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The creatures are almost upon me. The croc-dog growls hungrily. The child grins ghoulishly and raises its hands — there are mouths in both its palms, small, full of sharp teeth. No tongues.
“Oh dear,” someone says, and the creatures stop within spitting distance. “What have we here?”
A man slides out from behind a clump of webby strands. Thin. Pale red skin, misshapen, lumpy, as though made out of colored dough. His hands are mangled, bones sticking out of the skin, one finger melting into another. Bald. Strange eyes — no white, just a dark red iris and an even darker pupil. There's a gaping, jagged hole in the left side of his chest. I can look clean through it. Inside the hole — snakes. Dozens of tiny, hissing, coiled serpents, with long curved fangs.
The hell-child shrieks and reaches towards me. The teeth in its small mouths are eagerly snapping open and shut.
“Stop, Artery,” the man — the monster — says commandingly, and steps towards me. No … he doesn't step … he glides. He has no feet. The lumpy flesh of his lower legs ends in sharp strips that don't touch the floor. He's hovering in the air.
The croc-dog barks savagely, its reptilian eyes alive with hunger and hate.
“Hold, Vein,” the monster orders. He advances to within touching distance of me. Stops and studies me with his unnatural red eyes. He has a small mouth. White lips. He looks sad — the saddest creature I've ever seen.
“You are Grubitsch,” he says morosely. “The last of the Gradys. You should not be here. Your parents wished to spare you this heartache. Why did you come?”
I can't answer. My body isn't my own, except my eyes, which don't stop roaming and analyzing, even though I want them to — easier to shut off completely and black everything out.
The hell-child makes a guttural sound and reaches for me again.
“Disobey me at your peril, Artery,” the monster says softly. The barbaric baby drops its hands and shuffles backwards, the fire in its eyes dimming. The croc-dog retreats too. Both keep their sights on me.
“Such sadness,” the monster sighs, and there's genuine pity in his tone. “Parents — dead. Sister — dead. All alone in the world. Face to face with demons. No idea who we are or why we're here.” He pauses, and doubt crosses his expression. “You don't know, do you, Grubitsch? Nobody ever explained, or told you the story of lonely Lord Loss?”
I still can't answer, but he reads the ignorance in my eyes and smiles thinly, painfully. “I thought not,” he says. “They sought to protect you from the cruelties of the world. Good, loving parents. You'll miss them, Grubitsch — but not for long.” The creatures to my left and right make sick, chuckling sounds. “Your sorrow shall be short-lived. Within minutes I'll set my familiars upon you and all will soon finish. There will be pain — great pain — but then the total peace of the beyond. Death will come as a blessing, Grubitsch. You will welcome it in the end — as your parents and sister did.”
The monster drifts around me. I realize he has no nose, just two large holes above his upper lip. He sniffs as he passes, and I somehow understand that he's smelling my fear.
“Poor Grubitsch,” he murmurs, stopping in front of me again. This close, I can see that his red skin is broken by tiny cracks, seeping with drops of blood. I also notice several appendages beneath his arms — three on either side, folded around his stomach. They look like thin, extra arms, though they might just be oddly molded layers of flesh.
“Wh-wh … what … are … you?” I moan, forcing the words out between my chattering teeth.
“The beginning and end of your greatest sorrows,” the monster replies. He says it plainly — not a boast.
“Mu-Mom?” I gasp. “Dad? Gr-Gr … Gr …”
“Gone,” he whispers, shaking his head, blood oozing from the cracks in his neck. “Remember them, Grubitsch. Recall the golden memories. Cherish them in these, your final moments. Cry for them, Grubitsch. Give me your tears.”
He smiles eagerly and his right hand reaches for my face. He brushes his mashed-together fingers across my left cheek, just beneath my eye, as though trying to charm tears from me.
The touch of his skin — moist, tough, sticky — repels me. Without thinking. I turn my back on the hell of my parents' bedroom and run. Behind me, the monster chuckles darkly, clears his throat, and says, “Vein. Artery. He is yours.”
With vile, vicious howls of delight, the creatures give chase.
The landing. Growls and grinding teeth getting closer every second. Almost upon me. My legs slip. I sprawl to the floor. Something flies overhead and collides with the wall at the top of the stairs — the croc-dog, Vein.
A tiny hand snags on my left ankle. Artery's teeth close on the cuffs of my jeans. I pull away instinctively. Ripping — a long strip of material torn clean away. No damage to my leg. Artery rolls backwards, choking on the denim.
Vein scrambles to its feet, shaking its elongated crocodile's head. My eyes fix on its legs. They don't end in dog's paws, but in tiny human hands, with long, blood-stained, splintered nails — a woman's.
I wriggle past Vein on my stomach and drag myself down the stairs, gasping with terror. Out of the corner of my eye I spy Artery spitting out the denim, jumping to his feet, rushing after me.
Vein crouches at the top of the stairs, reptilian eyes furious, readying itself — herself — to pounce. Just as she leaps, Artery crashes into her. Vein yelps as her companion accidentally crushes her against the wall. Artery wails like a baby, kicks Vein out of the way, and totters down the stairs in pursuit of me.
My hands hit floor. I lurch to my feet and start for the front door. I've a good lead on Artery, who's still on the stairs. I'm going to make it! A few more strides and …
Something brushes between my legs at an incredible speed. There's a sharp clattering sound. The door shakes. At its base, Artery rights himself and grins at me. The grotesque hell-child is rubbing his right shoulder, where he collided with the door. The fire in his eyes burns brighter than ever. His mouth is wide and twisted. No tongue — just a gaping, blood-red maw.
I scream incoherently at Artery, then grab the telephone from its stand — the closest object to hand — and lob it with all my strength at the demon. Artery ducks sharply. Unbelievably, the telephone smashes through the door, ending up in the street outside.
