Knowing that he was about to thrust himself into the global crossroad that was New York, he needed to bring as little attention to himself as possible. As he left Penn Station, he came across a huddled mass of rags hunched in a corner by the exit doors. The heap of filth smelled of weeks-old body odor and urine. A pair of yellow eyes peered out from a dirt-smeared face.
The homeless man said nothing. He stared at Father Michael with the hopeless, mad gaze of a time-hardened derelict. Father Michael knelt, touched the man’s face and pulled his glasses down so his pure ivory eyes met with the man’s jaundiced, bloodshot orbs.
“Let the madness be gone,” Father Michael said in a hushed tone.
Instantly, the sickly amber in the man’s eyes began to swirl like departing storm clouds, seeping into the corners until it was no more. A clarity, an internal strength that had long since been obliterated, returned to the man’s soul. He took in a deep breath, his lungs thirsting for air like a child fresh from its mother’s womb. The tall priest was gone before he could even thank him.
Shane Baxter had seen a lot of bizarre shit during his last year living on the streets of New York, but this one took the cake. He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands in an attempt to wipe away what was hopefully a mirage brought on by hunger or the onset of acute hypothermia.
Nothing changed.
So he started to laugh. What he was watching was way too absurd to comprehend. It wasn’t a nervous laugh, because he was too numb to be nervous. He had a habit, a bad one according to some people, of laughing like a jackass at all the wrong moments.
Well, this was certainly one of them.
“You find this funny, fuck-stick?”
That it— because there was no better way to describe the creature that had invaded his alley—was now talking to him made him laugh even harder. He tugged at a lock of his mohawk-trimmed hair just to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. His laughter escalated until tears formed at the corners of his eyes.
“Dude,” he managed to say once the laughter died down for a brief moment, “you have to see what this looks like from my perspective. Un-be-freakin-lievable!”
Shane sat back on a dented garbage can awaiting the inevitable. He had resigned himself to the fact that he had no chance of walking away from this nightmare alive and that was fine with him. The first twenty years of his life had been no picnic and he was not eager to be crapped on for another twenty. That it would end this way was somehow cool.
Besides, the only way out was through the monstrosity, and he wasn’t about to get near it.
The thing before him was still trying to slip inside the skin of some guy an older man had carried into the alley, slumped over one shoulder. The noise of his arrival had awakened Shane from a restless sleep underneath a pile of newspapers and old blankets he had nicked from a Salvation Army deposit box.
The older man then dropped the guy’s body on the ground, took off all his clothes in thirty-degree cold and proceeded to peel his own flesh away like it was sunburned skin. That only took him a gut-churning minute or so. He then started to wriggle his flayed body into the husk of the younger man he’d brought into the alley. It seemed like a tight fit and Shane was wondering where the other guy’s innards and bones went as this creature slipped itself into his skin.
The creature had the new flesh up to its waist when it flashed scarlet eyes in his direction. It continued boring its gaze into him as it struggled with its new home.
“Perhaps you’d like to be next,” it hissed at him, now shoulder-deep into the younger man.
“Shit no,” Shane shot back. “You and him look like a perfect fit to me.”
The creature sneered.
“Human waste! I have a solution for that mouth of yours.”
Father Michael walked the streets of Manhattan buffeted by blustery winter winds as they whistled past row upon
The homeless man said nothing. He stared at Father Michael with the hopeless, mad gaze of a time-hardened derelict. Father Michael knelt, touched the man’s face and pulled his glasses down so his pure ivory eyes met with the man’s jaundiced, bloodshot orbs.
“Let the madness be gone,” Father Michael said in a hushed tone.
Instantly, the sickly amber in the man’s eyes began to swirl like departing storm clouds, seeping into the corners until it was no more. A clarity, an internal strength that had long since been obliterated, returned to the man’s soul. He took in a deep breath, his lungs thirsting for air like a child fresh from its mother’s womb. The tall priest was gone before he could even thank him.
Shane Baxter had seen a lot of bizarre shit during his last year living on the streets of New York, but this one took the cake. He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands in an attempt to wipe away what was hopefully a mirage brought on by hunger or the onset of acute hypothermia.
Nothing changed.
So he started to laugh. What he was watching was way too absurd to comprehend. It wasn’t a nervous laugh, because he was too numb to be nervous. He had a habit, a bad one according to some people, of laughing like a jackass at all the wrong moments.
Well, this was certainly one of them.
“You find this funny, fuck-stick?”
That it— because there was no better way to describe the creature that had invaded his alley—was now talking to him made him laugh even harder. He tugged at a lock of his mohawk-trimmed hair just to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. His laughter escalated until tears formed at the corners of his eyes.
“Dude,” he managed to say once the laughter died down for a brief moment, “you have to see what this looks like from my perspective. Un-be-freakin-lievable!”
Shane sat back on a dented garbage can awaiting the inevitable. He had resigned himself to the fact that he had no chance of walking away from this nightmare alive and that was fine with him. The first twenty years of his life had been no picnic and he was not eager to be crapped on for another twenty. That it would end this way was somehow cool.
Besides, the only way out was through the monstrosity, and he wasn’t about to get near it.
The thing before him was still trying to slip inside the skin of some guy an older man had carried into the alley, slumped over one shoulder. The noise of his arrival had awakened Shane from a restless sleep underneath a pile of newspapers and old blankets he had nicked from a Salvation Army deposit box.
The older man then dropped the guy’s body on the ground, took off all his clothes in thirty-degree cold and proceeded to peel his own flesh away like it was sunburned skin. That only took him a gut-churning minute or so. He then started to wriggle his flayed body into the husk of the younger man he’d brought into the alley. It seemed like a tight fit and Shane was wondering where the other guy’s innards and bones went as this creature slipped itself into his skin.
The creature had the new flesh up to its waist when it flashed scarlet eyes in his direction. It continued boring its gaze into him as it struggled with its new home.
“Perhaps you’d like to be next,” it hissed at him, now shoulder-deep into the younger man.
“Shit no,” Shane shot back. “You and him look like a perfect fit to me.”
The creature sneered.
“Human waste! I have a solution for that mouth of yours.”
Father Michael walked the streets of Manhattan buffeted by blustery winter winds as they whistled past row upon
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