It held Darla above its face by its elongated arms. They looked too big for its body and probably dragged the ground when it walked. The hands were clasped around Darla’s narrow waist, the fingers entwined as it angled Darla downward.
Darla, screaming, whipped her head from side to side. Her ponytail lashed at the open air.
“Help me, Bruce!” she begged.
But Bruce couldn’t move. His body felt numb and useless. The only part of him that seemed to work was the part that he feared was damaged the most.
His eyes.
And they showed him what he didn’t want to see. The creature’s wide, horned head tilted back. A pair of floppy ears that were more like batwings dangled from either side of its oblong skull. An underbite caused its jaw to jut out like a trapdoor. A curled fang protruded from its bottom lip and seemed to grow as the mouth dropped open. The mouth continued to stretch as Darla’s face lowered closer. A serpentine tongue slithered out, sliding back and forth as it licked Darla’s face and left it coated in thick, viscous fluid. Her hair was matted flat, the ponytail glued to her cheek.
Darla managed one more scream and plea for help before her head was dunked into the gaping maw. Her screams became muffled inside the creature’s mouth.
“Oh, God…” gasped Bruce. “God, help me, God!”
Bruce watched Darla’s shoulders dip inside next. The creature’s throat swelled like frog’s as Darla began to travel through its esophagus. Her kicking legs caused her shoes to fly off her feet. He could no longer hear her screaming and he was ashamed at the relief that came with that.
Within moments, the creature was gripping her ankles and shoving her deeper into his mouth. His throat was nearly the size of a tent, a tent that trembled and rolled as something inside fought to be freed. Then her feet were gone, and the red-purple creature was using a single talon of its finger to push what remained down its demonic gullet.
Its mouth closed, and its throat began to shrink. Bruce looked away when he heard the snapping sounds of bones.
Darla…I’m so sorry. I’m so…
He stopped thinking when he noticed the creature had now turned its attention to him. That serpentine tongue slipped out between its uneven lips and slid across. Thick, gelatin-like ooze dribbled down its stumpy chin.
It’s still hungry.
Bruce could finally feel his arms again. He raised his right arm, aiming his pistol at the monster’s head.
Then he noticed his hand was empty. He’d lost his weapon sometime during his fall. Looking at his hand, formed as if he was holding an invisible pistol, struck him as funny and he began to laugh.
The creature leaned its head to the side, confused by Bruce’s rejoinder. Seeing this only caused Bruce to laugh even harder. He began to think about everything that had happened and tried to grasp it all and the ridiculousness of what he assumed was the final moments of his mostly normal, drab life. No way was this how reality operated. This had to be a dream. He’d simply fallen asleep in his cruiser and was sleeping behind the wheel with a belly sated on a sub from Quigley’s.
Then the creature threw back its head and roared. He felt the booming recoil under his skin. The air smelled like copper, raw meat, and fire.
Bruce wasn’t dreaming. This was really happening, no matter how outlandish it all seemed.
Now, it didn’t seem funny. His fear had returned with a paralyzing force. And when the creature finally stopped its hellacious roar, he noticed that he’d pissed his pants.
The creature dropped forward, putting its front paws on the floor and it stretched like a lion just waking from a long rest. A rope-like tail raised, tipped with a wedge-shaped point. Like a cat, it lowered to its haunches, wiggled its ass, and leaped.
The last thing Bruce saw through his gammy vision was that inhuman mouth dropping open again, even wider this time to make room for his large size. Cleaved between its twisted fangs like a piece of lettuce was the hair-tie Darla had used for her ponytail.
Splatterpunk Fighting Back Page 18
