They Come Out at Night to Feed: Part 3

Thomas Crown was drinking heavily in a lively bar one night. He smoked an entire pack of cigarettes outside, a good 20-feet away from the main entrance. He hit on a saucy woman sitting at the bar.

She was drumming her fingers. Thomas wandered over from a booth. “What’s your name?” Thomas asked. She ignored him. Her eyes were fixed on the surface of her drink. Her face was burning with struggle and perplexity.

“Say, I’m throwing a party in just a little back at my place,” he said. “It wouldn’t be much of a party without a few hot chicks.” His body swayed and teetered every which way.

“You’re really sauced,” the woman observed. “And you’re going to be throwing a party, and getting even drunker?”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the plan.”

“I think I’ll pass,” she said picking up her purse. The woman dug deep, drew out her wallet, and paid the bartender a 10 spot.

“It won’t be the same without you,” Thomas said in an indifferent and unsteady tone.

The woman eyeballed his composure. “I’m sure it won’t,” she said with confidence. Then she left the noisy tavern holding her head up.

Thomas laughed to himself, and followed her outside. He leaned against the wall, watching casually as the woman climbed into a Mazda, and pulled out of the parking lot. She impulsively gazed upon him the same caution and suspicion one might a poisonous snake. Then Thomas lit up a cigarette and started taking deep, long drags.

An hour later Thomas was on his way home in his Jeep Cherokee. He slapped his face, shook his head, and pinched himself. Despite the struggle to sober up, his focus faltered. He drifted over the lines, and instantly veered back after a few seconds. His attention drew to a pair of headlights in his rearview mirror. I hope that’s not a cop, he thought. Then, just as Thomas looked back, he realized something bad was imminent.

A big Mack truck was stopped at red light in front of him. The space between the front of his Jeep Cherokee and the rear end of that huge semi was rapidly closing. Thomas’s heart stopped for an instant. In a sharp reflex action, Thomas hit the brakes and swerved just in time. He missed the Mack truck completely and made it through a green light in one instance.

He gave the event a moment of pause, trying to fully appreciate and understand what had just happened. Thomas’s breathing was short and unsteady. Yet, that didn’t stop him from celebrating.

When Thomas pulled up and parked the Jeep Cherokee, he had a cigarette in his mouth and an empty beer bottle in his hand. He climbed out of the vehicle, took a deep, full breath, and relaxed his nerves. Then when he felt settled, Thomas turned around to lock the driver side door.

A warm, clammy pair of hands grabbed his bare ankles. He looked to see what was going on but it was too late. Whatever it was had him and it dragged him across the ground faster than he could fathom. His nails dug into the pavement. He screamed at the top of his lungs. This creature of enormous strength and speed pulled him to the mouth of a storm drain, and caught a snag.

Thomas was too big to fit. The creature pulled, and tugged on his body. It growled from the depths of its throat. Then, grinding its jagged teeth, the humanoid beast gave it one long, agonizing pull with every muscle in its body. Thomas bellowed. His right arm was cramping him within the mouth of the dark and narrow storm drain. Then the beast on the other end yanked Thomas through and tore his aching limb off in the same instant. He never made another sound as the creature continued dragging his lifeless body through the dark storm drain.

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