Oct 14, 2014


 "The Spirit of Things"
John Skipp 

 They were screaming downstairs, in Bob Wallachs apartment. He couldnt tell how many people Bob had down there with him. He couldnt even tell how much of it was human screaming. He really didnt want to know.
“Damn it all, I tried to warn him,” Wertzel hissed. It didnt help. The floorboards thudded and death-twitched beneath his feet. Books and knickknacks threatened to tumble from their perches. Something snapped and shattered against a wall below: furniture, bone, he couldnt be sure. A window exploded into tinkling shards. The stereo died in mid-song, groaning.
The screaming got louder, crazier. Wertzel swallowed painfully and white-knuckled the handgrip of his .45. Something, decidedly not human, shrieked. The screaming got worse, if that was possible.

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