Death of a Salesman

“Because he was out standing in his field! HAWWW!”

“Yeah, good one, Ed. 'Scuse me.”

-

“It was two tired! HAWWW!”

“Ha. Pardon me, Ed.”

-

“European! HAWWW!"

“Right, Ed. Have a breath mint or something.”

-

“Igloos it together! HAWWW!”

“Jeezum, Ed! How much of that cheap-ass whiskey did you bring?”

-

“People are just dying to get in! HAWWW!”

“Goddammit, Ed, stop the drinking and SHUT THE FUCK UP or you're fired!”

-

“...and fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. Stuck up motherfuckers always on my ass about stupid shit...”

The woods got dark quickly after Ed walked away from the corporate team-building retreat. He stumbled as he muttered through the dark forest.

“I’m a faux pa! That's fucking funny! And it's, like...college funny. Fuck those fucks...”

Even in his drunken state Ed began to realize something was wrong. It was a lot chillier than it should be for the time of year. He turned up the collar of his old high school letterman's jacket. It was a little snug but with some discreet Hasselhoffing he could still force his way into it.

The something what was wrong slowly closed the distance between it and That Drunk-ass Ed In Sales.

"50 Cent featuring Nickelback! Fucking funny and, y'know...timely. And an associate degree is a degree, always wears purple and pink Edna in HR!"

The woods were silent except for Ed's monologue and drunken footsteps. The something that was wrong had Ed in its entirely figurative sight. It anticipated the imminent feast with something as close to glee as an eldritch horror could get.

"Because he couldn't see that well! Funny and, I mean...word play. So, fuck you mister literary author Patreon CEO Beauchamp! And your fucking Porsche!"

Suddenly it was before him. The walking corpse of a 13-point buck deer the size of a bull moose. Bone showed through the oozing gashes in its putrid body. Its head was mostly skull but where eyesockets should have been there was nothing but gleaming bone.

"Wha...wha...wha...what are you?"

Its voice bypassed his ears and settled directly in his brain. It gripped his soul in an icy grasp.

"You know what I am, Ed. You called Me. You summoned Me."

The horror of it stilled his loose tongue and loosened his bladder. That Drunk-ass Ed In Sales had spewed his last dad joke so the thing before him issued the punchline that he could not.

"I am the no-eyed deer."

Ed could not even scream as his soul was consumed.

-

That Drunk-ass Ed In Sales' body was found four days later, the silent scream still on his face.

"What the hell happened to him?," a deputy sheriff asked of an EMT.

The EMT eyed the body for a moment then shrugged.

"No clue."

Necessary Evil

Here's a hastily written, egregiously unoriginal tale for All Hallows E'en.

I was at a crossroad waiting for midnight; not for the first time, not for the last. The sacrifice shivered and whimpered next to me; not for the first time, not for the last.

I'd taken the sacrifice from a summer camp in the usual manner, killing each of her friends by increasingly horrific methods, keeping her captive for a few weeks until the stars were properly aligned, honing her fear, farming her dread, husbanding her terror for the Gatekeeper.

Midnight came. The darkness deepened...deepened. Pitch-dark, sable, raven, ebon, atramentous...then it got really dark. And there were things in it. Squamous, eldritch things. When the sacrifice began to scream, I picked up the duffel and stepped through the gate to the Gate.

The antechamber was lit by fitful torches casting chiaroscuro, treacherous light. The Gatekeeper lurked in the shadows, emanating palpable menace. The sacrifice's fear grew and grew. I waited. The Gatekeeper was very good at this.

Then She loomed out of the darkness, like a shadow come to life, right in front of the sacrifice.

"Hello, Ashley. Did you know that you were going to die today? Happy deathday, Ash."

She always knew their names. The Gatekeeper's voice was like old whiskey and it emanated from a mouthful of venom-dripping shark teeth set between razor-sharp mandibles. Her visage was a heart-stopping mixture of black widow spider and woman. The sacrifice stopped screaming. A dark stain spread across the bottom of the duffel The Gatekeeper snatched the sacrifice up and carried her way into the dark in the blink of an eye.

I moved closer the Gate as the sacrifice's brief, selfless life ended. The Gate had been weakening for months. It barely held tonight. The Elder Gods were hungry and wanted to eat the world, the universe. Their dark joy blasted from it. They were moments from freedom.

The sacrifice's empty, desiccated corpse dropped at my feet. The Gatekeeper's pets emerged from the dark and began to feed on Her leavings. I kicked at them.

"Take it elsewhere, vermin."

The body vanished into the gloom. The Gatekeeper landed soundlessly next to me. A large carapaced leg draped companionably around my shoulder.

"Ready, Hunter?"

"Yeth, Mithreth."

Strengthened by the sacrifice's terrified death, and with my help, the Gatekeeper was at Her most powerful. She took up the chant and we began the ritual. Her beautiful voice made even the Old Tongue sound lovely. I joined, though the horrific words tore at my throat.

The Elder Gods gathered at the Gate in anticipation..and we slammed it shut. Their impotent anger tasted sweet. They would not feed in our domain, on our livestock, not tonight.

You are saved again, prey.

We are monsters. They are much worse.

Saving Daylight

John Hornor Jacobs and Fiona McDroll Johnson dared me to write a vampire story titled ‘Saving Daylight', so all fault lies squarely upon them. And I’ll probably die horribly if I don’t point out that the real Mses. Guidry and LaViolette are from Golden Meadow and not Cut Off.

Suckers weren’t very active during the summer, so we’d gotten a lot of rest before the Solstice. We were due to rise early, 1600ish, but I got the squad up and ready before Top could fuck up our day.

“BACON?! WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU FUCKS FUCKING GET FUCKING BACON?!”

Top was Reglur Army and hated wartimers. I washed down a forkful of bacon with coffee before answering.

Top had stopped asking about the coffee months ago.

“Feral pig.”

“WHAT?!”

Top was incapable of anything like a normal tone of voice.

“Feral. Pig. Escaped from a farm. Crossed our perimeter couple nights ago. Mongo clubbed it, Guidry and LaViolette boucherie-d it.”

I jerked a thumb across the squad bivouac at Mongo, Corporal Maurice Shaw, assistant squad leader, and our flamethrower team, nearly identical cousines from Cut Off, LA, both named Marie. Mongo blew a kiss and the Maries waved like the beauty pageant winners they were.

Top sputtered for a bit and then demanded to see our gear. We were so squared away we shat bricks, but Top made up something to gig us for. I thanked him and we cleared up breakfast and triple-checked our gear after Top stormed away.

The tough thing about fighting the suckers was sorting out fact from Twilight bullshit. Once we knew that vampirism is merely a virus (where ‘mere’ = ‘incurable, prehistoric retrovirus capable of transforming humans into long-lived, quick-healing, hemophagic, pointy-eared freaks’) it became a matter of finding their real weaknesses and exploiting them.

They healed fast, so doing heavy damage and making it stick was important. We used anti-materiel rifles and stakes for that. Sunlight, ultraviolet specifically, didn’t make them burst into flames, but it gave them a case of sunburn that made bursting into flame look enviable. UV spotlights and flashlights for that. Also, every squad had a dedicated flamethrower team to handle the downed suckers.

I had the squad quadruple-check the gear.

Mongo gave the high sign and we soldiered up for the LT. She was a right guy and always went to bat for us when HQ got all Army on us.

“Attention! Afternoon, Ma’am.”

She snapped back our salute.

“As you were.”

The squad as-they-wered and quintuple-checked the gear.

“Sergeant?”

“Ma’am?”

“Is this shambolic bunch ready?”

“Certainly, ma’am. Don’t let our contumacious demeanor fool you. You know us, all spit, no polish.”

She looked up.

“This might be the end, Sundance.”

“Maybe the beginning of the end, ma’am. I’ll believe it’s the end when I see my DD214 and I’m robbing trains again.”

The LT clapped my shoulder, and left me to make her way around the squad. After she left us we chilled, used our contraband phones to let our people know we weren’t dead yet, and waited for sundown.

At 2000 the big CEV mounted spots came on and we followed them into what used to be Iowa. The suckers were just beginning to stir and were easy to put down. We got a rhythm going; probe, shoot, stake, burn, repeat. The spots did their job, all the suckers we were putting down where covered in peeling skin and blisters, but their range is limited and as soon as the suckers are out of the light they begin to heal. But tonight’s surprise should take care of that.

The suckers seemed to realize something was up. Things got hairy for a while, but we needed to hold until full dark. We lost Big Ed, Villechaize (which really bit because he was short), and Surfer Zoë. Top also bought it, so it wasn’t a complete loss. Finally 2200 rolled around.

Most launching facilities were further south than suckers would willingly go and had been putting the sats up since the second year of the war. Now it was time.

Thousands of sats began to deploy nanomylar mirrors. Thousands of mirrors at 25000 miles was effectively one gia-fucking-norous mirror. The optically pure nanomylar reflected sunlight, ultraviolet specifically, with no loss. There was no place for the suckers to hide now.

The night vanished as the Large Orbital Mirror Array spread the saving daylight across the world.

And October ever after…

After a few years hiatus I wrote this  for All-Hallows'. 

October ☣rd

They get fatter all the time. It’s disgusting, all that flesh. Bumbling about as if they own the world. Our time is coming.

October ♅nd

And the women. Painting themselves and exposing their fat jigglies for all to see. Whores, the lot of them. Our time is coming.

October ☠th

Even the children. Living on junk food and television…barley educated. The only thing the fat little lumps are taught is a delusion of entitlement. Our time is coming.

October Ωst

All their leaders are corrupt. Money, sex, witchcraft, self-hatred, hypocrisy…every one of them tainted by scandal. Our time is coming.

October Halloweenth

We are done with them. We must act. Our time is now.

The moon rode fat and low in the October sky. It gleamed like bone china. Suddenly, it turned blood red. The fleshy ones stopped and stared at the unpredicted, baneful sight. Then, with one voice, they screamed as overample flesh was ripped away from within and the skeletons inside of them escaped. The last thing the grotesque jelly eyes of the corpulent humans beheld was the thin, joyous dance of bony freedom.

And October ever after…

They are no more. The foul, porcine world of humans is gone and in its place our tidy mausoleums gleam in well-tended cemeteries. Where pestilent flesh wobbled, our clean bone dances. Where oozing brains sweated, we play chess. Where clumsy hands fumbled, we keep our scythes sharp.

It is our time. It always was. All things must at the last be swallowed up by Death.

I Feels Like I Been Hypmotized

Almost the last Halloween tale. A failed attempt at something like J-horror.

From the Wikipedia.

Hypnagogia (also spelled hypnogogia) are the experiences a person can go through in the hypnagogic (or hypnogogic) state, the period of falling asleep. Hypnopompia are the experiences a person can go through in the hypnopompic state, the period of waking up. The term hypnagogia often encompasses hypnopompia as well. Hypnagogic sensations collectively describe the vivid dream-like auditory, visual, or tactile sensations that can be experienced in a hypnagogic or hypnopompic state. These sensations can be accompanied by sleep paralysis, the sensation that the body is temporarily paralyzed after waking or before falling asleep.

The trio of hookers I’d hired for the week giggled their way out of my suite. I would have kept them one more night but I’d been overdoing the party thing and hadn’t been sleeping well. My flight left early and I wanted to be well rested before I faced my former mother-in-law at the airport.

“Moms” was undertaking the extreme measure of flying to Ljubljana just to speak to me … confront me, really. She was under the impression that I had killed her husband and daughter. She had no proof but she was absolutely right.

Killing my father-in-law was a necessary preliminary to killing my wife. His death would provide my wife with a large inheritance and served as practice for her murder. His “heart attack” also helped cover her death as a pre-existing condition. Bad hearts run in families.

A heart attack can be brought on by applying the chemical that puts octane in gasoline to the skin. As a liquid the chemical evaporates quickly and completely. Its presence in the body can be tested for but the test is expensive, takes a very long time, and is only 80% conclusive The price of the test balks the authorities in most jurisdictions and any lawyer worth its sharp, jagged teeth can argue 80% to nothing.

Purchasing the stuff without leaving tracks would have been a problem several years ago but now I was able to open bank accounts, establish corporations, and rent property over the Web. I’d learned enough from another former wife about using anonymous proxies, other people’s unsecured wireless networks, and laptops with removable hard drives to make myself electronically invisible. It was one of the easiest jobs I’d ever done and certainly the most profitable. Even if I hired every hooker in the former East Bloc I couldn’t spend all of their money.

We lived with her parents. Not because we were lacking but because she wouldn’t be separated from “Moms” and vice versa. They were more like sisters than mother and daughter. Their resemblance was the source a lot of risqué jokes on my former father-in-law’s part. The close proximity to both targets made the job easy. The lame-ass jokes made it even easier.

I did “Dad” in around Halloween and after a decent wait I killed my wife just after our anniversary in June. After it was clear that there would be no investigation I left the house after the New Year. Since then I’d been splitting my time between Eastern Europe and Eastern Asia. Or at least the parts with easy attitudes about prostitution. “Moms” wrote me a lot at first but I never bothered to write back. She began to suspect I was an opportunist due to my “cavalier” attitude and demanded to speak to me in person. I put her off for several months but she hired a detective to track me down and forced a meeting.

Planning her death, I crawled into bed. I probably wouldn’t kill her but planning it helped me relax. Sleep came over me.

I woke instantly. There was someone in the room. I felt the bed move and a form settled next to me. It moved close and whispered my name. It was either my former mother-in-law or my wife and since my wife was dead my choice was made for me. I was paralyzed and couldn’t move to confront her. She moved over me and off the bed. As she knelt next to the bed she moved into the moonlight. I saw her face. It wasn’t “Moms”. Even with the flesh rotting off of her face it was obviously my wife. Her boney hand moved toward me.

My heart stopped.

I looked down at my dead body. She looked at me and smiled. Even death wouldn’t save me from her.

I couldn’t scream.

And You Can Quote Me

The story mentioned in this story is the inspiration for this story.

“Thrall?”, I asked.

“That's the plan.”, replied the fell undead creature with a used car salesman's smile, “Can't be a top without a bottom.”

He didn't look like Chris Sarandon, but he had the same kind of bland handsomeness and plastic bonhomie. And a suit that had never been anywhere near a men's warehouse.

“Umm, yeah. No. I'm not going to be some bloodsucking freak's slave for eternity. Eternity?”

“It will feel like it,” he allowed, “but I'll destroy you eventually. A couple of centuries, let's say. A long and unpleasant life.”

“'All would live long, but none would be old.'”, I muttered automatically.

This gave him significant pause.

“Franklin.”, he supplied. “He should have been hung. Separately.”

I waved a crucifix in his direction. A gift from my mother. She's concerned about my amoral soul. It's silver and very Catholic. A lot of bloody thorns and whatnot. She won it playing bingo. The vampire was unimpressed.

“It doesn't work if you don't believe.”, he said while admiring his manicure.

So the plastic glow-in-the-dark Jesus probably wouldn't help either.

“I think I've read a story,” I said, somewhat desperately, “or maybe it was a 'Twilight Zone' episode… a greedy victim offered to pay off a vampire-”

“I think it was a story. Money won't work either. You're a materialist, but you're not greedy. Money is a means, not an end. Offering to pay me to go away won't make me burst in to flames.”

“And you would know this about me because…?”

“Your wife-”

“Ex.”

“Not just yet. Your wife told me all about you. She's already my thrall. She came voluntarily. The promise of keeping her looks and figure-”

“Which I've paid for.”

“-for a few centuries appealed to her.”

“Yeah. That sounds like her. How did you meet her?”

“I'm with the firm representing her in your divorce.”

“Well…nah, it's too easy. Bang her yet?”

“Yes. She's not as good as she thinks she is, but with a little training she'll be suitable. By the way…?”

“Yes?”

“I like boys too.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Not That There's Anything Wrong With That ™, but I just find other men…icky. Especially if they're undead.

“Well, hell. Ain't that just the icing on the cake.”

He laughed.

“I'm going to enjoy turning you. In more ways than one.”

Puns yet.

“You're about as funny as a country and western song. That's going to be worse than the prison sex.”

That hit a nerve.

He hissed and moved snake-fast in my direction. Being a veteran smart ass, I was already moving.

The remnants of my grandfather's coin collection were in the next room. I got through the door and slammed it shut. He hit it hard enough to shake the jambs. Then he hit it again reducing it to splinters. Between his assaults I managed to grab the 1963 Franklin half-dollar coin. I whipped around and pointed it his direction. He came to cartoonish, windmilling, tiptoe halt. He hissed again and covered his straight-to-DVD face.

If it doesn't work when you don't believe then it does work when you do. I hoped.

On the obverse of the Franklin half-dollar is my favorite founder, Benjamin Franklin. Franklin believed in hard work, and so do I. He was a scientist, a philosopher, and, unlike too many other Founders, he owned no slaves. I don't care for a lot of pre-20th Century thinkers, but Franklin's work is worth adding to my intellectual toolkit.

On the reverse is the Liberty Bell. As much as I dislike the current administration…and the previous administration too…the one before..hell, as much as I dislike the Guv'ment, I believe in the universal liberty that we like to pretend the Founders gave us, but is our natural state.

As an added bonus Franklin half-dollars were all minted prior to 1965 so they're 90% silver. Silver is inimical to supernatural evil. I hoped.

“'Eat to live, and not live to eat.'”

That earned another hiss and he seemed to shrink a little.

“'Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.'”

He was changing rapidly.

“'Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy-”

“Please!”, he gasped, “No more.”

“-and wise.'”

I stopped. Not out of mercy, mind, but I was running out of Franklin quotes and didn't want to lapse into Shakespeare.

The vampire didn't look remotely human any more. More like an evolved mole rat or something. The suit still looked good though. I started thinking of the creature as an “it”.

“How is it you entered my home without an invitation? I thought You People had to be invited to enter a home.”

“Your wife-”

“Ex.”

“Not just yet. Your wife gave me permission.”

I thought for a moment.

“What time is it?”

“What care I for time, mortal?!”

“What's with the watch then?”

“Oh. It goes nicely with the suit. It's 11:53. PM. 5:53 GMT. Do you need to know the phase of the moon or the ambient temperature? It's got a dial for…”

“'Haste makes waste.'”

“No…”

“Supernaturally speaking, when does the day begin? Midnight or dawn?”

The much reduced figure looked up at me from its crouch on the floor.

“Midnight. Why? Dawn and the sun are still hours away if that's what your thinking.”

“'Never leave that till tomorrow which you can do today.'”

It writhed in agony.

“Okay, that was just mean!”, it spat through clenched fangs.

“Yes, it was. Thanks. My divorce was finalized today. The effective date is tomorrow. What happens when the person who gave you let to enter a dwelling no longer, um, dwells there in any legal sense?”
It thought for a minute.

“I don't know. It's never come up.”

“Great! I love empirical survey. Let's find out, shall we?”

11:54.

Most of the furniture had been sold to pay legal expenses. Probably paid for that damned suit. I pulled up the rickety chair left over from my college days and sat.

It looked like it wanted to start trouble. The vampire, not the chair.

“'Neither a borrower nor a lender be.'”

“That's Shakespeare, not…your hero.”, it said as it began to rise.

“This is a silver coin, y'know.”

It sank back to the floor.

11:55.

11:56.

11:57.

11:58.

11:59.

12:00.

12:01.

Oh well…it had been worth a shot.

I kicked the chair over and threw the coin at the creature. It screamed and smoked when the coin hit it. I grabbed a leg of the old chair, stepped on the far one, and ripped it from the seat. It split cooperatively as I pulled leaving one end nice and pointy. Firmly gripping the other end I kicked the creature in its throat. Weakened by the silver coin, it landed flat on its back . It screamed silently and arched its body when the stake plunged into its chest. There was a flash and I saw spots.

When my vision returned there was a man shaped pile of dust in a nice suit on the floor. I recovered Ben, a little worse for wear. Then I got a dustpan from the kitchen and disposed of my ex-wife's boy…fiend. Puns yet.

The suit wasn't my size but the watch is really nice.

Sunshine

The second of the Halloween tales and my favorite.

“Mom! Mr. Chase is scaring me!”, the child insisted tearfully, “Make him leave!”

“Hush, honey. You know Mr. Chase isn’t real. You made him up, you can make him go away.”

The woman patted the child and rose.

“Now tell Mr. Chase to leave you alone and go to sleep.”

As she passed through the door she threw a “goodnight” over her shoulder.

“Good night, mom.”, the terrified child responded.

“Good night.”, echoed Mr. Chase from his dark corner of the room. The woman didn’t hear him. No one ever did.

Mr. Chase waited patiently while the child resisted sleep. He knew sleep would win and he would be able to leave his corner.

The night deepened…

…but eventually morning came.

The woman breezed into the bright bedroom and sat on the bed. She rubbed the child’s back.

“Good morning, sunshine!”, she murmmered into the child’s ear.

The child yawned and stretched.

“Good morning…mom.”

“Sleep well, baby?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Did Mr. Chase bother you?”

“No, mom.”

“See. I told you you could handle him!”

“Yes, mom.”

“Now come to breakfast.”

The woman left the room. The child got out of bed and padded to the corner. Even in daylight the corner was dark.

“It’s your turn now, brat. Your turn to wait while I walk the world freely.”, the thing in the child’s body hissed to the small shadow in the corner.

Mr. Chase went to breakfast.

In the corner the child cried. No one heard.

Workin’ Class Boos

I wrote Halloween stories for a few years. This was the first and one of the best.

The house was dark and quiet, but there was something other than me there. I had to move quickly. This was a golden opportunity for someone in my line. I had familiarized myself with the house when I arrived earlier and was able to make good time through its dusty, disordered halls.

The Presence felt stronger downstairs. Using hard earned and long practiced skills I circled through the rooms triangulating, narrowing the possibilities. I pinned it down to the portrait gallery, a long narrow room (or maybe a wide hall) running the entire length of the house’s west side.

The gallery was full of dead ancestors. Dim light seeped through the large windows from distant street lights. It was definitely in the room with me. I squinted a certain way and peered down the length of the room. Near the front of the house I spied not just a Presence, but Presences! Tonight would be a good night for me. I was pleased I hadn’t misjudged the house’s reputation.

Moving carefully to avoid early detection, I eased toward the group of indistinct blobs. As I approached they seem to realize that something was amiss. It was now or never.

Steeling myself, I pushed through the Veil and passed into the world of the living once again. What I had seen from the realm of the dead was a group of high school students. They were likely in the house on a Halloween dare. Letterman jackets and all. Quaint.

They saw me as soon as I’d passed through. Leering, I loosed my Shriek; a sound that was more than mere noise. Its sound and terror ripped the children’s spirits from their bodies. I feasted on their souls as they ran screaming into the night. One of the souls was slow to return to its body. I gorged myself to satiety on it. The much reduced spirit finally caught up with its corpus. Another one for the madhouse.

When none were left, I relaxed and slid effortlessly across the Veil. The trip back is much easier. The dark and cold spirit realm is ever eager to reclaim my utterly damned soul.

Better fed than I had been in years, I made my way upstairs. I was pleased with the night’s business. The house’s reputation would grow and more foolish young mortals would dare to pass its portals. This was going to be a sweet gig. I glided up the stairs into the east garret.

There, cowering in a corner, were the feeble spirits I’d found in the house on my arrival. A woman in an old fashioned maid’s uniform and a young man in a raccoon coat. It was still hours until dawn. I smiled.

They screamed.

Don’t Worry

A friend unfavorably compared this story to 'Sunset Boulevard' in that it was told in posthumous first person. Since it's supposed to be a chilling tale of alien mind control I can only assume that I've failed.

There was a flash and a thud like thunder and lightning, yet it hadn’t rained for days. The lights flickered. Curiouser and curiouser. But not curiouser enough to take me away from watching Justice League.

There was a really cool slithery noise the aliens made when they tried to suck Batman’s brain out. I really liked it, almost as much as the Godzilla noise. Then I realized that noise wasn’t coming from the television. It was coming from the back yard. I grabbed the shotgun (I live in Louisiana, okay?) and headed outside.

There was a smoking hole in the middle of my backyard. There was something in it that glowed an eerie phosphorescent blue. As I eased up on the hole I noticed that a trail of some kind lead from the hole to my house. I peeked over the edge of the hole. The glow emanated from an egg shaped object that lay broken open at the bottom of the hole. The trail that lead to the house was covered with something viscous that glistened in the autumn moonlight. I heard that noise again. It didn’t sound as cool as it did earlier. There was something under the house. Louisiana, remember? No basements and everything is built 2 to 3 feet off of the ground. It looked to be the size of a large dog. I don’t have a dog.

I approached the house slowly and spoke the soothing nonsense that one uses to calm animals. The shape quivered a bit. Then that noise again. The shape under the house moved with blinding speed. I caught a glimpse of a leech-like mouth and tentacles. Then one of the tentacles struck the back of my neck and pierced my skull with surgical precision.

Everything is fine now. Don’t worry. You’ll hardly feel a thing.