Lots of smart-mouthed dialogue covered in gore was just the thing to fit his mood. Scientists dabbling in the unknown, going where no man had gone before. Of course they were unprepared for the creatures that their inquiring minds unleashed. There wouldn’t have been a movie otherwise.
A distraction—not unlike a buzz in the soundtrack—began to bother Alan. He felt an itch. It began at the base of his spine, a soft wispy sensation like the trace of fingernails across his skin. Damn, but it tickled.
Alan frowned. The drink hadn’t contained enough alcohol to bend his consciousness toward hallucinatory perceptions. He squirmed, rubbing his back against the leather like a flea-ridden bear. Irritation contradicted the leather’s comforting scent.
Humans are such easy prey, the DVD tagline read.
The itch crept upward to lodge under his skull. It buzzed behind his eyes. Swirled in his ears…
…and spoke.
“Alan, come to us. Let us in. We’re waiting.” More than one voice, gurgly and somehow moist.
“What the—?” Alan jumped to his feet, gaping, searching the room to see who spoke. The itch grew claws, scratching at his tissue, his wet works; digging in like it planned to make a home.
His teeth ached; clenched so tightly words could barely get past them. “Fight it, Alan,” he mumbled.
“No. Do not fight us. You want to let us in. Need to let us in. Open the door.”
“It ate him... bit off his head... like a gingerbread man!” the surround sound blared.
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