attack | Karen B. Nelson

She couldn’t get up from the chair any easier than if she had been tied to it. Fear pressed on her chest and pinned her to the backrest. What had begun as a faint rushing sound of water had become a roaring in her ears, surely just outside the door. She pushed a thick tongue over the cracks of her lips.

It was coming.

Gasping now, she forced her eyes to stare at the ordinary items littering the table. Butter dish. Keys. A smear of honey with a dried thumbprint, frozen like an ancient fly in amber. Eyes screaming, she blinked just once, quickly, but it was there, her fear. And what shape it would take when it stepped from the train was anyone’s guess.

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