The thing was an abomination. It stood not nine, but ten feet in height, hunched over to prevent from hitting its head on the low kitchen ceiling. While it walked on two legs and had a vaguely humanoid shape, this thing could be described no better than a violation of nature. Its skin was wet, dripping in a black pus-like sweat, and, in places, hanging off in layers like shed skin clinging to a snake. What skin held intact, tinted charcoal grey and dark as it was, had a translucency about it, and Mickey could see the shadowy forms of the thing's muscles and sinew beneath, shifting and pulsing with each movement.
Moreover, the thing lacked any natural symmetry. One knee rested at least a foot higher than the other, and while one monstrous arm hung down four feet in length and rippled with muscles, the arm opposite that one was maybe three feet in length with mere hints of musculature – and above that another feeble arm stretched a foot out from the same shoulder with tiny half-formed fingers opening and shutting, clasping at the air. Above the exposed collarbone, the head jilted to the side, a gaping mass of vacuous black where the nose should be and the jaw skeletal with elongated teeth visible behind its lipless sneer.
Before he could see more, the thing shuffled forward smashing out the light with its large arm. The overhead fluorescents burst apart – all save one, which flickered on and off, creating a strobe effect and turning the apartment into a sadistic and twisted rave.
Mickey pressed his back up against the wall and reached for a knife from a nearby butcher block. He wrapped his hand around the sturdy wood grip and yanked the blade out, holding it before him in one hand, while raising the canister of Mace with the other. It had worked well enough before.
Only this time, his hand erupted in an excruciating burst of pain as the beast grabbed Mickey's hand in its own and closed its grip down hard, crushing bones and pulverizing the can of Mace until it exploded from the pressure. Mickey felt the shrapnel pierce into his palm and another shard into his thigh, while a light aerosol mist settled over his clothes. His eyes were shut tight, but he could still feel the sting as remnants of the mist worked its way into his tear ducts.
As he opened his eyes, Mickey noticed the thing had turned away avoiding the spray. This was his only chance. He lunged forward with the knife clutched in his remaining good hand, plunging it deep into the thing's chest – the highest portion of the thing that he could reach. The thing howled that same bestial gurgle and smashed out with its goliath arm.
The force of the blow knocked the wind out of Mickey even as it lifted him by his gut and sent him hurtling over the counter and crashing into a bookshelf along the far wall, mere feet from Abbie. He came down in an avalanche of books, broken bones, and shelving, and then lay still.
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
The Violation in 314 ✔️
हॉररMickey Vartabetian works as the night security guard at The Villa apartments. Estranged from the tenants, he has come to view himself as less than human - but all of that must come into question when he meets something even darker than himself.
