Read The Shorecliff Horror and Other Stories Page 12

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  He is drifting again. But not alone this time, and not free. Around him, he feels long arms clinging, pressing and holding. Nails dig into his sides – not painful, but firm, allowing for no movement, no prospect of escape. The grinning thing floats with him, pinned to his back and inseparable. He can feel its breath on his face, its cold saliva on his cheek.

  “You think this is a dream,” it whispers, it’s voice a low growl that vibrates upward from the creature’s belly. “You think this is not happening, but you’re wrong. It’s time.”

  It says the words over and over, repeating them endlessly over and again, as though casting a spell or a twisted prayer, as though the words themselves will change the shape of the world. Solomon hears the words and knows what they mean. He hears them and he believes them.