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He saw Murphy's back, lowering down as to pick something up. Murphy's sister was there also, the dark figure, and was pointing at the ground. Murphy shouted something at her but Jim couldn't make it out. She lowered her dark, gangly body down as well and when they both rose together, they were carrying something. It was a body, Murphy carrying the body's boots and legs, the sister carrying stretched out arms. Jim couldn't see a face but he recognized the jeans and boots on the lifeless body. It was McCoy, Jim was sure of it.
"Oh no, oh no," Jim said to himself while quietly shutting the door. "This is not good. What the hell is going on? This is not good; I need to get outta here, fast." He reached into his jacket for his phone to call the police. "What the where's my phone? I had it in my pocket, where is it?" He started looking around. Nothing, no sign of the phone on the floor, nor where he was sitting with his guitar. There was no time to look anymore; Jim knew he needed to get out of the house, soon.
Jim ran to his guitar, opened the case and quickly placed the guitar inside. He shut it with a sense of urgency and quickly stood up, making his way to the door. As he reached for the handle the door swiftly and forcefully threw open, Murphy standing there, smiling.
"Hey, going somewhere?" Murphy asked. His voice was soft and smooth, almost calm, and a bit haunting. The smile on Murphy's face was even bigger than before, showing thick, large teeth. That smile, the one Jim had seen many times this night, was now bigger, sowing great signs of evil. Jim swallowed and began to speak.
"Something came up," Jim said. "I got a call from my girlfriend; she said there was an emergency. I'm sorry but I really gotta go."
"That's funny; I never heard the phone ring." Murphy held up Jim's phone. Jim looked at it confused and realized when Murphy had his arm around Jim earlier; he must have taken the phone from out of his jacket pocket. Jim looked from the phone back to Murphy's teeth. They seemed bigger now, dangerous in their own right.
"What's going on here, where's McCoy?" Jim franticly asked.
"I told you, he's gone now," Murphy said with his smile, almost laughing.
"You mean gone as in dead, don't you?"
"Well, yes. He was really starting to get in the way. But don't worry, my sister's taking good care of him," Murphy said.
"What do you mean, Taking good care of him,'" Jim questioned, stating to feel a slight bit of urine trickle down his leg.
"Jim, she's feeding on him. And when she's finished" Murphy's eyes narrowed at Jim, "she's going to feed on you."
"LIKE HELL!" Jim screamed. He threw his guitar at Murphy, hitting him in the face and startling him. Murphy quickly recovered from the attack and grabbed Jim around his neck as he tried to muscle his way through the door.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa Jimbo. I swear, you won't feel a thing."
The two began to struggle more, Jim screaming and fighting the best he could. Murphy's grip was tight and Jim could feel his breath leaving his body. He needed to act fast if he was to escape and survive.
"Why fight it, Jim. You're here, just let it happen. The more you struggle, the harder it's gonna be," Murphy said. His voice was getting darker, more sinister, yet still held a bit of sarcastic humor in it. This just urged Jim on, made him work harder.
Jim got an arm free and began punching Murphy in his side. Murphy's grip loosened a little around Jim's neck. Jim got one more solid punch in and pushed Murphy off of him.
"A feisty one, my sister will like that. Me, not so much. I don't like to fight with the food if I don't have to," Murphy said.
"I'm not your food," Jim screamed back at him.
"Well, not for me, you're not. But for her, you are. I'm sorry, Jim. That's just the way it is."
To be continued...
Ryan Stroud is a military trained journalist who has served in Iraq with the 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 1st Cavalry Division, US Army. Prior to his military experiences, Stroud grew up playing, coaching, and refereeing soccer. Also, Stroud focused many years of his life playing, touring, and recording/producing local music acts. He has a wonderful wife of 4 years, a 2 year old son and a newborn daughter.
Stroud's biggest writing influences are Jim Butcher, Chuck Palahniuk, Edward Lee, Jack Ketchum, Christopher Moore and Ben Fox.
He currently resides in Huntsville, Al, with the 59th Ordnance Brigade at Redstone Arsenal.
Stroud would also like to take a moment to thank his friends who are currently in battle over in Iraq. God bless all of you.
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