"The Spirit of Things"
John Skipp
“Damn it all, I tried to warn him,” Wertzel hissed.
It didn’t 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 couldn’t 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.
Read the rest.
No comments:
Post a Comment