Mark set down two wine glasses on his kitchen counter. So far, the fourth date had gone perfectly. After three months of living in London, he had finally found a British girl who liked his Boston accent. He liked hers, too. He had taken Imogen out for a lovely dinner. They had laughed at each other’s jokes. Two twentysomethings having a good time. They had walked back to the warmth of his basement apartment on Westbourne Park Road and watched some Netflix. He wanted to watch a scary movie, like The Descent or John Carpenter’s The Thing. Nothing like a good horror flick to make the heart race faster and help break the touch barrier. But she insisted they watch a popular hidden camera show starring these four guys from New York. As an aspiring stand-up comedian, he had to admit—the show was funny.
It was getting late, almost midnight. He guessed she was staying over for the first time, but so far it had gone unsaid. Mark uncorked a second vintage bottle of Chianti, letting out the rich aroma, and poured two generous measures. He wanted to impress her. She worked for an investment bank in Canary Wharf, and despite her protestations, he could tell she had class. Old money with the type of cut-glass English accent reserved for those in high society.
He wanted things to be perfect.
Unfortunately, a faint, sulfurous odor knocked away the scent of the wine, as if somebody had struck a match or something was burning. Mark frowned as he visually inspected the kitchen’s electrical ports and appliances. Everything appeared fine. He had taken the garbage out, so it wasn’t that, either. Perhaps, he considered, the source was of a romantic nature. Imogen making the next move. He craned his head from the kitchen alcove to check if she had lit a candle.
The TV screen bathed the dark room in a monochrome glow. In this light, Imogen looked even more like Charlize Theron, lounging on the leather couch in her purple dress. She looked stunning.
But no lit candles.
“Do you smell that?” he asked.
“Smell what?”
“I dunno. Burning?”
She shrugged. “It only stinks of you in here.”
Mark smiled at her joke. He inhaled through his nostrils, trying to track the smell. He could still detect it. Only slightly, but it was there, lingering in the air. Maybe Imogen was being polite by denying its existence. He had gotten a great rate on this basement apartment, especially given how old the building was, but he was now beginning to regret it. Technically, his studio apartment was actually in the converted sub-basement, below the basement itself. There was no way it could be legal, but it was so very cheap. The lack of natural light was tough to deal with at times, but at moments like this, he wanted the place as dark and cozy as possible.
A new episode began playing on the TV. “. . . among four lifelong friends who compete to embarrass each other . . .”
“Do you want to watch another one?” he asked.
Imogen rose from the couch. Her hand caressed his. “Nah. Let’s go to bed . . .”
His heart raced even faster. He grabbed the TV remote control and switched it off. The room transformed to near darkness, and she led him to the bed.
A lamp on the bedside table provided soft lighting. The comforter was folded in half on the lower end of the bed. Crisp white sheets and pillows covered the rest. He had arranged it immaculately in the hope of this moment.
Mark spun to face her.
She had slipped off her dress and was wearing fancy black lingerie.
His heart skipped a beat. He moved toward her and reached out his hand to caress her face.
Here goes nothing . . .
The strange smell forgotten, he focused on the alluring subtle floral scent of Imogen’s perfume, which had driven him crazy all evening. He closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss her.
Her soft lips made contact with his, for the first time. The moment felt electric, exhilarating. She bit his lip lightly, and they both opened their eyes, smiling.
They fell back onto the bed, intertwined in each other’s arms. She pulled off his shirt. He nuzzled into her neck, kissing every inch of her skin there. She was easily the sexiest girl he’d ever kissed.
He drew the comforter up over them, and their bodies moved in rhythm.
Then the sound from the TV blurted in the room.
“. . . among four lifelong friends who compete to embarrass each other . . .”
They froze, peering into each other’s eyes, and giggled.
“Sorry,” he said.
He reached out from under the covers and fumbled with the remote on the nightstand, hitting what he thought felt like the power button.
The sound stopped.
Silence returned to the room.
He dove back into her neck, nibbling softly. Her breathing quickened as he made his way slowly down to her chest. He lifted the straps of her lingerie off her shoulders. Imogen peered into his eyes and gave him a seductive grin.
“. . . among four lifelong friends who compete to embarrass each other . . .”
The TV was even louder this time, making them both jump in fright under the covers.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said, confused. “I’m sorry.”
“Haha, it’s okay. It is my favorite TV show.”
He grabbed the remote and sat up to face the TV. This time, he’d do it right.
“What the hell?” he asked.
She sat up to look.
The room remained in near darkness.
Nothing played on the TV screen.
The two lay there in silence for a moment, baffled by the experience.
“. . . AMONG FOUR LIFELONG FRIENDS WHO COMPETE TO EMBARRASS EACH OTHER . . .”
The words again, even louder. The identical line as the previous two times, like it was being repeated over and over on a loop. But that was impossible, because the TV was off. Unless the damned thing had broken, and that was the last thing he needed on a tight budget.
He tracked the sound downward. It wasn’t coming from the TV.
In fact . . . the sound had come from underneath the bed.
How could that be?
Somebody had to be playing a cruel trick on him. Nothing else made sense. Whoever it was, their timing was awful.
He peered over the side of the bed to investigate. It was too dark, though, and he couldn’t see anything. He could smell sulfur again, stronger this time, and he was now firmly convinced one of his friends had somehow sabotaged his date. Furious, he leaned over to grab his cell to light underneath his bed, when he heard, behind him, the sounds of ripping fabric and an odd gurgle. He spun back to face Imogen—
A serrated black spike erupted out of her stomach, a few inches below her bra. She let out an ear-splitting scream. She wrapped her hands around it, and the sight of the wriggling appendage made it seem as if she were controlling the thing that had burst through her torso. Blood pooled around her body and soaked into the white sheets as she stared at him with fear, confusion, and agony in her eyes.
Mark scrambled off the mattress, wide-eyed, consumed with her terror, which was mirrored on his own face.
Something clasped around his ankle.
He looked down.
Before he could move or think, scaly black hands with razor-sharp claws squeezed harder. He gasped at the feeling of his shin being crushed. He tried to kick free, but the tightness of the grip only increased. Above his anguished roar, he heard his bones crack.
The claws sliced through his ankle, severing his foot in the blink of an eye. He screamed in agony as he collapsed face-first onto the bed, his eyes blinking away the blood that had come out of Imogen.
His stump sprayed blood over the floor of his miserable little apartment.
The black spike thrust through the bed between them, like a flexible spear. It carved through the mattress, splitting it in two, and punctured Imogen’s rib cage, impaling her with its serrated edge once more.
She tried to gasp, but there was so little life left in her that she didn’t have the energy—or the air in her lungs—to scream.
Her odd silence unnerved Mark.
The tail withdrew from her body. A moment later, it thrust through her mouth, turning her subdued cry to a brief gargle. Dark purple blood streamed from the side of her mouth onto the pillow. Her head rolled to the side and she stared at Mark through dead eyes.
“NO!!!” he yelled.
As if in response, a massive creature exploded out of the center of the bed. Black and muscular, the scant light from the lamp seemed to be absorbed by its obsidian skin. Its tail wafted from side to side, spattering drops of Imogen’s blood from its tip across the bedroom walls. It punched her corpse to one side, the force so strong it threw her across the room, a deep depression knocked into her blood-soaked sternum. Her limp body battered against his set of drawers.
Mark attempted to scramble back, but the creature’s foot pressed him downward, forcing the air from his lungs. His torso crushed against the remote, hitting the power button. Light blasted out from the TV set.
The creature towered over him, thick strings of saliva dangling from three rows of dagger-like teeth. The overwhelming smell of sulfur burned Mark’s nostrils now.
The creature reached down and lifted him by his jaw.
Claws plunged into his neck.
Sprays of his blood joined Imogen’s on the walls.
His vision fogged. He attempted a bubbling breath.
The creature twisted his head to the side.
Mark’s neck cracked.
His body went limp.
The last thing he saw was the outline of the vicious creature, silhouetted by the bright white light of the TV, as all life quickly drained from his body.