“Sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” said the Spider, “but I‘ve again intentions to make you my own.” She dared not turn around, as she knew with all certainty that what had crept upon her was a lethal, liquid-black grotesquery unparalleled in her world. Her skin, pupils, every follicle of hair reacted protectively as icy adrenaline surged to oil her limbs. She’d heard that voice once before, here on this very same glade, and knew that it originated from a primal and universally shared nightmare. She instantly froze, the spoon halfway to her mouth. The voice, lecherous as a dank cellar draft, seemed to travel low to the ground, as if slithering out from beneath a rock. (Originally published in Father Grim’s Storybook.)
“Wednesday’s Child” by Jon Michael Kelley
0 kommentar(er)
