“Oh, dear God,” Sam exclaimed thickly as his stomach joined his mind in utter rebellion. “What the fuck did you do?”
When Sam turned back to face the young woman, he encountered not a shell-shocked pretty girl but something from a nightmare vista.
Her hands clenched and unclenched. Having grown bird-like talons, scraps of skin were dug away every time she plunged them into and then loosened them from her palms. She drooled heavily, thick yellow and black liquid that Sam could smell from feet away-the sickly scent of pus and infection. Her eyes rolled like they were trying to escape the hated confines of her sockets. As Sam watched, her silky yellow hair began to fall out and her girl-next-door baby blues became milky like the eyes of a fairytale crone.
“When I did it, I hated it,” the girl said and her voice was a repellant gurgle. “But then I listened and it told me. I didn’t want it. Didn’t want it, so they took it. And now, it will take me.”
Sam didn’t know what had happened to her from one moment to the next, but he knew that what she had been was nothing like what she was now. This was something alien and infectious; something that had taken away the person she had been and replaced it with a darkness Sam was quite sure could not be eradicated.
What he was seeing here was the same phenomenon that had claimed the girl that had killed Dennis. Different form, different appearance, but the same sickness. And, he was quite sure; the same ability to kill him the way the small girl had killed his partner.
“Now just calm down, sweetheart,” Sam said in the voice he used to pacify victims of fires. “You don’t want to do anything rash.”
She laughed and the sound crawled along Sam’s skin like some slimy, multi-legged thing. Sam was sure he had only a few moments before she was entirely gone and whatever had claimed her would try to do to him what the thing in possession of the little girl had done to Dennis.
As Sam was starting his next sentence with, “Now just,” she leapt.
With a grunt, Sam dodged to the left, missing being gutted by those vulture-like talons by scant inches. She came at him again, with a growl more suited to a bear in a darkened wood than what had just been a pretty young woman in a suburban home.
Sam tried to bolt for the door, but she anticipated the move and caught him across the face with one of those clawed hands. Her nails tore through his skin and he cried out in shock and pain. Blood blurred his right eye and he stumbled into the long dresser with makeup all over it. Bottles of nail polish and perfume tumbled over and hit the floor as Sam tried to avoid doing the same.
She didn’t say anything, but gave another one of those gurgling, hair-raising giggles as she raised her wicked, harpy-like claws in challenge. Sam knew if he didn’t make it out the door on this attempt, he most likely would not make it out at all.
Sam looked quickly around the room for a weapon as blood burned his right eye. Through the red film, he saw nothing that would avail itself as an appropriate means of defense.
Trying to circle the young woman in order to clear his way to the door, Sam only succeeded in pushing her closer to the hallway. She smirked at him from the doorway and clicked the tips of her claws together; one fingertip at a time to the tip of her thumb in a measured pace. The effect of this vaguely threatening display was greatly disturbing.
Sam wiped blood from his eye and off his cheek with a shaking hand. He didn’t know how to get through her, and he didn’t want to try testing her to a barehanded duel. He didn’t have razors for fingernails.
With a snarl, she lunged forward. Sam gave a shout of alarm and held up both hands in what he was sure was a futile attempt to stave off her attack. Without realizing it, he closed his
When Sam turned back to face the young woman, he encountered not a shell-shocked pretty girl but something from a nightmare vista.
Her hands clenched and unclenched. Having grown bird-like talons, scraps of skin were dug away every time she plunged them into and then loosened them from her palms. She drooled heavily, thick yellow and black liquid that Sam could smell from feet away-the sickly scent of pus and infection. Her eyes rolled like they were trying to escape the hated confines of her sockets. As Sam watched, her silky yellow hair began to fall out and her girl-next-door baby blues became milky like the eyes of a fairytale crone.
“When I did it, I hated it,” the girl said and her voice was a repellant gurgle. “But then I listened and it told me. I didn’t want it. Didn’t want it, so they took it. And now, it will take me.”
Sam didn’t know what had happened to her from one moment to the next, but he knew that what she had been was nothing like what she was now. This was something alien and infectious; something that had taken away the person she had been and replaced it with a darkness Sam was quite sure could not be eradicated.
What he was seeing here was the same phenomenon that had claimed the girl that had killed Dennis. Different form, different appearance, but the same sickness. And, he was quite sure; the same ability to kill him the way the small girl had killed his partner.
“Now just calm down, sweetheart,” Sam said in the voice he used to pacify victims of fires. “You don’t want to do anything rash.”
She laughed and the sound crawled along Sam’s skin like some slimy, multi-legged thing. Sam was sure he had only a few moments before she was entirely gone and whatever had claimed her would try to do to him what the thing in possession of the little girl had done to Dennis.
As Sam was starting his next sentence with, “Now just,” she leapt.
With a grunt, Sam dodged to the left, missing being gutted by those vulture-like talons by scant inches. She came at him again, with a growl more suited to a bear in a darkened wood than what had just been a pretty young woman in a suburban home.
Sam tried to bolt for the door, but she anticipated the move and caught him across the face with one of those clawed hands. Her nails tore through his skin and he cried out in shock and pain. Blood blurred his right eye and he stumbled into the long dresser with makeup all over it. Bottles of nail polish and perfume tumbled over and hit the floor as Sam tried to avoid doing the same.
She didn’t say anything, but gave another one of those gurgling, hair-raising giggles as she raised her wicked, harpy-like claws in challenge. Sam knew if he didn’t make it out the door on this attempt, he most likely would not make it out at all.
Sam looked quickly around the room for a weapon as blood burned his right eye. Through the red film, he saw nothing that would avail itself as an appropriate means of defense.
Trying to circle the young woman in order to clear his way to the door, Sam only succeeded in pushing her closer to the hallway. She smirked at him from the doorway and clicked the tips of her claws together; one fingertip at a time to the tip of her thumb in a measured pace. The effect of this vaguely threatening display was greatly disturbing.
Sam wiped blood from his eye and off his cheek with a shaking hand. He didn’t know how to get through her, and he didn’t want to try testing her to a barehanded duel. He didn’t have razors for fingernails.
With a snarl, she lunged forward. Sam gave a shout of alarm and held up both hands in what he was sure was a futile attempt to stave off her attack. Without realizing it, he closed his
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