The creature had looked like an extended, floppy hand. Like the ones from the fifty cent machine I used to throw against the wall and watch crawl down the paint.
Never trust anyone — not even your own parents.
I forced myself to think of survival, to hold my hand aloft as I pushed forth the final sprint. I could see blood on the snow, and knew it was mine.
My name is Clint, and I will probably be dead soon.
It took me a full three seconds of looking at that window before I spotted the thing now staring back at me.
Someone set up this place. Someone planned for this. Someone picked us for a reason.
I recently installed the Waze app on my phone, a GPS that spoke up to tell me when a red light camera was reported up ahead, when a police officer was reported up ahead, even when a goddamn pot hole was reported up ahead.
More people have disappeared in the past few months than ever before…
If Brittany wasn’t just making this up to fuck with us, that could only mean: 1), she was seeing things and/or hearing voices, and that made her literally insane enough to cut her own face off; or 2), there really was some monster thing out there, and my life just turned into the kind of horror movie I’d never even want to watch.
“You remind me of her,” Susan whispered from behind me.