Urban Gothic by Brian Keene

muffled. The thing on his back chattered insanely, babbling nonsense words and noises.
    Kerri raised the club and tried to appear menacing.
    “Hey,” she shouted.
    The thing still clung to Brett’s back, but it ceased pummeling Brett and glanced up at her. White teeth flashed in the darkness.
    “Let him go,” Kerri warned, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
    The attacker spat at her. Something warm and wet and sticky splattered against her cheek and clung there. It slowly rolled down the side of her face, leaving a slug-like trail. Disgusted, Kerri wiped at it with her fingertips. The stench was revolting.
    Brett took advantage of his attacker’s momentary distraction and pushed himself upright. Still kneeling, he reached behind him and punched the thing in the head. It must have hurt, because then Brett jerked his hand away and shook his fingers as if they’d gone numb. The thing tumbled off his back and staggered. Then, squealing in what sounded like frustration, it waddled forward again. Its movements were jittery. Spasmodic. But it was incredibly fast. Shouting, Kerri dashed toward Brett, as well, praying that she reached him first.
    Brett screamed.
    As she closed the distance, Kerri finally got a good look at their foe in the light of Brett’s cell phone. Like the previous attacker, this one was a dwarf, but it was even more repulsive than the last one had been. It was naked, except for a swath of dirty cloth sticking out of its vagina.
    The cloth was soaked with fresh blood. Kerri realized with horror that the cloth served as some type of tampon. The woman’s body was lean but heavily muscled, and her face, even obscured by the darkness, was clearly malformed. Her forehead bulged, and her mouth seemed to curve around her face. What hair she had was long and stringy and matted with filth. Her eyes were too large for her face, and the pupils seemed to almost completely fill in the irises. The thing’s arms were longer than its body and rippled with bulging muscles. By contrast, her legs were mere nubs—withered and useless. Despite this, the freak moved quickly. It waddled toward Brett, running on its arms, and reached him before Kerri. Brett tried to roll out of the way, but the female dwarf stood on one hand and slapped him in the head with the other. Brett collapsed to the floor, stunned.
    “Get away from him, bitch.”
    The female laughed at Kerri—a high-pitched keening that drowned out Heather’s shouts from the dark room.
    Kerri felt a sudden but slight draft of air on her face. She glanced upward. Directly above Brett, there was a hole in the ceiling—a dark spot, blacker than the rest of the hallway. An open trapdoor dangled there. Kerri grunted in fearful awe as it dawned on her what had happened. Their captors had sealed off the hallway, turned off the lights, and then waited for them to pass beneath the trapdoor. The dwarf had dropped out of the ceiling, directly onto Brett.
    The dwarf growled, eyeing Kerri’s weapon.
    “Get away from him,” she repeated.
    Before Kerri could strike, Brett regained his senses and lashed out at his attacker with his right hand. His movements were sluggish. He cried out, and Kerri noticed that his voice was slurred. His fingers scraped across the dwarf’s shoulder. The woman lunged forward. Her wide open mouth clamped down on Brett’s fingers.
    Brett tried to pull his fingers back and moaned in disgust. Kerri gasped. She knew what was about to happen as surely as if she were watching footage that had already been filmed—and even as she raised the club, she knew she’d never be able to stop it in time.
    The woman bit down. Blood flowed from around her lips and streaked down Brett’s forearm. Brett shrieked. His eyes opened wide. The thick lips on the dwarf’s face quivered. Then the woman reared back, shaking her head savagely. Kerri heard the crunch of Brett’s fingers breaking, even over her own screams.
    Brett wailed. His voice rose in octaves and