You Are A Death Risk, Part 13
by BD Scott
Dremond is face to face with the town threat.
“Who are you two?” Dremond managed with warbled voice. The heat of their ghostly presence coiled around him much like a snake, holding its prey before feasting.
“Notice,” the two females chimed simultaneously.
An eerie silence covered him like a wet summer blanket. Dremond’s eyes and lips shivered slightly from the energetic intensity surrounding him. His eyes peered deep into theirs, one by one. He did as he was told and noticed the power of the moment.
Subsequently, he chose to remain still.
“Now listen,” they commanded.
“You were the first. Here is what we want.”
In his mind, the image of his wife beating him while sleeping erupted in full color and three dimensional glory.
The look on her face was as fierce as evil itself.
The memory of his nightmare was clear as day. His wife wanted his demise. The expression on her face was as unforgiving as a hurricane.
“You know what you must do. Now go!”
Dremond turned and his face registered a determination befit for a soldier.
His feet seemed to make him float down the hall and down the stairwell.
The thing in room 300 started to calm down, knowing its existence was not discoverable for the moment.
It pulled two bent broken bodies of two females from the now larger holes in the wall in front of it and laid them down. Soon, its breath paused for seconds between each exhalation, pleasuring in its own existence.
Getting home for Dremond was easy, no one stood in his way.
Echoing in his mind were Jeffery’s words, from the interview at the police station.
They point and make things happen ~ deadly things.
Dremond’s mind held onto the imagery of his wife and Jeffery’s astute observation.
But when they’re right about what they point out, reality changes.
His silent march smacked of Micheal Meyers in the famous Halloween movie of the late 1970’s. Quiet. Brooding. Focused. Composed and brutally determined.
BACK AT DREMOND’S HOME
“Dremond said he’d be back. It’s getting too late. The station will still be open, I hope.”
The phone she held to her ear crackled and smacked, as if a radio station dial was being tuned. She pulled back from the receiver and let it hang.
“Something’s not right.”
She doubled over, heaving and regurgitated her last meal.
The thrust of inner energy rapidly closed her egosphagus and pushed up any food and liquid violently, bathing her tongue with tastes she’d never forget.
A black substance splattered the floor, her eyes wide and disbelieving. Her body convulsed and smacked the floor like a fish out of water, bathing in the blackness of her own inner juices. Her mind coated itself with incomplete demands.
What is…am…I…why am…I…sick…like…this?
Her world suddenly paused and she gasped for air, her hands reaching out for anything that might revive her and regulate this ordeal.
AT THAT SAME MOMENT
Dremond entered his house, intent on doing the maximum amount of harm he could. At no time in his life had he any singularity of purpose. And it was clear. Destroying his wife was all that mattered.
You will never beat me in my sleep again, bitch!
The door slammed behind him.
His wife looked up after wondering why no black liquid surrounded her and why she found herself seated at the kitchen table with the phone in her hand with a clear dial tone.
To Be ContinuedBD Scott, Author, Producer of Bestshorthorrorstories.com & Founder of Friedrich Imagines, Ltd. a media production company