Spook

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Hate. Rage.

They’d lived in him for as long as he could remember, like parasites. He’d had them under control until the past year or so. Then they’d begun to feed on all the crap that’d happened to him — feed, grow, become stronger. Now they were bloated things that screamed in his head, burned in his belly, boiled and bubbled in his blood. He slept with them at night, woke with them in the morning, carried them heavy inside him all day, every day. He feared and fought them. Wanted them, clung to them, and knew that someday he’d give in to them.

Here, tonight, they were wild. Howling, hurling themselves at the walls of his mind like a pair of animals in a cage rioting for escape.

Hungry animals, demanding to be fed.

Demanding blood.

Almost there, almost feeding time. Three A.M. by the dashboard clock. Wet, empty city streets. Trash everywhere. Filth. This was where that hunk of human garbage had ended up. Mind rotted until he was little more than a drooling idiot dressed in rags, stumbling through filth during the day and sleeping in an alley doorway at night. But that wasn’t enough punishment for what that bastard had done. He’d gotten away with it too long, left too much wreckage behind. Been free too long. Lived too long.

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