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Original filename: WHITE DEVILS 2.pdf
Author: Craig Blamer

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5:40 AM
Gangrenous clouds cloak the dark city as rain rain rain, ice cold rain sweeps in
from the lake and scours the avenues. Flash froze by lightning, carried on thunder; rain
rain rain and more fucking rain slashes through the empty streets...
...although not entirely empty. High heels stab the pavement, solid mocha legs
lead up up up and under a white skirt. The young nurse fights against the storm with her
umbrella. The wind feints, then slams in hard. The umbrella peels back like a black
banana and she is instantly soaked to the bone...
“Damn it!”
...to toss the wreckage aside.
Of course.
After fifteen minutes at the bus stop she’d given up on it ever arriving and decided
to just walk the ten minutes to the hospital. Better soaked than sorry. And of course the
bus had to go and splash by a couple of minutes later.
Shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed against the clawing rain, she picks up the
...and falters.
On the sidewalk ahead, a sketchy form stands motionless. Obvious street troll with
seedy thrift store threads slicked to the skin. A statue in the downpour, he stares back at
her. Blank. Unblinking.
She chokes back the panic and gives him a wide berth in bypass. Steps down
ankle-deep in the pulsing gutter and doesn’t register the shock; her eye on his head
tracking as she steps back onto the sidewalk and slogs on.
He falls into her wakes and follows, movements jerky.
Damn it.
The haven of a police substation ahead parts the curtain of rain…
…and she picks up the pace. The creeper follows, matching her. Then gaining.
She draws abreast of the station with only a DON’T WALK holding her back,
pauses to measure. The transient is almost on her. From the corner of her eye the light
gives the green and she turns to cross the street...
…into outstretched arms that fold around her. She looks up into dead eyes...
...as jagged teeth plunge down. With a soft crunch of trachea, her scream abruptly
cuts off, drowns in a gurgle. Eyes roll back as her last moments are spent in spasms.
The pervert stops short; face slacks and pales as the twenty-eight years sum total
of Anna Marie Machado fades to black and drains from the clutch of walking death. Her
white uniform blossoms vivid crimson washes out pink.
He whirls to flee… launching straight into a perfect storm of gnashing teeth,
tearing fingers.
No one hears him scream.

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