Fiona McAlister sprinted to the corner of the building and bent over clutching her sides. Lungs burning and blood racing, she listened for its crawling approach above the pounding of her heart.
It was there, right in front of her, in the darkness of the factory’s shadow. How could it have passed her? Its phlegm-rolling throat-breath inched closer, expiring rank carnivorous air over her face. Pulling her head back into her shoulders Fiona looked into its blood-lined yellow iris and saw her own fear reflected back. As the monster opened its mouth she closed her eyes. One, two, three, four, open.
Lying in her sweat-drenched bed Fiona caught her breath and tried to remember the nightmare. By the time she’d made coffee and showered it had already become softer around the edges and on reaching work, she had entirely forgotten the details.
A queue of shuffling cadavers greeted her at the Mythical Creatures Employment Exchange; most were pleasant enough, but Zombies always unnerved her with the bits of dead flesh falling off and blood all over the lino.
‘Don’t tell me,’ she groaned at Alice, her secretary, ‘they’ve nothing to do after the Dia de Los Muertos.’
‘That’s right.’ said Alice. ‘I’ve told them we’re over-subscribed, but they just won’t listen. Actually, it’s hard finding one with ears,'...
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