The Shuddering

kitchen wall, a warm trickle of urine dribbling down his thighs, convincing himself that if he didn’t move, if he didn’t breathe, if he didn’t make a sound, the hellion in front of him wouldn’t realize he was there, just like the T. rex in the movies. But even with his eyes closed, he could hear the thing coming closer. He could smell the blood, refusing to believe it was the blood of anyone he knew. When he finally opened his eyes, he was standing face-to-face with a grinning demon, the thing’s broad teeth mere inches from the tip of his nose.
    When the creature lifted a hand of long, bony fingers to Pete’s face, he couldn’t help the muted whine of terror that escaped his throat. With his cheeks in its grasp, sharp claws digging into his flesh, the savage canted its head to the side, seeming to study the horrified expression that Pete could feel twisting across his face. It was staring at the thud of his pulse just below his jaw that pounded in time with the drumming of his runaway heart. Pete cried out as it lifted him from the floor by his head alone, his legs dangling, his neck feeling like it was about to tear away from his torso, his boots kicking the wall behind him as he struggled to get free.
    And then Pete went involuntarily still, a sensation he couldn’t quite place spreading from his stomach out to his limbs—hot and cold all at once. Suddenly he crumpled to the ground as the creature pulled its free hand away, and for a moment hope speared his heart. It was letting him go. He was going to survive. Like a shark, the thing had come to realize that Pete wasn’t its rightful prey. But its fist clung to something long and gray—something that felt like it was tugging on Pete’s insides like a rope or a string.
    Before he had enough time to process the scope of what was happening, the monster began to eat, pulling entrails out ofPete’s belly like an unbroken cord of sausage. A scream ripped its way out of his throat. Pete shot out an arm and grabbed at the strand of slick viscera, jerking it backward in a gruesome game of tug-of-war, as he fought for what was rightfully his, fought the horrific feeling of himself literally unraveling from the inside out. The savage ceased its chewing, seeming bewildered by the fact that its gutted game was fighting back.
    But Pete was fading. Black spots bloomed in front of his eyes. The burning crawl of blood loss snaked around the inside of his skull and squeezed his brain. He pitched to the right, rolling onto his stomach in an attempt to catch a breath, but he choked instead, inhaling the blood that was splashed across the linoleum. It was his blood. His blood. Everywhere. So much of it he could see his own reflection in the deep burgundy beneath him, his own expression of baffled terror echoed back at him, but twisted as in a funhouse mirror.
    His diaphragm gave way to an unnatural rattle and a sob ripped its way out of his chest as he saw a matching pair of alien legs enter the kitchen, the sound muffled by a wet tremor of a growl as the two creatures began to fight. He stared at their sinewy legs as they dodged each other.
    His world went black as they snarled at each other, the sound reminding Pete of hog hunting with his pop. The kitchen table turned over next to his head. The refrigerator shook as one of them fell against it. Dishes crashed to the floor above the sound of Clyde’s music droning from across the house, Pete’s wheezing breaths coming in short bursts now. Before he could summon up another cry, something grabbed him by his neck, yanked him upward, and gave him a vicious shake. And despite the wail of the music, the last thing Pete heard was the snapping of his own neck.

    Jane squinted against the sun that filtered into the room, rolled onto her back, and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes while Lauren remained motionless beside her. She would have liked nothing more than to stay in bed for an hour longer, still tired from the night before—she and Lauren had stayed up long after crawling into bed, whispering across the sheets about Ryan and Sawyer and the weird way April had looked at Jane during their game of pool, April’s expression teeming with bad vibes. And then there had been the fight. Both Jane and Lauren had lain breathless in the dark, their ears straining as hard as they could. Jane had nearly crawled out of bed to peek into the hall, but Lauren had stopped her, grabbing her arm and giving her a shake of the