That Rex Gotta Roar - Julia Mills Page 0,33
the eye could see, forcing a chill to creep down my spine. Malevolence charged with black magic popped and crackled in blasts of light, their wicked intent permeating the SUV, biting at the skin on my arms and face.
“This – this crap is…”
"Utter bullshit," Cora growled, arm flying over my shoulder, finger pointing at… at…. literally the nastiest creatures I'd ever laid eyes on. "Whoever's doing this needs one hell of an ass-kicking, and I'm just the Crane to do it."
“Count me in,” Jenn growled, her voice already sounding a little Pterodactyly.
“Not without us,” Moni and Coll exploded, my Flock’s one and only Crow who thought she was a Raven adding a rattling caw as our Mockingbird’s sharp trill joined in to let anyone who was listening know that they were ready to rip the Daughter – of – a – Voodoo – Priest – without - an - ounce - of - magic – that – was - her - own - who - dared - to - defile - our - precious - Swamp into tiny little pieces and feed her skanky ass to the Gators. (No, I didn’t yet have confirmation that she was a skank or skunk or even skink, but the dumb beyotch was messing with my Mate's home, my people, and my Parish, and that meant she was every derogatory word I could think up and then some, ya feel me?)
Right behind me, raising those little tiny hairs on the back of my neck and making goosebumps the size of ping pong balls spring to life all up and down my arms, a low rumble emanated from Edna as my ever - ready - to - defend - her - Flock Eagle fumed, “Unlock these frickin’ doors, Tank, that Witch needs to die.”
“What – grrrrrreeeech, ahem… what are - are those grrrrrreeeeechhhh – th-th-things?" Livvie barely got her question out as the screech and growl of her Barn Owl trying to burst forward fought with the intelligence and movement of the lips of my girl. Only the tap of the tip of her nails (that were rapidly turning into the super-powerful, super sharp talons of her feathered alter-ego) clarified what she was talking about, and dammit, I wished I'd have stayed in the dark on that particular topic.
Misshapen, bent, gnarled, and knotted appendages coming out of places and orifices limbs – if that’s what they were – had no business coming out of, these creatures, beings, abominations, Things that would make Zombies scream (I was clueless what to call them except YUCK!) were the spine-chilling, creeptastic, stomach-churning animations of pure wickedness that I have no doubt gave even the Devil himself nightmares.
The scene before me was so unbelievable, so completely out of this world, so – so – so – oh hell, fill in the blank with whatever makes your blood run cold - that I had to blink, and blink, and blink again then pinch my very own bingo wing (That fat under my arm, up by my armpit, that wiggles and wobbles when I shake said arm.) to be sure I hadn’t fallen into some creepy ass coma and my mind hadn’t taken a trip to Wes Craven Land. (I have no clue if that place exists. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t, thank the sweet Goddess for small favors, because, if it did, I have no doubt whatsoever that it would only open on all Hallow’s Eve and only the real horror - goth - creepy – loving peeps of the world would have the chutzpah to enter. (Borrowed that word from Cora. Goddess knows she's accused me of having it enough times that I have an intimate knowledge of its meaning.) Those Things, what was left of a shit ton of poor souls who’d been sentenced to eternity in the Pits of the Underworld, danced in out of the flames like kids playing in the sprinklers in the middle of the summer.
Those bastards were having a party. A We Escaped Hell and Now We're Gonna Destroy the Earth hoedown!
Everywhere I looked, everything I laid eyes on was ablaze, but somehow not burning. The hellfire was engulfing it, making everything in its path part of its essence. Weird didn't begin to describe it. Freaky wasn't even in the same Universe. It was… It was… Oh, shit and shoehorns, if it had been the second coming of God with a Big G, I would've sworn we were seeing the burning bush times hundred