A grey floating fog grabbed hold of my right ankle and started to drag me bodily down the hall as my friends screamed and panicked. I saw the dim fluorescent blubs flickering overhead as we picked up speed, my jacket and shirt torn away so the tender flesh of my back began to skid against cold tile. There was a roaring, and I felt blood trickling across my face.
To which I mentally told myself, FUCK ALL THIS and curled my head up to my knees. I could hear my Pilates teacher screaming at me from beyond time, “PULL! PULLPULLPULL PULLLLL! SQUEEZE ALL THE THINGS! (Ho boy, hyou’re gonna really hate me for dees.) ENGAGE YEER MAASCLES!”
Thank you Mrs. Bollet, I thought as my hands reached up and plunged into the clammy velvetty mass of ectoplasm. I grabbed. I tore. I dug. I constricted. My faceless attacker let out a wail like a fog horn and collapsed, leaving me to skid a dozen feet on my ass. I gobbled and shoveled ghost-essence into my foam-ringed smacker, making noises not unlike a kitten feasting on an especially plump and blood-gorged mouse. I leaped from wall to wall grabbing chunks of ethereal flesh as they tried to wriggle away from my hungry wrath.
Finally, it was over. I burped a small puff of evil and patted my rotund stomach. Ken and Robin and especially Eric, all looked on with admiration and horror.
Make a teenage horror victim outta ME why don’tcha.