Nightmare Fuel October 2012, Day 16
Chests heave. Knives are dropped. Plates stop spinning on the checkerboard floor. The cellar door bangs shut. As the dust settles from their last fight, Marianne hides where no dust has ever even been stirred. Except, something stirs. There, down between two crates filled with Fragile somethings, something moved. Could have been a trick of the light if there was any light down here. Her pulse quickens. She sticks to the classics.
Unfortunately for her, so do I.
“Don’t you just wish,” I say, voice sweet and slow and dark like molasses, “that he could understand how it feels?”