MicroHorror

Men in hoodies hid in the shadows. Moonlight showed latex masks: Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster and the Mummy.

Dracula flicked a butt into the shrubbery and pounded the door with his baseball bat. Frankenstein’s Monster and the Mummy looked this way and that, checked the deserted road and shadowy forest.

The door opened softly. An old lady peered out. “Can I help you?” she whispered in a hoarse voice.

Dracula pressed a switchblade beneath her chin. “Give us money, bitch!”

Frankenstein’s Monster and Dracula pushed her back into the dimness of the hallway.

The door slammed shut with a strange click. The old lady shook her head. “Tsk, tsk” she said waving her finger. “Do your mothers know where you are?”

Frankenstein’s Monster laughed–pulled out his phone to film the beating. The old lady crumpled beneath a barrage of blows and kicks.

They stood over her, panting and swearing. Then the lights went out.

A firefly light sparkled along the floor. Foul air, a smell of rotting leaves and worse washed over them. The body at their feet glowed then stirred, weaving upwards like a cobra. Her body morphed, arms fused into her sides, scales slid out, encased her body. Only her head stayed the same. But now it swayed above them; emerald eyes, a lipless grin.

There were screams, bangs and wet sounds like giant lobsters being ripped apart. Then silence.

Outside an owl swiveled its saucer eyes towards the house. It blinked. The house blinked back. The doorway split open like a mouth. The house belched and spat out: masks, bats, knives, mobile phones and a wad of bloody Burberry.