Timing was everything, the difference between life and a messy death. I huddled by the abandoned car, peering into the shattered wing mirror. The shadow advancing down the darkened alley made me want to flee, but that would have been a fatal mistake. I clutched the shotgun, useless until the phantasm coalesced, taking solid form, ready to strike. Which it wouldn’t do if I stared at it directly.
Almost time...almost—
An inescapable iron grip on my shoulder, cruel fangs at my neck... The the last thing I saw was the mocking warning:
Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.
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alt="Famine Man by Deborah Tapper"
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alt="The Price of Belief by Andreas Flögel"
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alt="The Abhartach's Thirst by Andrew Kurtz"
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