The dog was staring at him. Studying him. He could feel its eyes burning into the back of his head. He sensed the saliva pooling around its black lips. He could almost hear its hackles rising, springing into a canine mohican. It knew what he was planning. Dogs always knew.
Self-control had never been Simon’s strong point. He’d always had a weakness for a pretty pair of lips. His bedroom drawers were full of them. Unfortunately, he hadn’t yet learned how to preserve them, and the smell was starting to bother his mother. Still, some habits were hard to break.
Doubt was not an option for Ziggy. He had to believe in something. As he took the long run up to the edge of the cliff, he pushed all doubt from his mind, believing all the way down that God would catch him before he hit the jagged rocks below.
The rhythmic tapping of the tree branch against my bedroom window continues long after the wind has stopped. The tapping, the scratching, the whispering of the wind. The ceaseless, endless whispering. Maybe it’s just the wind. But sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I think I hear it whispering my name.
Zach was starting to slur his words. This was not good. It was only a matter of time now before his tongue fell out. He’d already lost his lips, his nose and the ends of his fingers. The life of a zombie always looked much more fun in the movies.
Did you know there are things that live in the drains underneath your house? Deformed things, slavering things, toothy things. Things that can reach up through your bath, your sink…your toilet.
You’ll probably be okay, but just in case, put a little bleach down the drain.
continue to grow
Decay breeds underneath.
Bubble-wrapped up tight
Secure in self-imposed cage
Hiding from the key
Aaron tried to scream, but his tongue was too dry and swollen. He tried to reach out and tear at the inside of the body bag, but he was still paralysed. He closed his eyes and prayed that the drug would wear off before they put him in cold storage.
Reaching through the cold blackness
Grasping for a hand