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The House on Saint Marlboro's StreetThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Max Booth III | |
| Tuesday, 27 May 2008 | |
"The Call" 2:23 PM "WILL A DANNY FROST PLEASE REPORT TO THE MAIN OFFICE? REPEAT; WILL A DANNY FROST PLEASE REPORT TO THE MAIN OFFICE?" The loudness of the voice knocked me out of my sleep and out of my dreams. I landed on the hard marble floor with a small THUD! All my fellow peers in the classroom looked around at me and began to laugh. What the hell was going on? Why were they laughing at me? Was I still dreaming? My face turned red with embarrassment as I realized that I was in school, and the voice was from the intercom. I was wanted at the office. I got to my feet and looked at my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Price. "Can I go?" I asked. "You may," she replied. As I headed for the door, a kid in my class named Johnny Desperation shouted, "Ooooooooo, Danny's in trouble!" "And you'll be joining him, if you don't shut the trap," Price snapped. With that, the whole classroom roared with laughter. I exited the room.
As I stumbled along the hallways I thought about what the office wanted. Every time my name was said on the intercom I always had mixed feelings; I felt kind of special but at the same time kind of afraid. Was I receiving some sort of reward, or was I getting suspended? Or was I going to be sent home early?
The secretary of Python Elementary was a woman in her late forties named Gladys Stevenson. She was typing a news letter on the computer when a boy no older than thirteen years old entered the main office. "How may I help you?" she asked. "Umm...I'm Danny Frost. I was told that somebody wanted me?" said the boy. "Oh, yes. You have a phone call." "I do?" "Yep. The telephone is over there in the corner. It's your mother." "Okay, thank you."
I sat down on a very uncomfortable stool and picked up the black telephone that was lying on the small desk in the corner of the office. "Uh, hello?" I said. "Danny?" "Yeah?" "Hi, it's mom." "Hi." "How are things at school today?" "They're okay. Mom, what's going on?" "Well.........there's been sort on an accident." "What kind of accident?" "Grandpa wrecked the semi." "Oh, my God. Is he okay?" "Well...he's alive." "Oh, that's good." "He's in the hospital, though." "Is he going to be okay?" "The doctors don't know yet." "Did he crash here in Indiana?" "No, in Ohio." "Oh." "There's something else, Danny." "What?" "I'm driving to the hospital." "The one in Ohio?" "Yeah." "When?" "I'm already a quarter of the way there." "What? What about me? What am I suppose to do? How am I supposed to get to the hotel? It's in the next town!" "I know. You're almost thirteen now, so I figured you could just stay at the house on Saint Marlboro's Street tonight." "Oh. Is it even safe?" "Of course it is, silly! Just don't go in the basement and you'll be fine. And if you start to feel a little woozy just go outside for awhile. And don't talk to strangers on the walk there. I think there's a TV dinner in the freezer that you can warm up for supper. I should be there to pick you up no later than seven in the morning. Be sure to go to bed at eight and don't go in the basement. I love you, honey." "I love you, too." "Bye, I'll see ya in the morning. "Bye, mom."
"Walking Thoughts"
3:05 PM School was over a half hour later. The house on Saint Marlboro's Street was a fifteen minute walk. I didn't mind, though. The weather was absolutely perfect; not too warm and not too cold. It was October 23, my favorite month of the year. This year was kind of special to me, though. It would be my last time trick or treating. Next year I would be a teenager and teenagers were too old to go trick or treating. Teenagers egged cars and tee-peed houses on Halloween. Teenagers played dingdong ditch and smoked cigarettes, (I tried a cigarette of my mom's one time and it tasted terrible.) This was my last year to go trick or treating. So, as I walked to the house on Saint Marlboro's Street I thought about what I wanted to be. Maybe a flesh eating zombie? Or a vampire with sharp fangs and fake blood leaking out of my mouth? Who knows? I still had eight days to decide.
We hadn't stayed at the House for a couple weeks now. The basement had a water leak from the upstairs toilet and that spread to mold. Mom researched it and found out that bleach could kill mold, but only professionals could do that. So, we checked into the Comfort Inn and mom's been saving her paychecks for the guy who killed mold. Mom was a nurse, so it would probably take a long time.
And now I was going to be staying in this House over night. It would be okay as long as I didn't go in the basement. And if I felt woozy just go outside for awhile. Just don't go in the basement. The House was the third house on Saint Marlboro's Street. It was a white two story house with a basement, (a moldy basement.) It had a porch and on the porch was a small swing. To me, it was the House on Saint Marlboro's Street.
"Inside the House"
5:30 PM I was in my room, playing Duke Nukem on the ole Nintendo 64, when I started to get hungry. I turned the game off and made my way into the kitchen. I opened the freezer and found three TV dinners; two meat loafs and a country fried steak. I chucked the two meat loafs back in the freezer and shut the door. I followed the directions on the box and warmed up the county fried steak (along with mash potatoes and corn) in the microwave. When it was done I grabbed a can of Bang's Root Beer and went in the living room. I set my food on the dinner tray that was set up in front of the couch. I sat down and turned on the television. I began to flip through the channels; Simpson's...no, Family guy...no, Frazier...no, Roseanne... (That was still on? No, must be a rerun)...no, some stupid talk show...nope, the six o' clock news...hell no, A Nightmare on Elm Street...oh yeah. It was on AMC, the horror movie channel. I looked in the TV guide (the cover was of some new gangster movie called The Departed) and found out there would be a marathon on tonight of some of the best horror movies that were ever made. First up was A Nightmare on Elm Street (that just started not too long ago), then Halloween, Friday the 13th, the People Under the Stairs, House on Haunted Hill (the original black and white version with Vincent Price), and then some movie I never heard of called The Evil Dead, (that came on at three in the morning.) Oh well, I'll probably be asleep before Friday the 13th is even over. I sit on the couch, eating my dinner, and watching the dream monster on the TV. When I'm done I throw the plastic dish and empty pop can in the garbage, and then place the tray back in the closet. Then I lay down on the sofa and continued my movie. I fell asleep an hour later.
"The Dream" I was running. I don't know why I was running, but I was. I was running at full speed in the middle of the street, (Saint Marlboro's Street?) As I ran, I saw two little girls jump roping. This is what they were singing; "One...two...Freddy's coming for you Three...four...better lock your door Five...six...grab a crucifix Seven...eight...gonna stay up late Nine...ten...never sleep again."
Oh, my God. I know that song. That song meant Freddy was near. The Dream Monster. Oh, no. But I never slowed down. The street seemed to never end. I heard loud, evil laughter from behind me. That only made my feet go faster. I knew I couldn't run anymore, so when I stopped I saw the House. The house on Saint Marlboro's Street. My house. I dashed through the front door and without thinking I went in the kitchen and opened the door that led to the basement. I stepped forward but there were no steps. I fell through the door and into endless darkness. But then I finally landed on the hard concrete with a THUD! At first I couldn't see anything, but then I saw a red kickball. That was the only thing I could see. It was like in one of those comedian clubs where the room is dark except for the comedian, who is lit up by the spotlight. The spotlight was on the red kickball now. Then someone picked the ball up, and it wasn't me. It was a little boy no older than five years old. He had short blonde hair and a ripped open cheek. A flab of skin hung off his face. The boy's skin was white like a ghost and his eyes were bright blue. For some reason I thought his name was Anthony. "Is your name Anthony?" I asked. My words seemed to echo in the darkness. The boy shook his head 'yes'. "Who are you?" "Your guardian angle, Danny-boy," Anthony said. "What happened to your face?" "He got hungry." "Who? Freddy?" Anthony shook his head 'no'. "Then who?" "The man with the plan. The man with no soul. The man who eats people. The man calls himself Rummy." "Rummy?" "Yes, like the card game." "Is Rummy a monster?" "Yes." "Is he like Freddy Krueger?" "No. Rummy eats people. Women, men, children, you name it." "Is Rummy going to eat me?" "Yes." "Why." "Because he's hungry?" "But why me?" "Because you're in his house." "What? This is my house!" Then, Anthony's eyes and mouth suddenly turned pitched black. He sang a song. And the song was this;
"One...two...don't come in this room Three...four...he always wants more Five...six...he kills for kicks Seven...eight...his victims are ate Nine...ten...you're life is coming to an end."
After he finished the song, Anthony's face exploded and gallons of blood leaked out, (almost like a waterfall.)
"Like a Rotten Log"
4:05 AM I snapped out of my sleep, soaked with sweat. Oh, my God. That was the scariest nightmare I ever had. That's it; I ain't ever gonna watch something with that goddamn Freddy Krueger in it again. I looked at the TV. What the hell? Was this really what I was seeing? Some woman was being attacked by a forest. Almost like she was being raped by it. Raped? What the hell does that mean? I surely don't know that word. But how did I know to say it? Oh well...what the hell was this movie? I've never seen it before. I looked at my electronic wristwatch; it said 4:06 AM. Oh, I know what this was. It was that movie called The Evil Dead. The one I never saw before. Well, I've only been watching it for a minute or so, and I already didn't like it. It made me fell sick to my stomach. It made my left leg itch. Itch really badly. Itch? Why would my leg itch? Oh, my god! It itches so ******* bad! I removed the blanket on top of me and inspect my left leg. What the hell? What the fuck's wrong with my leg? From right under my knee, all the way to the edges of my toes, was some kind of black substance. It was like I didn't even have a leg anymore. It was just black and...and moldy. I realized what it was. My leg was covered in mold. I have to be dreaming. But usually, when you dream, you don't know it's a dream. So I must not be dreaming, right? Jesus ****** Christ my leg itches so bad! I started to put my hand on the molded leg, but stopped. What if something happened? What if the mold spread to my hand when I touched it? No, I can't help it. It itches so goddamn bad! As soon as my hand touched my left molded leg it...well, crumbled into a million little ash like pieces. It broke like when you step on a wet rotten log laying in the middle of the forest. My leg disintegrated. I shrieked with agonizing horror.
"The Man on the Phone"
4:10 AM My screams of pain finally ended about three minutes later. My left leg (ha! What leg? There was just a little bloody stump past the knee and that was all) was spraying out blood all over the sofa. My faced was drowning in tears. Oh, God, why is this happening to me? Oh why oh why? Well, my mom was a nurse and she taught me a lot of the stuff she knew. Especially about cuts. This might not have been a cut but I knew well enough that if I didn't stop the bleeding I would no doubt be dead in less than an hour. I looked around; nothing. Well, I should call an ambulance. But would mom get in trouble if the police found out I was home alone? Well, she would be in even more trouble if the police found out she left me alone and I died. I picked up the black cordless phone lying beside the couch and dialed 911. No dial tone. ****. Well, I better get something to tie around my stump of a leg before I pass out and die. And I knew the perfect thing. I quickly took off the white pillow case that was on the pillow my head was on. I slid my leg (ha!) into the opening of the case and pulled tight. Then I carefully tied the case as hard as I could around the stump. Within seconds the white pillow case was red with blood. My blood. My blood. I'm gonna die. I just know it. I managed to hop on one leg toward the front door. But as I reached for the door knob I discovered it was covered in the black mold. I swiped my hand away so fast it caused me to spin around and fall to the ground. I really am going to die. I have an hour to live, maybe two. If I don't get medical attention I'm going to die. Die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die die. God, that word hit me like an atom bomb. As I wiped the tears out of my eyes, the telephone suddenly rang. Then it rang again. And again and again and again. It kept ringing until I managed to crawl over to it and answer it. I put it to my ear and said; "Hello?" Nothing. "Hello?" Nothing. "Is anybody there?" Still nothing. "If somebody's there please help me. My leg is cut off and I'm bleeding to death. Oh, God please help me!" Then there was something. A loud, evil sounding laughter. "Who's there?" "Tryin' to leave so soon, eh? Well, I had some of my friends take care of that little dilemma. You think you gonna get out of this house, boy, you must be out of your mind. You ain't never leaving. Never!" The voice was a very deep voice. An evil voice. "W-who is this?" "I'm the man with the plan, m'boy. You can call me Rummy." "Rummy?" "Yes, that's what they call me. Although that ain't my real name, just a nickname. My real name would take three years to fully pronounce. So, call me Rummy. Like the card game." "I dreamed about you." "You did?" "Yeah." "That's good. What happened in your dream, m'boy?" "You weren't in it, but somebody told me about you." "Who? Who told you about me?" the voice on the phone suddenly turned angry. "My guardian angle. Please let me go. I don't want to die. I don't want you to eat me." "Sorry, m'boy. No deal. I'm hungry. I haven't eaten in an awfully long time. Last meal I had was some boy named Anthony--that's beside the point, though. Well, I sure hope you taste good, m'boy." "Please..." The loud laughter filled the phone again. "Who are you?" "I already told you, m'boy. I'm Rummy." "I know, but who are you? Are you some kind of monster, or just a sicko?" "I am not a monster or a sicko, m'boy. Just a hungry fellow looking for a meal. And that meal is you, m'boy. It's you." " **** you!" I screamed, and hung up the phone.
"One Hour to Live"
4:15 AM I programmed my watch to beep in exactly one hour; 5:15 AM. That was how much time I guessed I had to live without medical attention. Okay, I have to get the hell out of here. I left the TV on as I crawled into the kitchen. I dragged a chair to the counter and climbed on the chair. I grabbed a knife (the kind Michael Myers has from those movies) and just sat there for awhile, glaring at the sparkling blade of the knife. If that creep tried to get me I would stick him like a pig. (Oh, God...my leg hurts so bad.) He ain't gonna eat me. No way no how. I would rather slit my own throat than be eaten like a piece of chicken. No way no how. (Damn leg!) This guy, Rummy, he must be some kind of monster. And what about that kid in my dream, Anthony? My guardian angle. How was he my guardian angle? What did that even mean? Anthony said that Rummy was a monster. He said that Rummy got hungry and ate his face, and he would do the same to me. No. No way no how he was gonna eat my face, or any part of me. No no no.
"Hop or Die"
4:20 AM How the hell am I suppose to get out of here? I was sitting on the kitchen chair, holding the knife, thinking about how to escape. But...how the hell am I suppose to get out of here? The backdoor was blocked off by the mold, (I already checked and crawled back to the chair.) Then an idea hit me. My bedroom window. If I could get through there and crawl or hop to a neighbor's house (maybe Mr. Longhorn or Mrs. Beaumont) I would live. They could call an ambulance and I would live. Oh, wouldn't that be great? I stood on my right leg and tried to hop, but I started to fall halfway through the kitchen. I caught myself on the kitchen table and gained my balance back. I hopped three more times and then leaned against the wall. I was already breaking out in a sweat. I could do this. I knew I could. Just a matter of time--but I don't have time, do I? I only have an hour--no, not even that anymore. Almost fifty minutes now. It's either hop or die. I ain't gonna die. No way no how.
"Unbreakable"
4:31 AM If my bedroom was on the second floor I would have never made it. By the time I finally made it to the room my clothes were soaked with sweat and I'd fallen down at least a dozen times. I did two quick hops and then leaped on my bed. Ow, God that felt better. Maybe I could just lay here for awhile? Maybe take a quick nap and get my energy back? "Stop feeding bullshit into that thick skull of yours, Danny-boy." What the hell was that? Who said that? "It's me, your guardian angle." "Anthony?" I asked. "Yep yep." "Where are you?" "You can't see me, stupid. But you can hear me. Now, there ain't any time to waste. You gotta get the **** out of here or else he's gonna eat you right up. Now move!" Without a moment's hesitation, I jolted up to a sitting position and soon found myself standing on the floor on my right leg. I hopped to the only window in my room and reached for the lock, but stopped. Every inch of the lock was caked with that black itchy mold. Oh, no. Now what? "Break it," Anthony said, from inside my head. Oh...okay. I quickly scanned the room and saw a red stitched baseball lying beside my bed. I bent down, picked it up, and stood back up. I pulled my arm back and threw the ball as hard as I could toward the window. When the baseball hit the window it didn't crash through. It really didn't do anything. As soon as the ball hit the glass the ball fell straight down to the ground. It was like the window was some sort of shield. "Well, that sucks," Anthony said.
"Think, Danny-Boy, Think!"
4:35 AM "What the hell am I suppose to do, Anthony?" "Ummm...I dunno. You know any other ways out the house?" "No! I thought guardian angles were supposed to protect me! So far you haven't crap to help." "Well, I never lived here. You have, though. Think, Danny-boy, think." "Okay...but stop calling me Danny-boy. I'm older than you." "Ha! I sincerely doubt that, Danny-boy. I may look young but I'm almost seventy years old. Now, think!" "I CAN'T!" I suddenly screamed. "I can't think! There isn't no place else! The doors and the windows are the only places! I'm gonna die here!" "You know, if I had a human form I would ***** smack you," Anthony said. "You telling me there ain't no place you can get out of here? Think, Danny-boy, think!" "No, no place. No place at all." "Crap." "Is there any way I can kill this monster? This Rummy?" Anthony laughed inside my head. "I doubt it, Danny-boy. I really doubt it." "What does he look like?" "He looks like a regular human, but the inside of him isn't human parts." "What do you mean?" "It's all mold." "Mold?" "Yeah, mold. He's a mold monster." "Ummm...okay then," I said, a little confused. "He has a black heart--a moldy heart." "Yeah, damn mold. He must have been here since we moved out. He was the mold. A damn mold monster named Rummy--like the card game." "Yep, now we gotta get out of here. Cause if I get out I get my human form back." "You do?" "Yep. If I escape this dreadful house I become a boy again. I won't have seventy year old's mind anymore; I'll have a five year old's mind and a five year old's body again. I'll be back in my own time with my parents again. Back in good ole 1942. So, we gotta get the hell out of here, Danny-boy," Anthony said. "Okay. Ummmmmmmm...I really don't know. I'm sorry." "Come on, think. Please just think." "Well, there is one way, but I'm not sure that it would work." "What is it?" "There's a door in the basement. But what if that's covered in mold, too?" "That's a chance we'll just have to take. Let's go." "We can't." "Well...two reasons. Reason number one is I have one leg. Reason number two--the most important reason--is that the all of the mold is in the basement. So, Rummy must be in the basement and if I go down there he's gonna eat me." "Oh," Anthony said, disappointed. "Wait!" "What?" I had an idea. I didn't know if it would work or not. But it was worth a try. "Bleach!" "What? What about bleach?" Anthony asked. "Bleach kills mold!" "It does?" "Yeah it does!" "Oh, I guess they didn't know that in my time. Do you have any?" "Uhh...I think there might be some in the upstairs bathroom. I'm not sure, though." "Great! Really great, Danny-boy! Go get it! Hurry hurry hurry!"
"A Phone Call From the Man With the Plan"
4:37 Before I made it to the stairs, the phone rang. I picked it up and said, "Hello?" "How's it going, m'boy?" "Leave me alone, Rummy." "You ready to be eaten yet?" "Leave me alone!" "I'm not sure what you're up to, but I think I have a pretty good idea. And I advice you not to do it, otherwise you might have to meet a couple of my friends. Ya got it, m'boy?" " **** off!" I hung up the phone. "Come on, Danny-boy, go get that bleach," Anthony said.
"Damn Rodents!"
4:40 AM "I don't think I can do this," I said. I was standing on one foot at the bottom of the steps. "You can do it, Danny-boy. Hop, and if you can't do that; crawl," Anthony said. "Fine." I got three steps up and then he slipped. I landed on my stomach. Okay, I guess I crawl from here. I was about halfway up the steps when I heard a noise. Like a scratching sort of sound. SCRITCH! SCRIIIIIIIITCH! SCRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH! "What the hell is that, Anthony?" I asked. "I--I don't know," Anthony replied. By the time I found out what noise was coming from I was way too late. Thousands--I'm not exaggerating either--of rats came dashing down the steps, and onto me. I put my face down and wrapped my arms around my head, (blocking any possible passage into my ears or mouth or nose. I screamed and screamed, but the rats kept coming. Anthony said the same thing over and over; "Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm, Danny-boy. Just stay calm." I finally managed to stop screaming. A couple minutes later the rats were gone. I was okay. I sat up on a step and caught my breath. "Jesus Christ, Anthony. I hate rats. I hate them so much." "I use to have a pet rat when I was a boy. His name was Scribble," Anthony said. "Shut up." "I also use to have a pet snake. His name was Monty." "Will you shut up? Goddamn my leg hurts." "That's because it's missing." "I know, but--ahhhhhhhhh!" I looked down at my bloody stump and found that the sheet was missing. And to top it off I saw a rat chewing the gore out of it. It was eating the inside of my stump. I picked the rat up by the tail and whipped it at the wall. It exploded like a red paint ball hitting the bark of a tree. SPLAT! "Damn rodents," I muttered.
"Mega-Soaker"
4:45 AM I was soaked with sweat by the time I reached the bathroom on the second floor. I crawled to the toilet and checked my watch. ****, a half hour till I die. I looked down at my leg and almost started to cry. I needed something to stop the bleeding again and I needed something fast. I quickly grabbed a dark blue towel and wrapped it around the bloody stump. Okay, that was better. Now, where the **** is this bleach? Oh yeah, in the cabinet. I opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a giant white jug of beach. Okay, this is what I'm talking about. "That's nice, Danny-boy," Anthony said. "Yeah, but how the hell am I suppose to carry this stuff to the basement? I have one leg. It ain't gonna be exactly easy to carry," I said. "Oh, I guess you're right. Damnit!" "Wait, I think I may have just the thing," I said. I stretched my hand in the bathtub and came with a water gun in my hand. This wasn't any regular water gun, too. It was a blue, two handed Mega-Soaker, with pump action. Yeah, this would do. This would do just fine. This gun held a lot of water, but it didn't have to be water, now did it? I opened the led of the bleach and dumped the Mega-Soaker in it. I held it in for awhile then took back out. It was full. I got on one foot and washed the bleach off my hands. Then I grabbed the gun and pumped it up. I was ready for action. "Wow, that's cool," Anthony said.
"Rummy"
4:50 AM I opened the door that led down to the basement. My head was starting to feel a little woozy from my bloody stump. Alright, I hope I can get outside from the door down here. Oh, God, I hope so. Please oh please. Three minutes later I was at the bottom of the steps, in the basement. Ewww, it smelled so bad down here. It smelled like mold. "Be on your guard, Danny-boy," Anthony said. "Okay, I will." I turned the light on and saw that all of the walls in the basement were covered with the black, smelly mold. "Get to the door," Anthony said. The door was on the other side of the room. I hopped three times and then stopped. Something was coming out of the moldy wall. Something in the shape of a human. "Holy ****," I said. A man stepped onto the concrete floor. He was wearing a trench coat and black sweat pants. He had long black hair and red eyes. "Hello, m'boy," the man said. He was Rummy. "Get away," I said. "What's that you have there?" I looked down at the Mega-Soaker and smiled. "Prepare to die, you bastard!" I aimed the Mega-Soaker at Rummy and held down the trigger. The Bleach splashed against his head. Rummy screamed as his face started to melt. "Oh you son of a *****! Goddamn it I'm gonna enjoy eating you, you goddamn ******* brat!" Rummy screamed. When the face was melted away, I didn't see a skull. Just black. It was mold. The rest of the body melted away and all that was left was just one giant blob of mold. The blob started to slither toward me. I squeezed the trigger of the Mega-Soaker again but found that it was empty. "Oh no! What do I do now, Anthony?" I shouted. "The door. Go for it," Anthony answered. Somehow, I managed to hop around the moldy blob and reach the door. I turned the knob and what do ya know, the door opened! I went outside and quickly crawled up the stone steps. I made my way out to the middle of the street and yelled my guts off. "HELP! HELP! HEEEEEEELLLP MEEEEE! PLEEEEEAAASE FOR THE LOOOVE OF GOOOOOOOD, HEEEEEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEEEEE!" I heard a beeping sound. I looked down at my watch; 5:15 AM. Oh, please let someone help me. "Anthony, I escaped. I did it," I said. But no one answered. He must be back in his time already. Back in good ole 1942. He didn't even say goodbye. He left me on the street, bleeding to death. I'm gonna die. Nobody's here to help me. Please, oh God let somebody help me. Please-- My eyes closed and my cries for help stopped.
"The Next Day"
Detective Jim Bocard and Detective Jose Perez entered the house on Saint Marlboro's Street. Bocard was a Caucasian in his mid-thirties. He was going bald and had a bad back. His partner, Perez, was a Mexican in his late twenties. "Lets see what the **** happened here last night," Bocard said. "Yeah. Something happened to that little boy. Something weird. You think we should have our guns out?" Perez asked. "Nah, whoever attacked that kid is long gone by now." "Oh, okay. Where should we check first?" "Let's start at the basement and work our way up." "Okay." The door was already open. They went down the steps and found that the light was already on. They also saw the walls. The black moldy walls. "What the fu--" Before Jose Perez finished, something leaped out from behind the steps and landed on him. It was some kind of black blob. It looked like mold. "Holy ****, Jose," Jim said, and drew his service revolver. He pointed it at the thing, but before he could do anything with it the mold monster jumped at him. It slowly devoured him. Rummy was full. Well...for now, at least. Copyright 2008 Max Booth III |
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