MicroHorror

The dirty man coughed deeply, spraying Hugh’s face with residual pieces of previous meals. If it hadn’t been for his editor, Hugh wouldn’t be holed up in this filthy excuse for a house listening to the incoherent ramblings of a man whose showerhead hadn’t had water through it in months. But he knew he must follow every lead on this story even if it was only some loser who was probably bumped off by some other loser over drugs. He doubted there was any unseen force or ghosts or aliens.

“So tell me, Mr…. Shimes, is it? Tell me, the victim, was he really torn apart by an invisible… well, something unseen?” Pure nonsense.

The dirty man’s face broke into an oily smile. A smile that reflected pride in knowing something, despite its horrible origins.

“That’s right,” he drawled. “Shredded evenly on all sides, he was.”

“When you say shredded, what exactly do you mean?”

“Jus’ what it sounds like. Cut up, chewed right before our eyes. Me an’ five others seen it.”
 
 
Hugh felt himself grow lightheaded. “So you’re saying something ate him?”

“I can see the doubt in your eyes. You’re a man needs facts.”

Hugh sneezed. “Well, I suppose you are correct. The public is not interested in myths. They want truth, however grim it might be.” He felt a twinge of guilt for explaining himself to a hobo.

The dirty man rose from his chair and straightened out his crooked neck.

“Sam was a friend of mine.”

“Was he into the occult or anything similar?”

“Not that I know of,” came the reply. “And I knew him pretty good. Would give ya the shirt off his back.” Then the dirty man paused as a look of remembrance came across his worn face. “One thing though, he did complain ’bout not feeling good shortly before he died.”

Hugh felt his temperature rise.

“You’re wrestling with an impossibility,” the dirty man said with a smile. “Something that can’t possibly have happened… but did.” His smile sported rotten teeth. “A man in your profession can only deal with hard facts rooted in common sense. Well, they’re on the table. All you have to do is write about ’em.”

Hugh needed some air. He stood up and made his way to the door. The handle was slick with layers of grime and dust; it slipped in his hand.

“Simply not believing won’t protect you! The impossible stalks, beware!”

With a savage twist, Hugh finally managed to open the door.

The cool outside air soothed his head and cleared his sinuses. He breathed it in deeply and watched the white mist dance around his face as he started to walk to his car. He had aspirin in the glove box and he needed them badly, very badly.

He sneezed and coughed. Then he sneezed again followed by several more coughs, each more painful than the one before.

That damn bum gave me something, he thought coldly. He continued to stumble towards his car, tripping over bushes and knocking over trashcans as he went.

“You okay there?” It was the dirty man leaning over him, his rancid breath slapping Hugh in the face. “Mister, you all right?”

Hugh opened his eyes and looked up at the dirty man. He saw intense fear in his eyes, fear that reflected what was about to happen to him. The ring of teeth detached themselves from Hugh’s mouth and spiraled upwards. Turning completely transparent, they descended on their prey with lightning speed.

Hugh wondered why he had been lying on the ground. He stood up, brushed himself off and pulled out his keys from his pocket. He started his car and drove away, never once noticing the shredded remains of the dirty man which were lumped on the sidewalk. He lit a cigarette and rubbed his jaw. His mouth was sore for some reason.

“Great, just what I need now,” he thought. “A toothache.”