314 Book 2 by A.R. Wise

Ben,” said the man to Debra’s right. He seethed his words, but Debra put her hand out and hushed him.
    “Go on,” said Debra. “Did she love her brother?”
    Stephen was confused, and felt suddenly lost. He was saddened by his surroundings, and thought he could hear a dog barking in the distance. A sense of dread brought sweat to his brow, and his thudding heart made his hands tremble. His mouth was dry, and he licked at his lips, tasting a mix of salt and metal. Stephen saw a shadow looming on the stairs, though he couldn’t see a source. It was shaped like a human, as if an invisible figure was standing at the top of the stairs. Then water began to flow over the carpeted edge, trickling down the stairs, each drop plopping as if into a pool.
    “Did she love him?” asked Debra, more insistent now. After she spoke, her teeth chattered until she closed her blood red lips.
    “What the fuck is going on?” asked Stephen. He put the back of his hand to his forehead, hoping to feel the heat of a high temperature, but finding only cool sweat. “I think there’s something wrong.”
    “Does Alma love Ben?” asked Debra as she stood up. She towered over Stephen, as if she’d grown several feet the moment she decided to stand.
    “Jesus Christ!” Stephen instinctually raised his arms in defense, terrified of everything in the room with him.
    “I see you,” said a woman from the stairs.
    Everyone turned to face the red haired girl that watched them. She was nude and soaking wet. Her pale skin was splotched with red abrasions. She appeared to have lipstick on, but then Stephen saw the color drip down her chin and realized her mouth was bleeding.
    “ Sir?” asked one of the men on the couch, but he wasn’t an adult anymore. Stephen was bewildered that the two executives that had been sitting beside Debra had been replaced by two young boys. They looked frightened, and one of them was crying.
    “They’re mine!” Debra screamed at the woman on the stairs, and her voice warbled as if competing with another person’s scream. She put her foot into the crotch of the child to her left and he screamed as she pushed down. The other child tried to run, but Debra caught him by the back of his shirt and dragged him back.
    “What are you doing?” asked Stephen.
    Debra’s hands were skeletal, her once manicured nails now long and grey. She wrapped her hand around the boy’s throat and then twisted his head. The boy, no older than ten, wailed in agony, a high pitched screech that ended with the pop of his spine. The child was staring at Stephen when he died, and his eyes immediately turned to mist as green electricity sparked from within him. His body fell to the floor like an empty suit falling from a hanger, leaving a sheath of a carcass folded on the ground. Then the grotesque skin seemed to melt into the floor, mixing with the thin layer of fog that had replaced the carpet.
    Stephen tried to move, but he felt restrained in his seat. He saw that the fog had formed around his feet and arms, tying him to the seat like the straps of an electric chair. The tendrils of smoke snuck up his leg and over his chest as he cried out in terror.
    “I’ll take them all,” said the woman on the stairs.
    Stephen watched as the red-haired, wounded stranger got to her knees at the top of the stairs. Then she lay on the wet carpet and started to crawl down the stairs, an inexplicable sight. She struggled to keep from falling, the muscles in her arms tense as she held herself up. Her wounds grew worse, and the skin on her face seemed to be sliding off her skull, dragging the lower lids of her eyes down to reveal the bloodshot globes beneath. When she spoke, loosened teeth fell from her gums. “Look what you’ve done!”
    The fog receded from her, as if frightened of her touch as she descended the stairs. Debra growled, her foot still pressed into the crotch of the other boy. “The children are mine,” said Debra, her voice now deeper.