This are extracts from an uncoming story

(c) 1996, Peter Crystal darke@indigo.net.au

The three appeared to slide into the room. Their presence thrusting a uncomfortaable silence on all the other patrons. Their milk pale skin almost glowing under the dull bar lights.

The female carried herself with pride, obvious to the effect of her beauty, and even more obvious of the repulsed looks as her metal inserts glitter in the light. Her thin frame was covered in a second skin of some shiny black plasticy material. Her legs partially hidden by a long skirt made from black lace, one or two layers, enough to hint at so much. Silver glimmered at her ears, nose, eyebrows and lips, hinting at the possibility of more, under her clothes.

The shorter male, with his sleaveless teeshirt, and black jeans, grinned dangerously, almost insanely. His bulging muscles detering anyone from questioning his right to be here. Such objections furthur detered by the large tribal tattoo's along his arms, thick swirling black lines. His short hair help back with a blood red bandana, knotted loosely at the back.

The larger of the males, and apparently the leader, stood silently and calmly. His long black hair moving slightly from the night breeze coming in the open door. His face hidden behind a goatee beard and black round-framed sunglasses. His body hidden underneath a ankle length black coat, black trousers and what appears to be a black shirt. Although hidden his body betrays its slight build. His only apparent color appart from his white face is a single silver pendant around his neck, hidden slightly under the folds of his coat.

larger of the males

He stands infront of Kassandra, eyes emotionless behind his glasses, as his coat falls to the floor. Kassandra gasps as she see's the silver pentacle around his neck, banging slightly at his chest. Its gleam almost mocking the tanished silver of her crucifix.

With infinte grace and in complete silences He removes his shirt, revealing his chest, its skin as pale of his face. A tattoo of what appears to be a reptilian tail snakes across his stomach, in reds and blacks. And as He turns around, long black hair cascading over his back, she sees the completion of the tattoo, a large oriental dragon, in more reds and blacks. Its tail disappearing down, past his belt, onto his legs and hidden from view. Returning again just to weave its way onto his stomach.

X sat on the chair looking wildly around at the long tendrils as they oozed out of the cracks in the walls and ceilings. Glissing and writhing, they droped to the floor and onto X. He screams silently as the realisation hits i him, they are worm, millions of worms. Crawling over the floor, over each other and over him.

He dry retches as one falls onto his unturned face and attempts to slither into his open mouth. X feels more and more drop onto him.. He reaches up to his face, clawing at the worms, ripping them off him, away from him.

The last thing X saw was the writhing carpet of slime covered worms almost pulse with an alien life.

The police walked into the room, the younger of the two going visibly pale upon the sight that greeted them.

A man sitting on a chair in the middle of the bare room. A twisted expression on his face, almost obscured by the caked blood tat had flowed down his face from his mauled eye sockets. His gore covered hands evidence enough of the perpetrator.

"So... What killed him?", the Inspector asked, needlessly, his mind already set.

"Not the facial wound as you think", replied the Coroner, "it appears that he died of a heart attack before the injuries killed him.."

"What does that mean?"

"He appears to have been scared to death...."

this extract was written on the 24/sept/1996 at 20:00pm

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