Randy didn't know what to do. Vickie left three hours earlier. She didn't seem right to him. Maybe she was sick, or upset. He wondered if he should call the police. But what if she just went for a walk? She might be mad at him for calling the police. But why would she walk away with no shoes on?
He sat on the porch, staring in the direction that Vickie went. A hawk flew past, arcing low before swooping high again. He wished he could be a bird and fly like that. First he'd find Vickie, make sure she was okay, then he'd fly higher and higher until he reached the sun.
The rotting meat smell, the one from the rest stop parking lot, was there again. He wrinkled his nose and turned around.
"Ew, what's wrong with your skin, lady?" The strange woman who crouched behind him reminded him of a zombie, but he knew that monsters weren't real. "Isn't it kind of early for Halloween?"
"Tell me, what do you see, boy?"
"You're all dirty and gray and chunks of skin are falling off. It's a really cool costume. Can I touch it?"
"You can try."
A flap of skin on her cheek glistened with pus. He brushed his fingertip against it. It was sticky. He wiped it on his T-shirt. "That's gross."
"You can feel me."
"Of course I can."
"You are the first one who ever saw me as I really am. You are the first one who could ever touch me. This means you are the last."
"Are you drunk or something?"
"You are the one I've been waiting for. You will set me free."
"Lady, you need to take a shower. Seriously."
She cocked her head and peered into Randy's eyes. "You are not ready. I will come back for you when you have nothing left."
Her fingers were mangled. Moist strips of flesh hung from splintered bones. She pressed a cut bone finger against Randy's forehead. He felt a surge of heat. His head throbbed. Then he fell to the floor.
A half hour later he woke up. Thoughts of something – someone – strange swirled in his head. Then they were gone entirely like the melting fragments of a dream. He looked out at the horizon. Still no sign of Vickie. Why would she just leave him like that? He would have to call his mother, and she would probably get mad at Vickie, but he didn't know what else to do.
He stepped back inside the cabin. He heard something. It sounded like Vickie, but weak and far away, just a whisper he couldn't make out.
Her necklace hung on a hook near the door. The gray stone glowed in the dipping sunlight. He slipped it in his pocket.
THE END
About the Author
Kevin Singer is a army veteran and former journalist who has covered stories ranging from murder trials to cancer breakthroughs. His fiction combines his interests in the supernatural, psychology, and the generally offbeat. He lives in Jersey City, New Jersey. Follow his Web site at ReadByKevin.com.