The New Neighbor

Robby changed slowly. His sagging shoulders lifted and his back straightened. He took his hands from his pockets and turned to Prosky, taking a deep breath. Unfallen tears were pooled in his eyes.

'Yeah, you’re right,' he whispered. “Let's go.'

* * * *

George woke from a sweaty dream about Lorelle to find her kneeling beside his bed, silently sucking his cock. Her right hand was tucked beneath his ass and her middle finger was pressed hard against his rectum.

Her eyes met his, glistening in the soft light bleeding through the curtains and she lifted her head and laughed.

'Hello,' she said.

Until she spoke, George thought he might still be dreaming, but her voice broke through the bedroom's silence like a rock through a windowpane and he sat up suddenly, still heavy from sleep, hissing, 'Ssshhh!'

She only laughed again.

'You've got to stop this,' he breathed. 'I don't know how you keep getting in here, but it's got to stop. Things are bad enough around here without my wife waking up to find -'

'She's not going to wake up. She's dead to the world.'

George turned to Karen and watched her sleep. She was perfectly still; George could not even hear or see her breathing.

Lorelle wrapped her fingers around his cock again and led him off the bed with a gentle tug until he was on his knees. She hunkered down before him and continued sucking.

George's discomfort left him quickly and, as before, he forgot there was a third person in the room.

She licked his belly and whispered, 'Fuck me like a dog, George. Hard.' She turned around and squeezed him hard in her fist as she eased him into her,

slamming her ass backward against him. Grabbing his wrists, she wrapped his arms around her and pressed his hands over her breasts.

'Ahhh,' George moaned, moving faster inside her as he smiled in the dark. But his smile faltered a moment later and he winced as images of pain began to flash on the backs of his eyelids -

– teeth being knocked from a bloodied mouth with a rock -

– changing with each thrust of his hips -

– erect nipples being snipped off with garden shears -

– and he began to move faster -

– sleeping eyes being pierced with fish hooks -

– and faster, until his smile slowly returned.

* * * *

Standing on Robby's porch, Prosky took the towel Robby had brought and carefully wiped the dampness from the front door, whispering, 'Let's hope it doesn't rain now.'

'Dad's gonna be pissed when he sees this,' Robby said. He reached into the bag for a piece of the wood, handed it to Prosky and asked, 'What do I tell him when he sees it?”

“Tell him the truth.”

'Are you serious?'

Lifting the wood, Prosky began to write on the door. 'Yes. Tell him. All of it. Tell him everything.'

'He'll think I'm crazy. And with the mood he's been in lately -'

'Just tell him.' He finished the first name, Sanvi. 'He might not believe you at first, but when he sees her reaction to it, he'll think twice.' The second name, Sansanvi. 'If you can convince him, maybe he'll spread the word.' The third name, Semangelaf. 'It might be the best thing that could happen.' Then Prosky drew a circle around the three names and -

* * * *

– George was seconds away from an explosive orgasm, digging his fingers into Lorelle's round ass, when she craned her head back and released a scream that made his scrotum shrivel like a raisin and filled the room with the smell of rotting meat and shit and -

– the bare skin of her back split open, revealing glistening blackness, and something shot upward, hit George in the face and knocked him back and -

– he hit the side of the bed and lost consciousness before he slid to the floor.

* * * *

Prosky dropped the piece of burnt wood leaving the circle unfinished as the scream tore the night in half. It did not seem to come from just a single person – it was a sound that might have come from the gas chambers in Nazi concentration camps, the combined screams of dying cultists in the jungles of Guyana; the cries of the unsuspecting outside Chernobyl as the air they breathed turned to fire and flesh and muscle began to peel away from bones.

There was a sweeping shift in the air and -

– Robby dropped the bag, spilling woodchips down the porch steps and onto the walkway and -

– the dogs began barking inside Lorelle's house across the street and -

– glass shattered and wood splintered with a piercing crack as a window to their left burst outward and something black arced up into the air, its sickening scream growing even louder as it headed straight for the streetlight that stood between the Pritchard's house and Lorelle's and -

– the streetlight exploded and sparks rained onto the street, sizzling on the wet pavement as darkness swallowed that section of the block.

'What is it, what is it?' Robby cried, pressing himself back against his front door.

Looking up into the darkness, Prosky said, 'She was in the house.' A gust of cold wind stung his face as he stepped down from the porch, searching the black sky.

Dry flapping sounds moved over them, the sound of great wings slicing the air as the scream faded, then rapidly grew louder again as -

– a black shape swept downward led by two burning red eyes, heading straight for the porch, dropping so low that Prosky could feel a rush of air that swept his hat off his head. He dropped his cane and fell to his knees, covering his head with his arm and crying out like a child, actually afraid he was going to wet himself. The creature left behind a smell that conjured images of piles of rotting, vulture-eaten corpses stretching to the horizon of a hot barren desert.

Prosky got up and finished drawing the circle on the door. 'Go in the house!' he shouted at Robby as the creature retreated. 'She can't get to you in there!'

'No!'

'Go inside!'

'I'm not going back in there!'

'Robby, I'm the one she wants! Now go!' He stuffed the chunk of wood in his coat pocket and groped for his cane. Robby remained at his side. 'Dammit, Robby, will you -'

“I'm coming with you.'

They didn't have time to argue. The rush of putrid air was coming again as Robby moved ahead of Prosky, whose hobbling jog held him back until -

– two strong hands clutched Prosky's shoulders, digging steel-hard claws through his coat and shirt, piercing his skin like knife blades. He cried out as he was lifted from the sidewalk and swept above the street like a leaf on the wind.

Robby's cried out after him, shouting Prosky’s name, his voice fading.

Prosky kicked his legs helplessly as he rose higher, heading straight for Lorelle's house. The stench of decay