Terror Incarnate Appears

Old building. Shabby. The top floor. An old, worn set of stairs. Needs cleaning. At the top, breathless. Five floors up. Long hallway. Door at end. Still breathless. Sweating. The merchandise is supposed to be first class and the price couldn't be better. I can order five gross and sell them in a week. Such a good margin. We shall see.

The door at the end. No sign. Just a number. Twelve. I push the buzzer. Nothing. Again the buzzer. Nothing. And, then, the face, the smell, the growling and grinding. Reeling backa and back to get away. Up against something wet and dank. Grasping claws. Away. away.

Daylight. Just a street. I have escaped. But, I am now changed.

As you are now changed.