A Feast of Flesh

The librarian fingered me, said I’d come in with Stacy. She said she heard me pounding the stairs, ru

Of course, I was as guilty as anyone, but I wasn’t alone. That thingin the library had been born all those years ago—in the depths of our imaginations—of two fathers. The teeth marks on her body may have mimicked my own, but the flesh belonged to Bobby Milton.

Familiar Faces

A short, stout man in a wrinkled grey suit stood next to the window of his hotel room. He poked one thick finger through the Venetian blinds, prying them open slightly so he could peer into the darkness outside. A single light flickered high on a lamppost above a silver sedan—a long, luxury model that showed its age with a little rust around the wheel wells. The only other light came from a little cluster of orange fire blinking in the distance. Behind him, sitting on the edge of a double bed with a rust-colored comforter, a thin woman, mid-thirties, wearing garish, slightly smeared lip gloss poked her hair into an awkward pile on her head.

“Are they out there, Ma

The man turned, showing her his square face smudged by a few days’ worth of beard. The blinds snapped shut as he pulled his finger out. “I can’t see anything.” He stroked the few greasy strands on top of his head. “Hell, I should move the car. Y’know, park it closer to the doors.” He waved the black pistol in his other hand, gesturing toward the blinds.

“What? Go out there now?” She stood up and wrapped herself in her own arms. “Not with them out there, Ma

“Yeah. Alright. Sit down, will ya?” Ma

“You need some sleep, Ma

He glanced into the mirror on the opposite wall, noted the cheap knock-off abstract painting above the bed, and squinted to see the purple circles around his eyes. Liz paced in front of the mirror, slapping her pale upper arms. “It’s so cold in here,” she said.

“Furnace is probably out. Hell, we were lucky to be able to kick start the generator.” Ma

“Ma

“No, I want the big lights. All of them. I ain’t sleepin’ in the dark if I don’t have to.” His hands slipped behind his head, and he kicked off his worn leather loafers. “We’ll leave real early tomorrow. Try to stay ahead of them.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then sat up abruptly, like he was listening to something. “Do you hear that?”

“What, Ma

His fat finger pressed against his lips. “Shhhh. Listen.” A small sound, somewhat like a woman brushing her hair, seemed to radiate from the walls. His hand slid over the gun, and his fingers tightened around the grip.

“Ma

“Pilot light must be out.” His knuckles whitened around the pistol as he swung his legs off the bed, socked feet thumping onto the floor. “I can’t take much more of this shit.” He waddled into the bathroom. “Did we check in here?”

“No, Ma

One chubby finger flicked on the fluorescent bathroom lights while he poked the pistol toward the ceiling tiles. “I just gotta check, okay? I don’t want to wake up dead, ya know.” Using the barrel of the gun as a probe, Ma

“Satisfied?” Liz asked as Ma

“Let’s hit the sack, okay. I want to get outta here early.”

“Where to, though?”

“I du

They lay next to each other in a rather lumpy double bed. Ma

A few hours passed before Ma

A click from the hallway.

Ma

A slight thump sounded outside the door on the hallway carpet. Ma

A small tapping sound started in the hallway, something that sounded like little fingertips or tiny hands poking at the wall. Ma

The sound amplified, echoing from the other side of the door now. Tap, tap, tap. Ma

“Jesus Ma

Ma

“Sorry,” Liz whispered, her voice so low it almost was lost in the comforter she held tightly at her throat. Ma