Empty chip packets rustled; cans crunched between sharp teeth. Lewis burrowed deeper into his stained seat.
He’d just wanted somewhere warm to spend the night, and an empty bus back at its depot had seemed like the perfect place.
Dripping warmth pressed against his back. Rough nodules scratched his skin. With a slow, slithering motion, the invader encircled his waist.
Lewis didn’t need to look down.
Beneath him, the seat rumbled. Its fabric peeled back, leaving a fleshy void. Hot, damp air erupted around him, heavy with the stench of rubbish and rot.
The tongue tightened its hold.
It retracted.
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alt="Winter Feast by Pauline Yates"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Sometimes It’s Better to Not Know by Michelle Brett"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="4BR, 3BA Smart Home - Live Clutter Free by Greg Clumpner"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="And the Earth Shall Give Up Its Dead by Kristin Lennox"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>