rumble deep within its chest exploded into a roar as the thing launched itself into motion, so fluid and fast that one instant it was there, the next it was gone. Hillary caught a glimpse of its sock-clad feet, the cotton shockingly white under the bright security lamp, disappearing from view as the thing leapt out into the alley.
Distracted as she was by the black spots flicking in front of her eyes, she noticed the thing’s toes had burst through the socks, just as long and taloned as those crooked fingers. She stared at the scratches the hooked claws had left in the cement; just stared and listened to the sounds of the beast roaring and men screaming, one of them fading into the distance while the other remained somewhere close by, shrieking again and again until the sound cut off with the finality of a slamming door. The scratch marks grew closer as the dumpster slid up her back, those flicking black spots multiplying until they finally blocked out the world, and she let herself fall into their embrace.
Hillary woke to a sound; a noise she knew she should recognize, but her head was filled with fog, and she couldn’t quite connect the dots.
She also felt cement against her face. She pushed herself up from the ground, looking around bleary-eyed, finding nothing but dumpsters.
Dumpsters?
It all came back, a splash of cold water to the face—the movie, the men, the running . . . and then Valerie. Valerie going away and that terrible thing taking her place, that thing that had worn Valerie’s clothes, had stood in Valerie’s place like it was . . . like it was . . .
. . . like it was Valerie?
The last thing she remembered was the Valerie-thing leaping, the men screaming—and she suddenly recognized the sound. Somewhere nearby, a young girl was crying. Weeping like her heart was breaking in two and she wasn’t sure yet whether she’d survive. Someone was murmuring quiet words of comfort. Hillary could make out nothing of the words, but recognized the voice of the girl doing the sobbing—and was surprised. It was a voice she’d heard laughing, being tough, being funny, but never crying. Not even once, no matter how mean the other kids were at school. It sounded like—
“Valerie?”
The word was a croak, her mouth too dry. She worked her tongue, trying to dredge up some moisture. The rough cement bit her palms, then her bruised and painful knees as she slowly got to her feet, her voice coming as saliva found her mouth.
“Valerie?”
Louder, but there was still no response. She looked out into the open and her eye was caught by something she hadn’t noticed before: boots, large and black, lying on the tarmac. Jeans-clad legs sprouted from the boots, sprawling across the ground past the edge of one of the dumpsters sheltering her and out of sight. Her voice came a
The other was that a sound came from out in the alley proper, penetrating the silent bubble that had enveloped their horrid little cave, cutting through the shock fogging Hillary’s mind and bringing back the drama unfolding in the alley where Mrs. Redfern was trying to save them all: the slap of flesh striking flesh and a woman’s voice crying out in pain.
The thing that had been Valerie whirled to face the sound, moving so fast spittle flew from its half-open mouth, spraying the air in an arc before it. Hillary could see now just how far the thing’s muzzle protruded—an inhuman profile. Dropping into a crouch, it flexed shoulders that strained the seams of Valerie’s sweatshirt, thick and humped with so much muscle the head was thrust forward on its powerful neck. Those black lips, already skinned back, now peeled all the way to the dark flaring nostrils, baring fangs as long as Hillary’s fingers: a full nightmare’s-worth of teeth.
The thing loosed a growl, the sound reaching out to tickle the base of Hillary’s spine with fingers of ice. She might have whimpered in fear, but there wasn’t time. The rumble deep within its chest exploded into a roar as the thing launched itself into motion, so fluid and fast that one instant it was there, the next it was gone. Hillary caught a glimpse of its sock-clad feet, the cotton shockingly white under the bright security lamp, disappearing from view as the thing leapt out into the alley.
Distracted as she was by the black spots flicking in front of her eyes, she noticed the thing’s toes had burst through the socks, just as long and taloned as those crooked fingers. She stared at the scratches the hooked claws had left in the cement; just stared and listened to the sounds of the beast roaring and men screaming, one of them fading into the distance while the other remained somewhere close by, shrieking again and again until the sound cut off with the finality of a slamming door. The scratch marks grew closer as the dumpster slid up her back, those flicking black spots multiplying until they finally blocked out the world, and she let herself fall into their embrace.
Hillary woke to a sound; a noise she knew she should recognize, but her head was filled with fog, and she couldn’t quite connect the dots.
She also felt cement against her face. She pushed herself up from the ground, looking around bleary-eyed, finding nothing but dumpsters.
Dumpsters?
It all came back, a splash of cold water to the face—the movie, the men, the running . . . and then Valerie. Valerie going away and that terrible thing taking her place, that thing that had worn Valerie’s clothes, had stood in Valerie’s place like it was . . . like it was . . .
. . . like it was Valerie?
The last thing she remembered was the Valerie-thing leaping, the men screaming—and she suddenly recognized the sound. Somewhere nearby, a young girl was crying. Weeping like her heart was breaking in two and she wasn’t sure yet whether she’d survive. Someone was murmuring quiet words of comfort. Hillary could make out nothing of the words, but recognized the voice of the girl doing the sobbing—and was surprised. It was a voice she’d heard laughing, being tough, being funny, but never crying. Not even once, no matter how mean the other kids were at school. It sounded like—
“Valerie?”
The word was a croak, her mouth too dry. She worked her tongue, trying to dredge up some moisture. The rough cement bit her palms, then her bruised and painful knees as she slowly got to her feet, her voice coming as saliva found her mouth.
“Valerie?”
Louder, but there was still no response. She looked out into the open and her eye was caught by something she hadn’t noticed before: boots, large and black, lying on the tarmac. Jeans-clad legs sprouted from the boots, sprawling across the ground past the edge of one of the dumpsters sheltering her and out of sight. Her voice came a
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