I’ve heard the rumours about things that can’t be explained, we all have,but I didn’t think they’d be on our fucking doorstep.
In front of my face.
And more frightening than anything else—and let’s face it there’s a lot to be terrified of right now—they recognise me too. That can’t be good.
“Nothing to say?” Birch raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “No questions?”
Oh, I have questions all right. And I’m sure I’ll ask them once I work out how to speak again.
My mouth won’t work.
My limbs won’t work either.
My whole body seems to have gone into lock down from the shock and I’m trapped in my sleeping bag.
And what would you do if you could move?
Absolutely nothing, that’s what.
I’ve seen enough horror films to know that once you run, it’s all over. But lying here waiting for them to do something isn’t any better, is it?
“W-what do you want?” I manage, not even caring that I stutter. It’s a miracle I got words out at all.
All four of them laugh.
Birch turns to the guy next to him and grins. “W-what do we want, Phil?”
More laughter.
Phil’s gaze sharpens as he looks at me. He looks...hungry. And not in an I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off sort of way either.
Birch crouches down next to me, and I can’t even flinch away, held captive by my own sleeping bag. He gets closer still and at this range I can pick out the dried blood around his mouth and down the side of his neck.
Somehow, I know it’s not his.
He inhales, long and deep, then snarls.
It’s the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard, and my heart stops all over again. At this rate, it’ll give up before the night’s out.
“FuckingHarper.” Birch sits back on his haunches, gaze focused on my neck.
“Told you,” Phil says, coming closer. “He fucking reeks of them.”
Do I? I’m tempted to try and sniff myself,because that’s the important thing right now, Morgan.
I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t busy trying not to piss myself.
“You been there tonight?” Birch reaches out and trails a finger down the side of my face andfucking ow!
I hiss as his nail digs into my skin, the pressure increases as he moves it downward, and something wet trickles down mycheek. When he draws his hand back and licks his finger, I have to bite back a whimper.
Claws.
Not nails.
He’s got claws coming out of his fucking fingers.
And that’s my blood he’s licking.
