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I stopped filming at that point and shoved my phone into my pocket with trembling hands.
Hide. I had to hide. The stores up and down the road were locked up this time of night, but I did have a key to my place of work less than twenty feet away. My feet finally decided to do something smart, and I hightailed it away from the carnage, huffing and convinced that at any second, one of the creatures would tackle me from behind. My hands shook as I tried to slot my key, breathing so fast I keened. The lock clicked, and as I opened the door, the bell tinkled, making me almost sob. I didn’t want those things to come running for dinner.
I threw myself inside and slammed the door shut, locking it right away. Beep. Beep. The alarm system gave warning, and I wheezed as I punched in my code twice because the first time my fingers shook so hard I messed up.
Alarm disarmed, I then glanced around for a weapon. I had a few options, starting with the knife set by the register. They were sharp but would require stabbing, which I wasn’t sure I could manage with how quickly those weird little alien freaks moved. The frying pan, on the other hand… Even I could swing that.
With a sweaty grip on the handle, I dropped down to below the door’s window and did my best to calm my breathing. Not that anything would have likely heard me over the blaring of the bus horn. Then again, who knew? Sewer aliens weren’t supposed to exist in the first place, so, for all I knew, they could have super-duper hearing.
Help. We needed help. Since I didn’t have a number for sewer alien exterminators, I called 911 and got put on hold with some shitty prerecorded message about what constituted an actual emergency.
When the line clicked to transfer me, I mentally practiced what I’d say. Hi, there’s some sewer aliens killing people. Send someone with a flamethrower. The line rang three times and disconnected me.
Fucking hell!
The horn stopped blaring, and things got quiet.
Too quiet.
Despite knowing it might be stupid, I inched up enough to peek out the window. The one-inch crack between the closed sign and the door frame was enough for me to see the sewer aliens still trying to get into the bus.
Three of them, at least. One on top. One plastered to the windshield, looking like it was licking it, and the third banging on the folding door.
What of the fourth?
It came flying from out of the bus shelter as if punted and slid on the damp pavement. The homeless dude emerged from his makeshift home, wild-haired and waving his arms. “Go find your own shelter. This one is mine!”
The sewer alien hissed and flipped to its hands and feet before racing back to confront the guy refusing him entry.
I looked away before impact and sank to the floor, wondering if maybe I was dreaming because this couldn’t be real. Most likely sewer gases making me hallucinate.
Yup. Only explanation.
I sat with my head pressed to my bent knees and took deep breaths. This isn’t happening.
To prove it, I peeked again.
Wrong. So wrong. The screaming started just as I looked. The windshield of the bus had been splintered. I saw no sign of the sewer aliens, most likely because they’d boarded the quickly emptying public transport.
Bet they didn’t pay a fare. My hysterical mind thought it a good time to joke, but it was better than sobbing and rocking on the floor. I wished I had the guts to help, to do something for those people who thought it safe to exit the bus from the rear door, pushing and shoving to get out. As if there was any escape. A creature suddenly dropped from the roof of the bus and clung to a lady like a hat. She ran screaming. All of the passengers did, bolting in different directions in their panic.
One man tripped over the corpse of the homeless dude in the street. That was the last thing he ever did. I sank back down and tried calling 911 again, only to get a busy signal.
A strange shiver went through me, as if a cold breeze had entered the shop. Outside, no more screams, but I did hear a deep male voice say, “All right, you pesky fuckers, time to go back to Hell.”
With that kind of statement, you’re damned right I had to see what the fuck was happening. I glanced and, at first, didn’t see him, the man’s long duster somehow making him almost invisible. What caught my eye? The gleam of a blade.
Not just any blade. A scythe.
What the heck? I stood and pressed my face against the window for a better look. There was a dude out there, a tall one, wearing all black, including an Indiana-Jones-style hat with a brim that sluiced the rain away from his head and partially masked his features in shadow.
He wielded his farm implement with two hands, whirling it like a drum major with a baton. Although, in this case, instead of guiding the marching band, he lopped limbs off of the sewer aliens. An arm went flying, a head. The blade was sharp enough it went right through a torso, the top half sliding off slowly and hitting the ground with a thud.
Holy shit.
In no time, the four murdering creatures were oozing in the street.
And then the Grim Reaper whirled and stared right at me!
