Forever After - By David Jester Page 0,21
a wave back and hollered a friendly greeting.
The two men watched the neighbour closely, only turning back to Angela when he had escorted the dog down the driveway and was trying to usher him into the house.
“What are you trying to sell?” Angela asked courteously.
They exchange a look again. The man on the right, the first to speak, turned around to make sure the neighbour had vanished inside with his ferrety canine.
He turned back. “Salvation,” he said darkly.
The curiosity on Angela's face trebled, there was barely a smile left to supplement her Stepford charm.
They stepped forward as one, pushing Angela back and barging roughly into the house. They slammed the door shut behind them and took up parallel positions in front of it.
Angela stumbled backwards across the hallway, almost losing her balance. She looked concerned. Her eyes were alive with terror.
“What do you want?” she begged. The fear was evident in her trembling voice; the smile had been wiped clean off her face.
“Your soul.”
They both produced pistols and whipped them in front of her. Aiming the menacing barrels at her tearful face.
She backed up until her ankles were restrained by the bottom step of a narrow staircase. “I don’t understand,” she trembled with quivering lips. She looked from gun to gun, barrel to barrel, dead face to dead face, horrified at what she saw.
There was a moment’s hesitancy in both men, they looked ready to pull the triggers but they paused, keeping the guns aimed at the shaking homemaker.
“Angela Washington?” One asked. “Aged forty-five. Housewife. Divorced. Three kids?”
“Yes! Yes!” Angela cried, throwing her hands into the air in maddening desperation. “What do you want? Please, what do you want from me?”
“I guess we were expecting a little more…” One replied, trailing off.
Angela was hysterical. “A little more?” she asked, something other than hysteria and fear crept into her voice and onto her face. Her trembling body became rigid; her frightened face took on a different emotion.
The two men looked at each other.
“Hair?” one of them asked.
The other nodded in agreement.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Angela screamed.
Again the intruders exchanged stares. This time they lowered their weapons and for a moment their concentration waned into curiosity.
“You think we’ve made a mistake?” One wondered softly.
Before Two could answer the question posed by his doppelgänger Angela launched herself at them both. Her face had been transformed in its entirety, the smiling mother of three was now a snarling animalistic killer bent on blood.
Her neatly arranged sparkling white teeth were hideously large, protruding through her snarling lips like the serrated edge on an unsheathed knife. Vicious claws, capable of opening a man like a tin can, dominated her delicate hands, hands that merely moments ago were baking cakes and ironing clothes.
She tackled one of the intruders, wrestling him violently to the floor, his head and back slammed against the carpeted foundation. His lungs heaved out every inch of air under Angela’s powerfully body which transformed by the second.
With a jaw still protruding from her neck as if being inflated from behind, she tried to take a bite out of his throat, succeeding only in tearing the fabric from his suit as he twisted away. He grasped her by the shoulders and tightened his grip on her flesh, but he could feel it growing in his palm, getting strong and stronger with each passing moment.
His hands slipped from her flesh, his body yielded against her sudden strength. She growled in excitement, a snarling hungry glimmer in eyes that still appeared human, but glowed with a monstrous radiance. She opened her mouth, eyed his throat and dove in for the kill.
A hissing sound preceded a barely audible thump and the beast jolted to a rigid stop, stuck atop the fallen intruder like a rigid cowboy on a beaten horse. A torrent of blood issued forth from an exit wound in the torso of the she-beast, spraying over the spectacled face of man in the black suit -- his sunglasses shielding the viscous crimson from his eyes.
The thing that had been Angela Washington jerked violently on the straddled man. She coughed a splutter of blood from her fearsome jaw, wheezed through damaged lungs, shuddered as her life-force spat out of every muscle, and then slumped forward, eclipsing the man beneath her.
There was a struggle, then Two managed to pull himself free, tossing Angela aside like a hefty, sluggish rag-doll. His colleague stood above the crumpled, muscular figure with his gun still raised.
“That was close,” Two