places, revealing the skeletal
frame underneath. They did not seem to notice Jimmy, their
attention focused solely on the screaming accountant who was trying
to drag himself away from the three with his elbows.
The man in the suit stomped a foot down on
the accountant’s stomach, instantly cutting off his screams. The
woman knelt down between the accountant’s legs, licking her lips as
she lowered herself toward his dick. Jimmy thought for a moment she
was going to give him a blowjob, just as Jimmy had been doing when
they were interrupted, but instead she bit down on the man’s
scrotum. The accountant found his voice again, a high-pitch wail
aimed at the heavens, as the woman snapped her head back, her teeth
rending flesh.
That was when Jimmy started to scream as
well.
Curtis hurried back around to the front of
the club. He saw Jimmy standing at the rear of the accountant’s
car, staring at something on the ground and screaming. Someone else
screamed, creating a discordant, chilling symphony of fear. From
where he stood, the car was blocking his view of whatever it was
that was inspiring Jimmy’s terror. Curtis ran toward him.
“ Jimmy, what’s going on
over—”
Curtis’s words cut off abruptly when he
rounded the car and saw the accountant lying on the ground, blood
pooling around his waist. A woman in a purple dress, her nose eaten
away that left a gaping hole in the center of her face, was next to
him. She had her hands inside the man. It looked as if she’d
clawed into his stomach, and she was pulling out his intestines
like slimy ropes. Most horrifying was that the accountant was still
conscious, screaming as he watched his own disembowelment. The air
was thick with the stench of excrement and blood.
The woman was not alone. Two men, both in
various stages of decay, were crouched on the ground near the
accountant, but their attention was focused on Jimmy. And now
Curtis. They started crawling forward, tongues lolling out of their
mouths like dead slugs, nightmare visions made flesh.
Curtis didn’t have time to fully process
what he was seeing, but he knew enough to realize that he and Jimmy
needed to get out of there quickly. He grabbed Jimmy by the arm,
but his friend shrieked and pulled away, flailing out at Curtis.
Jimmy’s eyes were glassy and vacant.
“ Jimmy, it’s me,” Curtis
said, continuing to tug on Jimmy’s arm. When Jimmy still did not
move, Curtis resorted to what he’d always seen in the movies and
slapped Jimmy across the face.
For once, the movies had it right. Jimmy’s
eyes focused on Curtis, and he placed a hand over his cheek, bright
red with the print of Curtis’s hand. “What’s going on?” he said,
his voice whisper-thin.
“ We’re leaving, that’s
what’s going on.”
The men on the ground were getting to their
feet now, and the woman, a length of the accountant’s intestines
wrapped around her neck like some grotesque scarf, had turned her
attention to Curtis and Jimmy as well. Curtis jerked Jimmy toward
him and turned in the direction they had parked Jimmy’s Honda
earlier that night. Curtis’s cell phone was in the glove
compartment. They could hit the road and call the police while
putting some miles between themselves and Asylum.
The only problem was that there was a group
of people gathered around the Honda. People that should be dead.
They moved with the stilted, awkward gait of infants just learning
to walk, and their skin was the color of old paper. Curtis saw
wounds—slit throats, missing limbs, skulls bashed open, heads
twisted at impossible angles—wounds that looked mortal, and yet
they walked, advancing toward the club, blocking Curtis and Jimmy’s
way to the car, their escape.
“ This isn’t real,” Jimmy
said, covering his eyes with his hands like a child frightened by a
scary movie. He was shaking his head, as if in denial of the
reality of the situation, all the time repeating the three words
like a mantra until they started to
frame underneath. They did not seem to notice Jimmy, their
attention focused solely on the screaming accountant who was trying
to drag himself away from the three with his elbows.
The man in the suit stomped a foot down on
the accountant’s stomach, instantly cutting off his screams. The
woman knelt down between the accountant’s legs, licking her lips as
she lowered herself toward his dick. Jimmy thought for a moment she
was going to give him a blowjob, just as Jimmy had been doing when
they were interrupted, but instead she bit down on the man’s
scrotum. The accountant found his voice again, a high-pitch wail
aimed at the heavens, as the woman snapped her head back, her teeth
rending flesh.
That was when Jimmy started to scream as
well.
Curtis hurried back around to the front of
the club. He saw Jimmy standing at the rear of the accountant’s
car, staring at something on the ground and screaming. Someone else
screamed, creating a discordant, chilling symphony of fear. From
where he stood, the car was blocking his view of whatever it was
that was inspiring Jimmy’s terror. Curtis ran toward him.
“ Jimmy, what’s going on
over—”
Curtis’s words cut off abruptly when he
rounded the car and saw the accountant lying on the ground, blood
pooling around his waist. A woman in a purple dress, her nose eaten
away that left a gaping hole in the center of her face, was next to
him. She had her hands inside the man. It looked as if she’d
clawed into his stomach, and she was pulling out his intestines
like slimy ropes. Most horrifying was that the accountant was still
conscious, screaming as he watched his own disembowelment. The air
was thick with the stench of excrement and blood.
The woman was not alone. Two men, both in
various stages of decay, were crouched on the ground near the
accountant, but their attention was focused on Jimmy. And now
Curtis. They started crawling forward, tongues lolling out of their
mouths like dead slugs, nightmare visions made flesh.
Curtis didn’t have time to fully process
what he was seeing, but he knew enough to realize that he and Jimmy
needed to get out of there quickly. He grabbed Jimmy by the arm,
but his friend shrieked and pulled away, flailing out at Curtis.
Jimmy’s eyes were glassy and vacant.
“ Jimmy, it’s me,” Curtis
said, continuing to tug on Jimmy’s arm. When Jimmy still did not
move, Curtis resorted to what he’d always seen in the movies and
slapped Jimmy across the face.
For once, the movies had it right. Jimmy’s
eyes focused on Curtis, and he placed a hand over his cheek, bright
red with the print of Curtis’s hand. “What’s going on?” he said,
his voice whisper-thin.
“ We’re leaving, that’s
what’s going on.”
The men on the ground were getting to their
feet now, and the woman, a length of the accountant’s intestines
wrapped around her neck like some grotesque scarf, had turned her
attention to Curtis and Jimmy as well. Curtis jerked Jimmy toward
him and turned in the direction they had parked Jimmy’s Honda
earlier that night. Curtis’s cell phone was in the glove
compartment. They could hit the road and call the police while
putting some miles between themselves and Asylum.
The only problem was that there was a group
of people gathered around the Honda. People that should be dead.
They moved with the stilted, awkward gait of infants just learning
to walk, and their skin was the color of old paper. Curtis saw
wounds—slit throats, missing limbs, skulls bashed open, heads
twisted at impossible angles—wounds that looked mortal, and yet
they walked, advancing toward the club, blocking Curtis and Jimmy’s
way to the car, their escape.
“ This isn’t real,” Jimmy
said, covering his eyes with his hands like a child frightened by a
scary movie. He was shaking his head, as if in denial of the
reality of the situation, all the time repeating the three words
like a mantra until they started to
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