1987 - November 14th - 01:45 AM

The steel door blew off its hinges with a scream of metal.

Slowly, as if it had cost no effort at all, it stepped through.

A withered body, yellow, cracked skin stretched tight over the bones, eye sockets black and hollow.

“FUCKIN’ DIE!” Sonny roared, unloading the rest of his mag into the thing’s chest.

But only dust trickled down as the bullets struck the leathery flesh.

Franky lifted the blood-soaked scrap of paper with shaking hands.

“That ain’t doin’ shit, you dumb motherfucker! You need the talisman! The goddamn TALISMAN!”

Morris reacted instantly, lunging forward, but the creature was faster.

Its claws ripped the paper to shreds before he could grab it.

The pistol flew from his hand, clattering across the tiles, stopping right in front of Franky’s boots.

A sudden sound of shattering glass from behind.

Morris turned.

Sonny had smashed a window, slicing his skin open as he climbed through, then he jumped.

A loud crack as he hit the ground two floors down, like breaking branches.

"AHH FUCK!" His scream echoed through the night, followed by a hoarse groan as he limped away on the wet asphalt, bones broken.

Morris turned back, gasping, trapped between Franky and the thing stalking toward him.

A black shimmer flickered in its eye sockets, and suddenly his skull throbbed so violently it felt like it was being split open from the inside.

Horrific visions flashed through his mind.

Visions of blood, corpses, rot, the end of everything.

The creature reached for him.

Then, a gunshot.

It froze.

Dust burst from its forehead, spraying Morris in the face. He coughed, but the visions were gone.

A second shot.

“Run, you dumb bastard!” Franky wheezed, his voice all blood and rage. He had Morris’s pistol now, trembling in both hands.

A third shot blew another hole in the creature’s head.

Finally, it turned toward Frankie.

Morris didn’t hesitate.

One last nod. A finger to his temple. 

Respect.

Then he bolted, straight through the broken window.

He tried to roll with the fall, but his bones snapped just like Sonny’s had. Then he pushed himself up and limped away, groaning in pain.

Meanwhile, the creature loomed over Franky, claws raised to strike.

“Good thing there've been four shots left...” Franky muttered.

He pressed the barrel to his own temple.

A final, broken laugh.

Boom.

The thing stood there, motionless, staring down at the corpse like it had just been robbed.

Then it turned, but there was no one left.

Only the dead remained.

---

Rain drummed against the streetlights, glimmering in puddles slick with oil.

Outside, the night was still. Only now and then a car rushed by.

Morris stumbled through the street, soaked in blood and rain.

Each step of his bare, torn feet splashed loudly on the wet asphalt.

He kept glancing nervously over his shoulder.

Nothing followed.

A cab came tearing around the corner, lights cutting through the rain. 

He waved it down.

Morris climbed in, collapsing onto the back seat.

The driver looked up in the mirror, about to speak, then froze at the sight of Morris’s face.

“…West Twenty-Third,” Morris rasped.

Nothing more.

The cab rolled through the rain, past rusty shutters and neon lights flickering on closed storefronts.

They stopped at a gray building. 

Morris got out, slammed the door, tossed a few crumpled bills through the window, and staggered up the steps.

The front door stuck. He rammed his shoulder into it twice before it gave.

Inside, the stink of old grease, cigarettes, and rot was heavy in the air.

He shut the door behind him, tore off his jacket and shirt, let them drop, and went straight to the bathroom.

Yanking open the medicine cabinet, he grabbed a bottle, his hands shaking so badly the pills rattled inside.

He poured a handful into his mouth, swallowed them dry.

For a second he just stood there, breathing hard, forehead pressed against the cold metal sink.

Then the flicker came back.

Visions of blood, death, and decay.

Something snapped inside him.

He screamed, slammed the cabinet shut so hard the mirror shattered.

Shards rained into the sink.

“Fuck… fuck… FUCK!”

With both hands he tore at his hair, as if he could rip the images from his head.

His reflections stared back at him from the broken mirror, a dozen times over, distorted.

Then, a shadow in the shattered pieces.

Right behind him.

The outline of a withered body, motionless, eye sockets like black holes.

Morris screamed in terror.