To all confused readers. This post and similar post I, the wuzzman, will make like it are not part of the main story, i.e Story of a David, but are separate entities which are given their own categories. Please enjoy this short story which will be updated once per week and do come back for other new stories or shorts posted through out the weekday. Again sorry for any confusion, I do enjoy your rage too much.
“Fuck partying like a rock star, time to sleep like one!” shouts the young college student leaving from the late night bar, girlfriend in tow.
Despite his swagger he isn’t as drunk as he appears, being the designated driver this night takes the fun out of being a 21 year old. However the young lady next to him was barely able to hobble along on her 2 inch heels, her hand placed permanently on the end of her skirt paying token attention to pulling it down when it road too far. The air was a nice autumn hum of insects and drying leaves, as the summer months yields to the short interlude of reasonable weather before descending into winter madness.
For all intent and purposes there was nothing out of the ordinary about this particular late night, not even the full moon, clear in the sky, enticed the neighborhood dogs to howl to it. Young adults of drinking age and below wheeled out of various crevices to the waiting armada of police vehicles filling up their states coffers, while the more cautious took huddled walks home half freezing from the sudden splash of soberness and lack of blaring dance pop.
If anything, except for me stalking the young couple from a distance, nothing was out of the ordinary. And I hoped so; if the only thing exciting to happen in some nowhere college town in Missouri was this chicks ass cleavage, I would be satisfied with sleeping like a rock star myself.
“Do you smell that!?” shouts the brunette boy, his nose cringing comically but nothing more.
He had his chance to run. He could have saved himself, and her, right now, if he just turned around. But no, the superstitious atheist has no fear; at least not since he was 10 years old and watched the Men in Black’s giant cockroach alien crawl in and out of someone’s skin the way we do jeans. So he remains ignorantly bliss to the smell of ozone, layered over the alley like a rotten egg resting in a trash can. Or the fact that he missed the left turn to his girlfriend’s car by three blocks.
I have to credit the thing that’s stalking them, it wasn’t fooling around waiting for some poor sap to go into his death trap. It was deliberate and selective. And worst cautious. I can save them now, I only need to make my presence known to it.
“I lose it and it feeds somewhere else.” and I don’t see myself visiting Texas in 10 years.
One block, two blocks, four, Kevin still thinks Jessica car is around the corner, Jessica babbles on about Tracy cheating on Derick to the tune of a live audience. If I could tell them to run with my mind, which I could, neither would heed. For one Kevin’s eternal search for Jessica sweet ride is rapidly being eclipse by the number of ways he can get his hands to her erogenous zones. Currently he can’t seem get past two, despite his personal goal of eight. Rapidly his intoxication starts to show, as he lazily wraps his arms around her waist, taking her full body into his chest with awkwardness and gusto. Convinced of his studdness he brushes away the only defense Jessica has for her black velvet thong, as he cups her swaying body into his eager hands and presses her against the wall.
I wish I can say I saw it all in slow motion. As IT descends all that can be reasonably made out is a black withering mass, slithering like a snake but without the form or a form to consider the difference between a head or a tail, as it tumbles through the sky with intelligence and speed. And great speed, before speech and realization can be uttered, Kevin was engulfed, his head bashed against the brick of the office build he leaned Jessica against, the girl’s features growing wide as saucers, her all within grasp of its…its…things…
But I was wordless and unconscious in my own attempt to resist the evil that I’ve prepared this whole night to put down. The hollow rock, as thick as a deck of cards and inscribed in blood and purpose, silently tumbled into the stale night air as it landed squarely at the feet of Jessica and Kevin. Without even a moment of explanation or pause, the ward bucked IT to the foreground, the luminous explosion revealing the absolute horror of too many arms and legs flailing about in disharmony. Such was the sight that Jessica’s hair turned white as her pupils lost all color. Somehow I notice this in my own sweat and shaking; without knowing my body had taken a knee and my breathing was beyond haggard and entering into respiratory like labors.
One for food, one for flesh. The image of a 10 foot roach climbing into Joe the farmer, wrenches the second weeks breakfast from the sides of my stomach but I hold long enough to hear the scream of the damned.
I could hear Kevin screaming, not with his mouth, having been smashed, or his mind, which was unconscious, but with his very soul. Five years and I can’t stop hearing it. The sound of real torture, not for some silly notion state, or heroics, or any such necessities, but for the sheer purpose of breaking a man, down to every nerve and atoms that compose them. It wasn’t scream, and it wasn’t a sob, or even a cry for help. It was the denial of hope, the sound of millions of bacteria being dissolved in digestive acids. And I only I could hear it! Isn’t that insane?!
So I ran at it obscenities rolling fourth from the belly, not words devised under the limitation of the English language, but primal fury, the battle cry of every rat forced to rush a bear. And in my rage IT ran. With only a combat knife in one hand and a ward clenched tight enough to draw blood in another, IT ran from me, dragging the boy into the supernatural abyss in which it came.
And yes this will be edited