He sees me then. Stepping out from behind a broken pressure gauge. The fedora low. The sweater stripes bleeding red and green. My face—the geography of a third-degree burn—cracks into a smile.
I let him hear the claws first. Skrrrrrtch . Down a steel beam, slow. A sound like God tearing paper.
Because this is the only part of immortality that matters: The quiet before they close the casket.
Then I get to work.
“Freddy!” he shouts, spinning in the gloom, hands balled into fists. “I’m not afraid of you!”
The air tastes like rust and old screams. That’s how I know I’m home.
“Not afraid?” My voice echoes from every dripping shadow. “Derek, Derek, Derek… fear is the gasoline, and you just drenched yourself in it.”
He sees me then. Stepping out from behind a broken pressure gauge. The fedora low. The sweater stripes bleeding red and green. My face—the geography of a third-degree burn—cracks into a smile.
I let him hear the claws first. Skrrrrrtch . Down a steel beam, slow. A sound like God tearing paper.
Because this is the only part of immortality that matters: The quiet before they close the casket.
Then I get to work.
“Freddy!” he shouts, spinning in the gloom, hands balled into fists. “I’m not afraid of you!”
The air tastes like rust and old screams. That’s how I know I’m home.
“Not afraid?” My voice echoes from every dripping shadow. “Derek, Derek, Derek… fear is the gasoline, and you just drenched yourself in it.”