Animals by John Skipp;Craig Spector

Author:John Skipp;Craig Spector
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Crossroad Press & Macabre Ink Digital
Published: 2010-12-08T00:00:00+00:00

~ * ~

The door eased shut again—slowly, slowly—and for Syd Jarrett, there was a fifteen-second slice of infinity when all Creation was reduced to that narrowing gap. Watching the darkness as it winnowed down to nothing. Then gone.

Then gone.

As if from a distance, he felt the world start up again without him: disaster averted, and on with the show. Somebody laughed, too loud; it was almost like a signal. All at once, the muted buzz gave way, the party resuming in earnest.

Syd just stood there. Silent. Thrumming. Paralytic with shock and pain. The jukebox came on, abrupt and staring. Billie Holiday. "Tain't Nobody's Business If I Do." Underneath the boisterous relief of the crowd, the clinking glass and chinkling change, Syd felt his nerve endings begin to unravel, his heart crisp and shrivel inside his chest.

"Syd." Voice first, then the hand on his shoulder. Syd recoiled from the touch, his eyes aflame.

He began to shake his head.

"C'mon, man." He felt Jules behind him, trying to steer him back to the bar. "You gotta let it go. . . ."

"No." Syd growled, wrenching suddenly free. There was violence in the gesture. It was barely restrained. Jules stepped back, staring into those burning eyes.

And for the first time in ten years of friendship, Jules was afraid of him.

Syd smelled the fear, found it strangely exhilarating. The killing rage hurtled forth like a living force, a separate entity with a mind and a will all its own. Yes, it said. You SHOULD be afraid. You should ALL be afraid . . .

. . . and then it struck him that no: not them. There was only one who should have such reason to fear . . .

. . . and then he was moving, hitting the door with both hands, sending it slamming back to crash against the wall as his feet smacked gravel and his eyes scanned the biting black air. Thinking sonofabitch, I'm gonna rip right through you. I'm gonna tear you to fucking shreds . . .

. . . and then he spotted them, at the far end of the parking lot: Vic, closing the passenger side door of a battered sedan; Nora inside, head down, shoulders slumped. They were maybe sixty feet away. Vic looked up, saw Syd coming, ignored him.

"HEY!" Syd called out, moving faster now, the killing rage singing in his blood as he crossed the parking lot.

"HEY, YOU!"

Vic waltzed around the front of the car, heading for the driver's side. The thought that Nora was afraid made him crazy; the idea that she was scared for him sent Syd clear over the top. Syd himself felt no fear, only a terrible clarity of purpose.

"HEY!!!"

Twenty feet now, and Vic still showed no sign of response. Adrenaline surged through Syd's system: every cell humming in anticipation, restless for impact.

Ten feet, five. He could practically taste his blood "MOTHERFUCKER, I'M TALKIN' TO YOU!!!"

He got there just as Vic reached the driver's door. Nora called out Syd's name; it was

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