Blood, it slithers down my arms, searching for my fingertips, gathering there until it forms. Then the droplets grow until they can hang on no longer, slipping from my fingers and plummeting to the cold, tile floor beneath me. They strike the surface with a resounding echo, reverberating through my frame. My body shakes. A cold winter chill seeps into my bones, waking me from my stupor. I look at my hands, trying to find the color of my nail polish, but all I see is crimson. Blood is everywhere. I am dipped in its color, drowning away any picture of what I once was. My stare pushes past my hands, and I see her lifeless body before me. The red liquid still seeps from her skull, finding its way into the grout lines, spreading its hideous hue across the entry to my home. If you would like to continue this story then read it for FREE here…


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Scott W. Kimak

Scott W. Kimak

Bestselling author of the "I call him HIM" trilogy