Don’t Mess With That Chick
They locked him the catacombs under the city almost a century ago. The workers were kind enough to release and give him sustenance. He ripped their throats out and feasted on their hearts and livers; the rest he left congealing in the coolness of his underworld.
He emerged from underground. He knew the ones that locked him away would be long gone; he would know the descendents when he smelled them. She smelled like her grandmother. He watched her for hours, dreaming of the macabre dance they would have. She felt nefarious eyes burning into her soul. She stepped into her house; a strong earthy smell filled the air. A strong arm crooked around her throat, darkness enshrouded her vision.
She woke in a cold, dim room. He stood behind her. Fear pulsed through her veins as she gingerly stood and turned, facing her stalker. She knew him immediately from the stories her grandparents told. She shrieked denial into the darkness and leapt forward, kicking him in the face. He staggered backward and chuckled. She had spark. Again, she kicked. He grabbed her leg. Her head crashed into the floor, stars exploded in her vision. He released her leg and crouched over her.
Without a second thought, she kicked her legs into his crotch. He gasped. She rolled as he fell. She stood, looking hurriedly around. A few pipes lay on the floor in the corner. She ran over and grabbed one. As she turned, she felt him behind her. She swung the pipe, making contact. She recoiled and launched the pipe into his head again, knocking him to the floor. She beat the pipe into his skull repeatedly, until the congealed mess of his brain oozed out. She sniffed and dropped the pipe. The clang echoed in the chamber.
Read all the entries at http://3-4thursday.blogspot.com/