He sat in his patrol car. Drinking his coffee, listening to the radio chatter. “The hell?” He asks himself, touching the radio for no point at all. He looks around, then cuts the radio off. “Hello? Who's there?” He asked, looking around once more. His eyes dart to a figure, standing just out of light of the spotlights, which seem to have fixed themselves onto the figure. His eyes can’t see him, only a shilouette outlined by the dark.
Based on what he could tell, the man wasn’t tall, nor short, he was thin, very thin, and that was all he could tell. Hesitantly, He got out, his torch drawn. “Hello?” He called. No answer. He looked around again before looking back to the figure.
The patrol cars lights cut out, his torch the only thing outing to the figure, showing it. Still, the figure was but an outline. How was it possible? He was 15 feet away from this man, yet his torch’s light acted as if he was 40 feet away.
The figure's head turned slowly to him. No, The figure turned to him without moving a foot, a muscle or a tendon. It creaked like an old, wooden door on its hinges. He drew his pistol, “what the fuck?” He asked, his voice shaky, the gun wiggling in his hand. “Do you want to hear a story…” It asked. His eyes widened “You– that's your voice, Who are you?” He asked “Yes… That is my name… That is my voice, Peters. And I have a story to tell. A story, for you… and only you…” Peters’ world is eaten in a void, an endless abyss that sends him falling in all directions, as the figure’s eyes peer at him from everywhere, in one location.
“There was a man…
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The night was restless, heavy rain soaked every surface. A woman, barely dressed, waved at cars passing by. He felt lucky.
“Hey sugar, lookin’ for a date?” She said,
“You could say that. What's your name?” He said.
“They call me turkey, what's yours?” she said
“Turkey? Why do they call you that? And my name is Ryan.” He replied
“Well, Ryan,” She pulled him by the collar, lifting her leg and wrapping it around his “Becuase I need to be stuffed~” She hummed.
Ryan took Turkey to the hotel he was staying at, and almost as soon as they entered his room, she pushed him onto the bed and pinned his arms above his head. She laid on top of him, kissing him, grinding her crotch against his. She leaned back, pulling her shirt off, Ryan reached up to grab her breasts, only to be stopped, his arms pinned, he looked up, sheing her hands pinning him. He looked back at Turkey, still taking her clothes off. “Hey, what is–” before he could finish, her chest opened, revealing rows upon rows upon rows of teeth resembling a leech. “What the Hell?!?” He screamed as she fell back onto him, her chest biting into him. She chuckled, moaning as she drank, ate, consumed, drained him of his blood.
“What… a-r-r-r-e-e… y-y-yo-u-u…” Ryan gasped. She sat up, dressing like she doesn’t want to be seen. Turkey turns to him. His bones were well visible through his skin which was grey, his veins popped out, but were flat and squishy. She grinned. “A girls gotta eat.” Turkey tease’s, her hands tracing her shape, teasing her body. He continued to breathe, his breath labored, before it stopped with a long, sorrowful, regretful, sigh…”
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A tear runs down Peter's face. He was silent. The eyes of the figure peer at him. “A story indeed…” Peters mutters, before blinking, and being back on the street, peering, gun raised, torch and spotlights on, fixed on nothing. He looks around, the voice gone, He shakes his head and gets back in the patrol car.
He takes a long gulp of coffee, trying to wake up. “A story Indeed…” The voice says, Peters freezes, it wasn’t his imagination…