The Night Belongs to Him

Day One

A single fluorescent bulb clicks in Morse Code, illuminating a long, dank hallway. Patchy, brown carpet lines the concrete floor like a dog with mange. A moon with a bite out of it peeps through a row of small windows near the ceiling. Two men in brown trench coats, Rasmus and Palmer, make their way slowly along the corridor, dragging a sack between them. The weight of it causes them to stoop slightly, and each breath is labored. The sack wriggles and spasms like an insect’s cocoon about to hatch. Rasmus pauses to kick the sack, and it stops moving. They finally stop outside a door marked 12, and Palmer knocks, harsh raps that echo up and down the passageway. A strained voice replies.

“I’m busy; whaddya want?”

“Open the door, Nate,” Palmer says, “you’re gunna wanna see this.”

“Fuck’s sake”, comes the response. There’s a brief exchange between two people in hushed tones, then muffled footsteps, and the door is flung open by a slim yet muscular bald man wearing a satin robe too small for him. Beads of sweat shine on his head and glisten in his facial hair as he ties the belt with large, clumsy hands.

“Out with it, then,” Nate barks, looking from Palmer to Rasmus and back again.

Palmer clears his throat and steps to one side, revealing the sack.

“Picked up a potential asset near the bridge on Magdalene Way.”

Nate’s eyes widen, and he gestures for them to come in. They shove the sack roughly into the center of the dingy little room. There’s a grubby double bed, a rickety dining table with mismatched chairs, and two moldy armchairs vomiting stuffing through slashes in the fabric. There’s also a huge, rusty safe, which looks as though it’s been there for about 50 years. A woman sits topless at a scuffed dressing table, tying her hair in a bun, her back to the room. Catching Palmer’s eye in the mirror, she sticks her tongue out at him. He grins and looks away.

“Rachel, go and throw some clothes on; you’re distracting them.” Nate watches her as she slopes off to the en-suite bathroom, then turns to Rasmus and Palmer.

“Come on then, let the dog see the rabbit.”

They upend the sack, and a small, reedy figure tumbles out onto the carpet. The three men crowd around him as he gazes up through hair like the splayed bristles of a broom. He wears joggers and a t-shirt caked in grime, and his whole body trembles like a plucked piano wire. He shrinks back as Nate reaches out towards him.

“What’s his problem?” Nate asks with a frown.

“Little fucker bit me,” moans the tall man, Rasmus, rubbing the back of his hand and glaring at the child.

“He’s obviously scared,” Rachel says, re-entering the room and pulling on a top. “It’s alright, you’re safe here,” she says to the child. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

She kneels on the floor in front of him.

“Sweetie, what’s your name?”

The child looks up, eyes vanishing behind a screen of messy hair.

“Luke.”

Rachel nods encouragingly and smiles.

“Luke, what were you doing all alone out there at this time of night?”

He squints and cocks his head to one side.

“My parents are dead,” he says in a monotone. The men exchange brief glances. Rachel coughs and walks forward on her knees.

“Do you remember what happened to them, sweetie?” She asks in a hushed tone.

Luke glances up once more, then back at Rachel with a shrug. Nate throws up his hands in frustration.

“Jesus, this is all we fucking well need!”

Rachel gives him a dirty look, then turns to Luke and strokes his cheek tenderly.

“Would you like me to make you something to eat?”

Luke nods vigorously, his matted hair bobbing like branches in a breeze. Rachel gets to her feet and totters over to the rusted fridge next to the double bed, Nate stalking after her. He watches her as she grabs curled slices of processed meat and arranges them on a side plate.

“Don’t use it all,” he says.

Rachel scoffs and shrugs her shoulders.

“Why not? We’ll be leaving soon.”

He takes a step closer to her and lowers his voice.

“Consignments get shipped once a month; this one’s no different. You know, Rick, he won’t take any more than he has to.”

She slams the fridge door shut, grabs a knife from the side, and starts roughly slicing the meat up.

“So, you’re telling me we have to sit around this shithole for another 4 weeks?”

He shrugs, and she studies his blank expression. She gestures at Luke with the knife in her hand.

“Did you have anything to do with the kid’s parents?” she asks.

He puts his face so close to hers that the whiskey on his breath stings her nostrils.

“I may be many things, Rachel,” he whispers, “but I’m no murderer.”

She shakes her hand and turns away. His hand shoots out like a viper and wraps around her wrist. She gives a sharp intake of breath and drops the knife with a clatter. Palmer peers over at them.

“I’m not a murderer, Rachel. Say the words.”

“You’re not a murderer,” she stammers, and he instantly releases her from his grip. “But you are a gutless prick,” she adds, rubbing her wrist. He laughs and walks away.

“Nearly got the devil in me then,” he says over his shoulder.

She finishes preparing Luke’s food and hands the plate to him. He takes it hesitantly with both hands and stares at it.

“Here, sweetie, sit up at the table,” Rachel says, turning to pull one of the tatty chairs out from under the dining table. When she turns back, Luke’s on his hands and knees, chomping noisily at the plate on the floor. Her jaw drops. The three men look at one another, then burst out laughing, and Luke stops eating to look between them and Rachel, ragged meat dangling from his open mouth. His eyes begin to shimmer with tears. The men double over in fits, holding onto one another for support. She scowls at them all.

“This is because you shove them in sacks like potatoes. It’s inhumane.”

She crouches down next to Luke and begins stroking his hair once more. Nate takes a deep breath, wipes his eyes, and looks at Rachel with a grim expression.

“Rick’s orders. You got a problem; take it up with him.”

Day Four

Nate sits cross-legged on the bed, picking his teeth with the blade of a knife. Palmer and Rasmus perch awkwardly on the stools, playing a game of cards at the wobbly dining table. Luke sits slumped in one of the armchairs, hair like a crusty mop head poking over the armrest. Rachel staggers into the hotel room, bear-hugging a bin bag full of clothes. Nate looks up and tenses his whole body.

“Where’d you get those?” he asks, with a sharp intake of breath.

“From those clothes bins round the back of that charity shop on the high street”, she says breezily.

“Thought there might be something for him to wear.”

Nate leaps off the bed, snatches the bin bag out of Rachel’s hand, and throws it to one side. Before she can even react, he strikes her hard across the face with the back of his hand. She falls back against the bed, hand clamped to her cheek. Palmer glances up for a second before his eyes dart back to his cards. Luke looks over the back of the chair at Rachel, who manages a weak smile. Nate pinches the bridge of his nose and paces back and forth.

“Councils are lousy with CCTV. Decent quality, too. You get spotted, you’ll bring the filth back here quicker than a dog tracking shit all through the house.”

He takes a deep breath and blows on his knuckles.

“Think next time, Rachel. It’s always your fault I get the devil in me.”

Nate stalks off to the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him, making Rachel flinch. She flops down beside the upended bin bag and begins searching through it. A steady stream of tears stings her throbbing cheek, so she keeps her head lowered.

After a few minutes, Luke comes and joins her. Together, they paw through the bag and eventually find a stained t-shirt and a pair of ripped shorts that fit him. He tries them on, and Rachel sees him smile for the first time.

Day Nine

Luke is bored and alone in the room, trying to remember what happened to his parents. He recalls panting and screaming, and his own shallow breaths as he hid from whatever hunted the others down. He’d peeked out from his hiding place and glimpsed a shadow leap and strike his mother down. She half-cried before the sound died in her throat, and then there was only silence. How long had he stayed hidden for? He tries desperately to remember more of that night, but the sudden slam of a door makes him jump.

He turns to see Rasmus, staring at him and swaying slightly, clutching a half-empty bottle by the neck.

Luke sits up and peers over his shoulder.

“Just you and me, boy”, Rasmus says, his voice like truck tires on a gravel road.

Luke stares blankly at him.

“How about playing a little game?” Rasmus said, stepping into the room.

Rasmus grabs his belt and pulls it loose from his trousers in one smooth, practiced movement. Luke glances at the door, then darts forward as Rasmus does the same. He scrambles onto the bed and uses it as a springboard to leap clear of his lunging grasp. He lands next to the door and grabs the handle, but calloused hands yank him away and shove him back against the wall, winding him. Rasmus brings his face within inches of Luke’s. He hadn’t realised before how old the man was. Time had carved trenches across his leathery face, causing it to sag like a badly fitting Halloween mask. His deep-set eyes have a milky hue, his bulbous nose resembles a turkey’s neck, and his breath stinks like a blocked drain.

Luke turns his head away from the rancid odour, but Rasmus grabs his chin and forces him to look at his face. He smiles, revealing brown teeth like mushrooms sprouting from his gums, and pulls out a switchblade.

"If you don't do what I say, when I say it, I'll cut your nose off."

He presses it to Luke’s cheek.

"And it's only a small blade, so it’ll hurt like hell."

Rasmus stands up, holding onto the back of a chair for stability, and points towards the bathroom with the knife.

“Go now. Move."

Luke walks slowly into the bathroom, his head on his chest, and Rasmus staggers in behind him, kicking the door shut.

Day Sixteen

Luke sits slumped in one of the mouldy armchairs, gazing out of the wall-length windows at the concrete carpet sprawled beneath him. Rain hammers on the glass in an endless cacophony, and he watches the drops race to the bottom of the pane. He imagines leaping from the balcony in front of him and taking off across the rooftops, rain bouncing off his head and back as he runs.

The door opens, and Luke goes rigid with fear until he hears Rachel’s voice.

“Shhh, Luke’s over there in the armchair.”

“He asleep?” replies Palmer, as they both enter the room.

Hearing Rachel pad across the patchy carpet, Luke closes his eyes, letting his head fall to one side. He can feel her looking down at him.

“Yeah, looks to be well away”, she whispers, running a hand through the child’s lank, greasy hair.

“Come on”, she says to Palmer, “we’ve not got much time.”

Luke hears Rachel kiss Palmer, and they both laugh. More kissing and the sound of clothes being removed. Something is knocked over and lands with a dull thud on the carpet

“Shh, shh”, whispers Rachel. “In here.”

More laughter, hurried footsteps, and a door slamming. Luke repositions in the armchair, picking the yellow stuffing from one of its many wounds and yawns before falling asleep.

Rachel shakes him gently awake. He opens his eyes and looks at her blearily. She smiles, revealing teeth like a film star. Her green eyes twinkle, and her jet-black hair curls around her shoulders like dark waves crashing against the shore. For a split second, Luke forgets where he is before reality descends like a bird of prey, shrouding everything in darkness. He sighs and turns to see Palmer sitting across from him.

“I’ll make you something to eat”, she says soothingly. Palmer eyes Luke suspiciously but says nothing.

Day Twenty-Three

Luke is curled into a ball at the foot of the bed, fast asleep. Rasmus and Palmer play cards at the dining table, the former hunched over the tiny table like a giant. Rachel stands gazing out of the window, feeling the rare warmth of the sun on her face as it dips behind the buildings, casting long shadows across the cramped room. The main door bangs against the wall, making everyone jump and waking

Luke up. Rachel tuts and turns to see Nate, holding a nearly empty bottle. He stumbles into the room and sits down at the end of the bed. Luke freezes as Nate takes a prolonged swig from the bottle, then launches it across the room. It hits the door frame above the bathroom and explodes into a hundred tiny daggers. Cards drop from outstretched hands as Luke begins to back away.

“Rachel, come here”, he says in a monotone. She freezes, her face half covered by shadows. Nate pulls a gun from the waistband of his joggers and points it at her. She gasps.

“Now”, he snarls, gesturing at a footstool in front of him. His eyes are round and black like a shark’s.

She moves across the room and perches awkwardly on it. Palmer turns slowly in his seat, and Rasmus chuckles, shaking his head.

“You're in trouble now”, he says.

Nate looks out of the window and sniffs.

“Have you got anything you need to tell me?” he says.

Rachel shakes her head, her hair bobbing from side to side. Nate studies her face, then raises the gun to her face. She flinches and shuts her eyes.

“I’m going to ask you again. Is there anything you need to tell me?”

Her breathing has become shallow, and she chokes back tears. Luke is sitting bolt upright on the bed like a meerkat, his eyes widening in terror. Palmer grips the back of the chair with whitening fingers.

“Does anyone else have anything to say before I shoot this whore in the face?”

He cocks the pistol, the sound like the crack of a whip, and pushes the barrel firmly into Rachel’s cheek. She grimaces and sobs.

“Stop!” Palmer shouts, leaping to his feet and knocking over the chair. Nate turns towards him, his face twisted in mock triumph. “I told her not to say anything to you, it was my idea.” Palmer’s words are flat with defeat.

“How long?” Nate whispers.

“Two months”, Palmer says, his voice trembling.

Nate lets out a yell like an enraged bear, then turns to Rachel and strikes her hard across the face with the barrel of the gun. Her cheek splits like a wet paper bag, and blood sprays across the carpet. She lets out a strangled yelp and clamps a hand to her gaping face.

“I got the devil deep in me now”, he rasps, taking a step towards Rachel.

Palmer charges at Nate and grabs his arm, but Nate twists away, and they stagger around the room, knocking things over as they both grapple for the gun. Rasmus perches on the edge of his seat and searches in his jacket pocket for something. Luke quivers from behind a pillow. Rachel grabs an old washcloth and presses it painfully to her cheek. Blood soaks through from the other side like an inkblot test, and she wails in pain.

The two men continue to struggle for the gun in the centre of the dingy room like gladiators in a decaying amphitheatre. Nate jerks his arm down suddenly, headbutting Palmer and causing him to reel back, clutching his face. Nate lowers the gun and fires once, Palmer’s midsection forced back as though struck by a sledgehammer. Luke whimpers and dives under the bed, hands clamped to his ears. A dark blossom spreads across Palmer’s shirt, and he crumples to his knees, his face contorted in agony. Rasmus watches through a cloud of smoke, cigarette caught between two fingers as though he himself held the smoking gun.

Nate looks over at Rachel, who crouches by the wardrobe, her left arm now caked in blood from the sodden washcloth. She makes a wet, sucking sound with each breath and stares at Nate with contempt.

“Any last words for lover boy?” Nate asks.

Palmer lies gasping and wheezing, blood soaking into the carpet. His skin is as grey as the sky outside.

“He’s a better lay than you ever were”, Rachel croaks, managing a sickly grin. Without taking his eyes off her, Nate raises the pistol and shoots Palmer again. The shot echoes around the room before a silence as deadly as a toxic gas descends. A narrow column of smoke spirals from the bullet hole. Nate steps over to the safe and places the gun inside, then gestures with his head at the door.

“Everybody out.”

They all move as though they’ve been in stasis for a long time, filing stiffly towards the door. Rachel squeezes Luke’s hand so tight it hurts him, though he says nothing. Nate pulls a wad of crumpled banknotes from his pocket and tosses them onto the bed, Rachel watching him.

“When we get back, Romeo will have been taken care of. Shame really, I’d have loved to watch you dismember him myself.”

He shrugs, grins, and shoves her out of the door, Luke dragged along in her wake.

Day Twenty-Seven

Nate had taken Rachel to a back-street doctor he knew to get stitches for her face. He never asked any questions. It was the same one she’d seen a few months previously, and she still remembered how nice Nate had been to her afterwards. Like the ‘appointment’, it hadn’t lasted long, and he’d immediately wanted to start trying again. Even the quack had said to wait a little while, but Nate knew best.

They’d barely left before Rasmus was shoving the child towards the bathroom. He watches as the child starts to undress, half in and half out of the bathroom, as though undecided about the situation. Luke starts to sob as he steps out of his shorts, and screws his eyes shut, because it’s the one thing he has control over.

“I can’t help it”, Rasmus says. “I’m just a fucking animal.”

Rasmus lunges forward like a bat and grabs Luke roughly by the face. The main door bangs, and they both jump.

“Just forgot something!” shouts Rachel. Rasmus spins around, stepping away from the almost-naked boy. Luke drops to the floor and snatches up his shorts. Suddenly, Rachel is standing in the doorway, sunlight streaming in around her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she cries, and the child cowers.

“I’m sorry Rachel. He told me to, he threatened me, he – “

“The child told me that he was in pain down there”, Rasmus said calmly. “I just looked.”

Rachel reaches into her pocket and pulls out a switchblade.

“Through there. Now.” She speaks through teeth like a frozen lake. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head but complies.

“Let’s see how you like it. Take your pants down.”

Rasmus unbuttons his stained trousers and pushes them down his bandy legs that nearly form a diamond. Rachel glances over her shoulder at Luke, frozen in place like a mannequin.

“Put your clothes back on, sweetie”, she whispers.

Rasmus lunges forward and attempts to snatch the switchblade but misses and grabs Rachel’s arm instead. He twists it sharply, but she manages to wrestle free, driving her knee upward into his crotch. He staggers backwards, tripping over his trousers and landing on his back. Rachel raises the knife and pauses to consider her next move. Nate enters the room silently. He sneaks up behind her and plucks the knife easily from her grasp.

“You shouldn’t play with knives, Rach”, he says. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”

He lifts his hand, and she instantly turns her head, but he stops, instead stroking her hair. Nate then smirks and brushes past her, tossing the knife to Rasmus, who sits propped against the bed, breathing heavily.

“Outside”, he orders Rachel, and she slopes out of the room, head down. He crouches down next to Rasmus.

“Don’t look so scared. Her bark’s worse than her bite.”

He leans in close and lowers his voice.

“It’s only for a few more days, then we’ll be rid of them all.”

Nate claps him on the shoulder and stands to see Luke watching them from the doorway.

“The fuck are you looking at?”

Nate marches out of the room, and Rasmus grins at Luke before getting to his feet and pointing at the bathroom.

Day Thirty-One

Rachel opens her eyes and swings her legs silently out of the bed. She checks, double checks and triple checks that Nate and Rasmus are both asleep, watching their chests rise and fall and their eyelids flicker.

The temptation to throw boiling water over them as they sleep is almost too great, but somehow, she resists it. She creeps into the bathroom and slowly pulls back the shower curtain, expecting to see Luke curled up, fast asleep. She gives a start when she sees him crouched at the opposite end of the bath, eyes wide, like a caveman about to catch a fish. He turns to acknowledge her after a second or two.

“Good, you’re awake”, Rachel whispers, glancing over her shoulder. “Come on, we’re getting out of here. I don’t know where we’ll go, but so long as it’s far away from here, I don’t care.”

Luke doesn’t move a muscle. Rachel puts her hand on his shoulder.

“Rachel, you need to leave. Go now and never look back.”

She shakes her head slightly, as if she just imagined Luke speaking to her.

“Come on, sweetie, let’s go.”

Luke turns and takes Rachel’s face gently in his hands.

“I can’t explain any of this, but you have to trust me. Promise me you’ll do this for me. Please.”

Rachel clasps Luke’s hands and takes them off her face, holding them firmly and looking him in the eye.

“Listen to me. I’m not leaving you here with these lunatics. Do you understand what they’re planning to do to you? It’ll make this place look like a holiday camp; I can promise you that. You and me have to leave, and we have to leave now.”

Luke looks down at Rachel’s belly.

“But it’s not just you and me, is it?”

Rachel recoils, hands on her stomach before she even realises. She looks away for a second to compose herself.

“How did you know?” she says, her voice trembling. “I only just found out myself, and never got a chance to tell” –

She stops and clears her throat quietly. Luke studies her.

“You must keep both of you safe”, he says quietly. “I’ll only hold you back.”

Rachel shakes her head again, visibly frustrated at the situation.

“What? No, this is insane. Come on, quit messing around.”

She grabs Luke by the wrist and pulls him to his feet.”

“Stop!” he shouts, and Rachel clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Shut up!” she hisses, her face an inch from Luke’s. She takes her hand off his mouth.

“If you take me out of this bathroom, I’ll scream and wake them up. Then I’ll tell Nate about the baby.”

Rachel stares at Luke in horror and confusion. She releases his wrist and drops her hand down by her side.

“Just go”, he says, his voice softer now. “I’ll be ok, I promise.”

Rachel backs away slowly, stepping out of the bath on stiff legs. She sniffs and wipes her eyes before taking one last look at Luke. He smiles back, eyes shining with tears. She exits the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her, and pads across the pitch-black room. The moon suddenly peeks from behind a cloud, illuminating the safe and making Rachel stop, her heart fluttering as her mind races.

With one eye on the bathroom door, she creeps across to the safe and drops to her knees. Grasping the dial firmly in her right hand, she places her left hand flat to the door and takes a deep breath. Slowly, she begins to turn the dial clockwise. The usually imperceptible ticking of notches sounds like a series of bangs on the wall. 37-click! As the sound seems to reverberate like an echo in a cathedral, she winces and pauses to listen. Nothing but muffled snoring.

She spins the dial anticlockwise. 6-click! She can now see the numbers easily as the cloud cover disappears, and the room is awash in the moon’s neon glow. She turns the dial back the other way, the sound barely noticeable now. 44-click! She finally let her breath out and swung the safe door open.

Empty.

The clack of the gun’s hammer makes her jump.

“It’s been under my pillow for the past week”, Nate says, the words dripping with smug satisfaction.

“Tie her up”, he barks, and Rasmus appears from the waning shadows, pulling Rachel roughly to her feet. He grabs a chair and pushes down on her shoulders, her tailbone colliding painfully with the wooden seat. Producing a length of cable from his pocket, he ties her hands tight to the frame of the chair. She gasps as the plastic slices into her wrists, and Rasmus makes a noise like a spluttering drain.

“You think you know pain?”

He meets Nate’s gaze, who nods. Practically bounding over to a walk-in wardrobe in one corner of the room, he grabs something with both hands. The weight causes him to hunch over and grunt with effort, and it makes a sloshing sound as he comes closer.

As he turns towards Rachel, the stark moonlight reveals a large can of petrol.

She starts screaming out of sheer terror. Rasmus grabs a roll of duct tape from another pocket, tears off a strip, and sticks it over her mouth. Her eyes water uncontrollably as her head slumps forward.

Hearing the cap of the petrol can being unscrewed, she begins to feel light-headed.

A loud bang from the bathroom makes everybody jump, and Rachel closes her eyes in despair. Nate’s eyes light up.

“Nearly forgot about our little mute friend. He can have a front-row seat for the fireworks.”

Rachel begins screaming behind her duct tape gag and stamping her feet in protest. Rasmus walks towards the bathroom, winking at her as he passes. Nate pulls his pistol from the waistband of his pants and points it at Rachel.

“Got the devil in me real deep this time. I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop this.”

A cacophony of loud bangs emanates from the bathroom, followed by a wail of agony. Nate points the gun at the bathroom door as it bursts open, Rasmus staggering out. He moves into the moonlight, revealing 3 deep gashes across his face, the flesh peeling away in tattered strips. His nose has been partially severed and dangles off his face like an anglerfish’s lure.

“He's a fucking animal!" he gurgles, spitting fountains of blood.

There’s a low growl from behind him, and something slowly emerges from the shadows, covered in coarse, black fur. The grey lips are drawn back in a snarl, revealing serrated teeth slick with gore. An elongated snout sniffs the air, streaked with torn flaps of skin, and glowing, green eyes survey the room as the creature advances on all fours.

Rachel screams and tries to break free of her bonds, only for them to slice into her wrists even more.

As it darts forward, Nate raises the pistol and fires at the creature, hitting the door frame and sending a shower of splinters in all directions. It leaps onto the back of a chair, using it to launch itself at Rasmus, who shrieks and collapses to the floor. The creature is upon him in an instant, its snout burrowing into his crotch, fangs ripping through skin. What can be seen of his skin has turned the colour of milk, and he emits a high-pitched wail like a broken car alarm. Geysers of blood spray across the room, and the visible fur around the creature’s face turns crimson.

Nate fires a volley of shots in a blind panic, missing every one of them. The thud of bullets hitting the furniture can barely be heard over Rasmus’s cries as his flesh is torn from his bones like a vulture stripping a chicken. Finally, his head slumps back, his eyes staring upside-down into Rachel’s. Rivers of blood seep into the ancient carpet as the creature throws its head back, raw chunks of meat slithering down its gullet.

Rachel moans in horror and closes her eyes. Nate checks the chamber and sees a single bullet remaining. He whistles and bangs the pistol on the wall, making the creature yelp and swing around to face him, baring teeth the same colour as the moon. As it springs forward to attack, Nate takes aim and fires. The bullet strikes it in the hip, and it topples over, legs whirling through the air, and collapses in a heap. Its breathing turns shallow and labored as Nate snatches up the petrol can and empties the rest of it over the creature before throwing it aside and searching for a lighter.

From Rachel’s position, she sees the creature’s eyes open, though the green glow isn’t quite as bright as before. She does nothing to alert Nate, who finds a lighter in the bedside table and begins clicking it furiously. The creature jumps up, leaping against a wardrobe and then lunging towards Nate. As the flame ignites, claws slash at his midsection, tearing off strips of flesh as he yells and topples over backward.

The creature is on top of him in an instant, its snout buried in his stomach, biting and tearing into muscles and organs. Nate bellows and flails like a buffalo attacked by a lion, as jets of burgundy arc across the walls and ceiling. The creature jerks its head back and tears Nate’s slippery entrails out of his now gaping belly like a string of sausages and begins devouring them noisily. Nate can do nothing but watch in horror as his insides are slowly ripped out of him.

Rachel is aware of the blood running down her wrists and dripping onto the carpet. The creature now turns to face her, sniffing the air, and lets the entrails fall from its jaws with a sickening splat. It stalked over to her, the embers of its eyes burning into hers. Behind it lies Nate, his arms and legs twitching, the moonlight reflecting off his exposed organs.

The creature’s snout is now inches from her own face. She closes her eyes and turns her head away from the coppery stench of its breath.

Then the pungent odour fades, and she feels the creature move behind her. Her heart pounds like a bass drum, and she’s trembling so much she feels as though she may pass out.

Suddenly, she feels the cable binding her hands fall away, and they thump numbly against the back of the chair. She dares not move or even breathe as she listens to the soft squish of the creature’s paws on the gore-soaked carpet.

A few seconds pass agonizingly by, and then an almighty crash of glass makes her gasp and open her eyes to see a black shape leap from the balcony.

Standing up as if from a deep sleep, she staggers outside and scans the rooftops as a light rain begins to fall, like the first drops in the desert. Rachel tilts her head forward and spreads her arms wide, watching as the water washes the blood from her wrists and gradually lightens her red nightshirt to pink.

Movement far below catches her eye, and she glances down to see something looking back up at her with glowing eyes before it scampers off across the rooftops. She returns inside and goes into the bathroom, enjoys a long, hot shower, then manages to find some clothes that haven’t become covered in viscera.

She then pours herself a glass of whisky and surveys the destruction. A trail of smashed glass, overturned furniture, and blood on every surface. She goes over to the bedside table and picks up Nate’s wallet. Withdrawing a huge wad of notes, she throws most of them onto the bed, then picks a few back up and tucks them into her bra.

She downs the whisky and turns to leave but hears a strangled croak from the floor. Nate is somehow propped up on one arm, his stomach torn open like a crisp packet, spilling his intestines across the carpet. He lies in a dried halo of blood, his other arm clamped protectively around his insides as though attempting to push them all back in. The organs that the creature had partially eaten had begun to turn a chalky white colour, and the smell of his putrefying entrails makes Rachel turn her head and gag.

“Rachel, please”, Nate gurgles, spewing mouthfuls of blood. “Please.”

He motions with his head at the gun lying a few feet away. She looks at it, then at Nate.

“You said it yourself”, Rachel says slowly. “You had the devil in you real deep this time.”

She pulls up one of the dining table chairs, sits down, and leans into it.

“Well, he’s not getting off so lightly. I want to watch the bastard suffer.”