Page 284 of Primal

Get up. Get. The. Fuck. Up.

Second swing.

This time, I aim lower—where the lock should be.

crack.

The wood splinters. Something metal pings inside the wall. Door opens a finger’s width—real air—then snaps shut.

Almost.

Liquid down my temple. Sweat. Blood. Water. Doesn’t matter.

Something’s behind me.

Don’t turn around.

But the mirror’s already showing me.

The thing has its snout pressed against the glass, fogging it with each wet exhale. Black beady eyes lock onto mine in the reflection.

“Come play with me,” it whispers.

The words crawl over my neck.

“Don’t you wanna fuck me?”

Third swing.

I pour everything into it—every ounce of rage, every fucking second I’ve spent watching Payton through my screens, every ‘Good morning, neighbor’ I bit back.

The candelabra shrieks through the air—

boom.

One more.

boom.

The door explodes outward. Night air rushes in.

Freedom.

I tumble after it but eat gravel instead, lungs burning like I’ve been breathing knives.

Move. Run. Find her—

Leaves on my cheeks. Smell of earth … gasoline.

Boots step into view. Polished black. Laces neatly tied.

A porcine snout blots out the moon as it bends down.

Up close, the mask looks like an ugly patchwork of skin. There’s something in its gloved paw. A needle.

“Shhh,” it coos, stroking my hair like I do with Max after a nightmare. “Just a little nap.”

The prick in my neck burns.