HeapThaumaturgist
First Post
Static in the Key of E ...
It was cold. So cold. The smoke made it hard to breathe. Sam coughed and shook his head. Hot. It had to be hot, because the kitchen was on fire. And the dining room. He felt so cold, though, and it was too hard to move from the floor.
“It will pass …”
The voice was a vibration just behind his eyes. It made him want to sneeze, or scream, or both.
“They are moving toward the back of the house.”
This voice was separate. Was it himself? No. Movement by a window. Dark. Dark clothes. A hat.
Something moved across his neck, cradling, supporting. It was cold … or maybe hot? Firm. Hard. Metallic. A long, flexible, metal finger. Then another. And one more, moving along the base of his skull. No. In. Pulling out. There was no pain, but the impossibility and discomfort of it made him cry out. It was pulling out of his brain, out of his skull, out of his body with a sick slerking sound.
“You. Drive.”
The other man in the room walked towards him, pulled him to his feet.
“Yes.” Sam said. He wasn't sure why, but the man was right. They must escape. He reached in his pocket and fished his car keys out.
The sickness was gone, the weakness, the fever. For the first time in a week he felt fine. He was strong. And it was hot. The room was on fire.
It was cold. So cold. The smoke made it hard to breathe. Sam coughed and shook his head. Hot. It had to be hot, because the kitchen was on fire. And the dining room. He felt so cold, though, and it was too hard to move from the floor.
“It will pass …”
The voice was a vibration just behind his eyes. It made him want to sneeze, or scream, or both.
“They are moving toward the back of the house.”
This voice was separate. Was it himself? No. Movement by a window. Dark. Dark clothes. A hat.
Something moved across his neck, cradling, supporting. It was cold … or maybe hot? Firm. Hard. Metallic. A long, flexible, metal finger. Then another. And one more, moving along the base of his skull. No. In. Pulling out. There was no pain, but the impossibility and discomfort of it made him cry out. It was pulling out of his brain, out of his skull, out of his body with a sick slerking sound.
“You. Drive.”
The other man in the room walked towards him, pulled him to his feet.
“Yes.” Sam said. He wasn't sure why, but the man was right. They must escape. He reached in his pocket and fished his car keys out.
The sickness was gone, the weakness, the fever. For the first time in a week he felt fine. He was strong. And it was hot. The room was on fire.
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