by Sam West
“Get off me,” she sobbed.
Movement danced in the corner of her vision, and she saw Becky struggling on the floor in much the same position as she was in. Except Becky was making a lot more fuss than she was.
“What the fuck is this?” the stunned guy who had just joined them asked.
Lauren looked at him. It was the guy dressed as Edward Scissorhands – the one with whom Becky had been dirty dancing with just a few short minutes ago, back when life hadn’t descended into a waking nightmare.
“Get these fucking brats off me,” she screamed at him.
Somehow, referring to them as ‘brats’, even though she knew they were anything but children, imbued her with a sense of control.
She glared at Edward Scissorhands as with painstaking slowness, he removed his gloves with the fake scissors for fingers. As he did so, he opened the door and called into the living-room; “Would somebody please call the police? We have a problem out here.”
No sooner than he had spoken, searing pain stabbed in her ankle. She gasped and went rigid with the sudden jolt of pain, her entire body spasming.
When she had composed herself sufficiently to steal a glance down the length of her body, she saw that the thing had sunk its pointy teeth into her ankle. Her mind lurched at the gruesome sight. The thing’s teeth remained imbedded in her lower shin, and when she went to pull away her leg, she found that she could barely even move it.
Heat seeped through her body, radiating upwards from her bitten ankle. Accompanying that heat was a welcome numbness which went a long way to numbing the pain. In fact, she was now feeling decidedly fuzzy. Becky’s screams, the music of the party, and other, new, concerned voices out in the hallway jumbled together meaninglessly in her head. She could no longer pick out individual words, or differentiate between the sound of the screaming or the sound of the music. It was all just noise.
And she was suddenly very hungry and incredibly horny. The crotch of her catsuit instantly wetted with her juices, as one lewd image after another crashed through her mind. She saw flesh, dripping with blood. She could almost smell the corrupt deliciousness of freshly eviscerated bowels. Her mouth watered as all too-vividly she imagined how it would feel to plunge her hands into the steaming, stinking innards, to bring the savoury heat of those slippery organs to her mouth.
No shame accompanied these images, nor words. The primal desire drowned out all other thought; it flooded her system, the fierce need for ripped open flesh pulsing and flowing through her blood in time with the frantic beat of her heart.
The pain of her bitten ankle, the memory of that numbing heat spreading through her body, was all but gone. All that remained was that primal hunger, that desire, that sheer wanton need.
The two creatures that had moments before been pinning her to the ground – one of them with her blood painted around its mouth – stepped back to allow her to stand.
She looked down at them, no longer frightened, her body thrumming with adrenalin-fuelled desire. It wasn’t a fully-formed thought as such, but she instinctively knew that they were friend, not foe. That they were her own kind.
She glanced over at Becky. She too, was standing, the remaining two creatures by her side. They locked gaze and an unspoken understanding passed between them. In that second, Lauren understood all that she ever needed to know; it was the two of them – and the four creatures – against the rest of them. She and Becky had been chosen.
At the same time, both she and Becky stepped forwards until they met in the middle of the hallway. They embraced, their hands feverishly exploring the contours of each other’s bodies. Becky’s mouth was warm, wet and open, further enflaming the lust that burned bright within her.
They pulled apart, panting in need. But no longer in need for each other; in need for them.
On the deepest, subconscious level, Lauren was aware of voices surrounded her. Human voices, wrenched upwards from their hot, steaming innards, ripe for the devouring.
A hand grasped her shoulder – a hand that didn’t belong to the girl that she trusted.
“…alright?” the white-faced man asked.
She didn’t understand what he was saying and neither did she care. She wrapped her arms around his neck in a lover’s embrace and pressed her mouth against his. He didn’t resist. As she kissed him she breathed in deeply, tasting the very essence of him, the faintest, sulphurous tinge of stomach acid, traces of the meal he had eaten earlier, that indefinable, distinctly human odour of his heated flesh, made rich by his pumping blood.
Then she pushed her body assertively against him, slamming him against the wall. He appeared to be resisting now; she could taste the fear on his breath. On an instinctive, primal level, she understood that he had thought she was playing before, that she and her new friends were not a threat.
He could not have been more wrong. Breaking off the kiss – not least because his mouth had clamped shut and he was trying to push her away – she clung resolutely onto him and trailed her open mouth downwards, stopping at the fluttering pulse at the base of his neck. Opening her mouth wide, she sunk in her teeth.
Her lips, gums and teeth were instantly hugged by the wet heat of his torn flesh. The flesh didn’t come away in her mouth and she retracted her teeth, her lips forming a tight ‘O’ around the wound. No scream escaped his lips, but she could feel the rattling vibration of the scream trying to form in his ripped throat. The red-hot blood pulsed hard into her mouth in satisfying jets, and the man slithered down the wall. She descended with him, sucking greedily at the gaping wound. He twitched and spasmed beneath her, but she hugged him close to her as his life-force drained away.
She sighed in pleasure as she drunk deeply of his blood. The warmth of it spread through her, the sensation of it heating and prickling her skin like she were in the throes of an orgasm. It was by far the most exquisite thing that had ever entered her mouth, and the need for more burned bright and hard within her. That little taste of heaven had thrown open the floodgates of this new hunger.
She stopped sucking. Her thirst was quenched, but she was still hungry. Wiping off the blood that smeared her mouth and chin and blinking it from her eyes, she nuzzled the wound at his neck.
It smelled nice, but not great. The flesh was rapidly cooling, the lack of blood pumping around the meat making it less appetizing, less fresh. Not unappetizing as such, just less so.
Slowly, she raised her head. Why eat dead flesh when it could be consumed alive? She was surrounded by food, by potential sexual gratification. That deep need still pulsed between her legs, reminding her that this hunger wasn’t the only thing that needed satisfying.
Surrounding her, she became aware of raised voices. Panicked voices. Even though she didn’t recognise any words, there was no mistaking the primal fear that hung heavy in the air. Like a wild animal, she stuck her nose in the air and sniffed; it was thick with the odour of fear. She looked over at her friend, who had her back to her. Like she had done herself just moments before, she was crouched over one of the screamers, her mouth latched to his throat until he wasn’t screaming anymore.
That just left one more screamer. With interest, Lauren’s gaze swept over the victim. It was a female, and therefore of less interest to her than a male. Males tasted better, and she also wanted to fuck. That hadn’t happened yet because she had been so thirsty, but the urge to rut was getting stronger. Before much longer, she knew that she would make it happen.
The four creatures crowded around the screaming girl, pinning her against the opposite wall. They descended upon her, flooring her in an instant before swarming over her, ripping at her flesh with their sharp claws and even sharper teeth. The girl wasn’t screaming for long.
Beyond the closed living-room door, the music thumped and pulsed. Scream of laughter and human chatter assaulted her ears, the food beyond oblivious to their fate. Her mouth watered, and yet again, her gaze locked with the girl who was of her own kind. The girl nodded, and Lauren smiled. It w
as time.
Together, with the four creatures right behind them, they pushed open the door. As soon as they did so, the heat of their bodies hit her like a brick wall, stirring her up to fever-pitch.
It was time to eat.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jen looked over at the screaming kid in dismay. This night was going from fucked up to outrageously fucking crazy. She flinched in Neil’s arms, momentarily numbed by the unfolding events of the evening. The noise the screaming kid made was ear-splitting, his face a mask of agony.
She was struck by the similarities between the kid’s expression and that of the white mask the horrible prick called Rob had been wearing – the mask from that horror movie she hated. The kid was like the physical embodiment of the Munch painting ‘The Scream’; the expression in his eyes, and the way he held his face in utter despair, was truly terrifying.
Her heart lurched, partly in fear, and partly in abject sympathy as she shrugged out of Neil’s grip and rushed over to the distraught child. She bundled his stiff, shivering little body against her, his screams now muffled slightly by her pullover. For a moment, he struggled in her arms, but his screams quickly gave way to terrified sobbing. She had never heard anything like it.
What the hell has happened to him tonight?
She remembered what the boy had said – how his mum had been killed, and a coldness seeped through her.
No, that can’t have happened.
But something had happened. Somehow, she couldn’t seem to organise her thoughts, work out what to do. She had to take the kid back to his house, see for herself what was going on. Or maybe Neil could take him because they couldn’t very well leave Angie alone in the house, not with all the fucked-up shit happening tonight.
Neil came over to her, and she held the trembling child tighter against her. “Take the kid inside,” he said. “I’m going to go next-door, see what’s happened.”
Just as he spoke, yet another scream pierced the night. This time, the scream was coming from Rob. At first, Jen didn’t understand what she was seeing. She stared at the three of them over by the gate in dismay, her brain reeling. She blinked. Rob was lying on his back by the gate, and the two women were crouched over him. The girl with the stunningly slim figure dressed as Catwoman was sitting on his face, the other girl who was dressed as Red Riding hood kneeling on his shins. Their heads met in the middle of his torso, and Rob bucked and writhed.
If Jen didn’t know any better, she would say that the girls were eating him.
“Jesus Christ, get them off me,” he wailed through the gut-wrenching screams.
Neil took a step towards him, but Jen shoved the sobbing kid to one side and gripped his arm with all the strength she possessed. He faltered, and together they stared in stark disbelief at the unfolding scene.
Rob’s high-pitched squeals that reminded her of a pig brought to slaughter gave way to a wet, gurgling sound, his body jerking and convulsing like he was being electrocuted.
“Jesus fuck,” Neil whispered.
Jen saw the way something came away in Catwoman’s mouth when she reared her head. Despite how dark it was, she could clearly see a lump of flesh clamped between her teeth, at the end of which dangled what looked like a long, gore-splattered wire. The rational part of her mind knew perfectly well that what she was seeing was no length of wire.
And she also knew exactly what that lump of meat in his mouth was; his fucking cock.
Slowly, she became aware of tugging on her arm. When she looked down, she saw the kid trying to pull her in the direction of the door.
“We have to go inside,” he gasped.
For a second, she admired the way he had appeared to pull himself together in the face of this new, extreme adversity, and then she was stumbling after him, with Neil hot on her heels.
When the three of them fell into the hallway, Neil leaned against the front-door, his trembling fingers fumbling for the safety latch and flicking the lock.
“What’s happening?” he asked, his expression shell-shocked.
Jen could feel her mouth hanging open, the way her breath was coming in ragged little gasps. The hallway seemed to tilt around her and a strange, whimpering sound reached her ears. It took her a moment to realise that the sound was coming from her.
“I told you, it’s the monsters. We need to call the police.”
Jen didn’t hear him at first, not really. In a daze she slowly looked down at the kid.
A loud bang on the door made all three of them cry out. The door shuddered some more with further frantic banging, then all went quiet.
“Angie,” Jen gasped, suddenly remembering the little girl sleeping upstairs.
“Shit. Wait here. Two seconds.”
Neil was saying this as he lurched down the large hallway. At the same time as he did this, he was also punching numbers into his smartphone.
“What are you doing?” Jen called after him.
“Getting weapons. Calling the police. Hello? This is Neil Morris, I’m at number two, Eastcliff Parade and I need everything you’ve got. This is bad. Really bad, people are dying…”
He stopped in his tracks, his back stiff and arm frozen mid-stretch on its way to push open the kitchen-door.
Her insides felt tight and strange as she watched him. The phone slithered out of his hand, clattering to the wooden floor and shattering into two bits.
“Neil? What happened?”
“You spoke to him, didn’t you?” the boy said next to her. “The clown-man. We need to smash up the TV, because he can climb through it.”
Jen let out a strangled sob, the image of that clown-freak on the TV and on their mobiles blaring in her mind.
No, that was just some actor, some stupid, practical joke.
But the kid’s words still turned her bowels to ice. Neil, who seemed to have composed himself, burst into the kitchen. She reached for the boy, wrapping her arms protectively around his shoulders as she listened to Neil clattering around, opening and shutting drawers and the unmistakable sound of clattering cutlery.
Not cutlery. Knives.
A sickness churned in her stomach and her head swam. She clung on tighter to the child – not so much for his sake but for her own.
“Jen, are you still there?” he called from the kitchen. “You need to go and get Angie, right now.”
Angie. Yes, of course she did. How could she forget about her, even for a second? She needed to get the kid, and then they needed to get out of here. She detached herself from the boy and on numb legs she stumbled up the stairs.
Up in Angie’s room, all was well. The child lay peacefully sleeping in her cot, oblivious to what was happening. Jen leaned against the cot-railings and down at her sweet little face, reluctant to wake her. She was wearing a pink onesie, the blankets twisted around her legs. She leaned down to scoop her up, pressing her tight against her chest, and the child stirred and arched her back in her arms, sucking noisily and hard on the dummy.
Oh God, please don’t wake up. Please don’t scream.
“Hush,” she said, jiggling her a little in her arms and making shushing noises, reaching down into the cot to retrieve the pink heart blanket and wrapping her up in it.
When she pressed her face to her forehead, she smelled milky and sweet, and the odour tore at her heart.
If anything happens to her…
No, she couldn’t think like that, she was just going to have to protect her, no matter what.
Back down in the hallway, Neil was waiting for her, holding three large knives. Her eyes bugged out in her head when he handed one of the knives to the boy, and the other to her. The boy had gravely taken the offered knife, but Jen couldn’t bring herself to touch it. Angie stirred in her arms and she jiggled and shushed her, terrified that she would wake up.
“Take it,” he said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice when she remained as responsive to him as a lump of playdough.
He shoved it harder at her, handle first. Reluc
tantly she took it, wincing at the feel of the slightly warmed plastic of the handle. It felt so wrong cuddling a baby and holding a knife, and she shuddered in repulsion, taking care that the blade didn’t touch the child.
Neil leaned over to peer at the boy. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Danny.”
“Hey Danny, I’m Neil, and I’m going to do my best to save us, okay? But you have to do as I say. The front door’s pretty solid, so I should imagine that they’ll try and get in through the living-room window. The plan is, that if and when they do, we escape through the front-door. But if, for whatever reason, we can’t, I want you, Jen and Angie to go and lock yourselves in the bathroom, okay? Don’t come out, and fight if you have to.”
Jen looked at him in horror, hating the fact that he was right. It was just an ordinary house, and hardly a prison or a nuclear bunker. If they wanted to come in, then they would undoubtedly find a way.
“We’re not safe in the house,” Danny said. “There’s something wrong with this street, the clown-man said so. We have to get away from here.”
Neil crouched down in front of Danny and gently held his shoulders. “Now you listen to me, okay? So long as they don’t come in, then we’re safe in the house.”
“No, we’re not,” the boy retorted, his voice growing squeakier with his mounting distress. “I already told you, the clown-man can climb through the TV. I think he could find doorways anywhere, if he wanted to. He said the fabric between worlds is thin. We are not safe in here.”
Jen winced as her stomach clenched in fear. The horrible man that she had seen on the TV and on her phone had been constantly niggling away at her subconsciousness. Somehow, some way, she knew that he was an integral part of this night from hell. It was something that she understood on an instinctive level. She didn’t know how or why she knew it, she just knew it. The things that those girls had done outside… The strange trick or treaters before them… Maybe the gates of hell really had opened up tonight.