The whispering moved closer. Mark’s instinct was to flee but where could he go? The cellar was black as pitch. If he ran Mark would, in all probability run straight into the arms of the loathsome creatures. Even if, by some miracle he evaded them he would in all likelihood run slap bang into a brick wall. However, remaining where he was was not an option as, sooner rather than later the vile things would be on him.
Mark shuddered at the thought of the Dracs, They didn’t kill their prey immediately. Captives where confined in cages, their blood being taken as and when the creatures became hungry. They where the size of an average domestic cat. In a one to one situation a man could (assuming he was able to get hold of a Drac) choke the life out of the detestable creature. However the cellar was crawling with Dracs. Even if he killed a dozen of them their brethren would capture him eventually.
Mark felt the gentlest of touches, rather like being tickled by the whiskers of a domestic cat. He screamed and kicked out in the direction of the contact. The Drac shrieked as it was propelled through the air. There was a splat followed by a shrieking from the Drac’s enraged companions.
Where was the entrance. He had got into this infernal place, surely he could, somehow find the way out?
Mark was conscious of needle-like fangs puncturing his leg. His fist connected with something warm and soft. The creature groaned in agony attempting to escape. Mark brought his foot crashing down on the skull of the Drac.
The death of another Drac brought a veritable horde of the creatures on him. Desperately Mark clicked on the “close game” icon.
“The programme is not responding”.
Mark reached for the computer’s off switch. His hand was caught in the sharp fangs of a ravenous drac. Mark screamed. With all his strength he attempted to hook his foot around the computer’s cable. If he could get a grip on the wire then Mark could end the nightmare by pulling it out of the socket. The Dracs, as though comprehending his intention, locked both his legs in a vice-like grip. The things piled on top of him forcing Mark off his chair and on to the ground. A sound rather like that of a cat lapping milk could be heard.
—
Becky found her boyfriend lying on the carpet without a mark on him. He lay entangled in the virtual reality suit. It covered him from head to toe. The garment allowed the user to interact with computer generated worlds and, in effect to become an integral part of whatever game he was playing.
Mark’s face wwore a look of utter detestation and fear. Something about the way in which Mark lay and his expression told Becky that he was beyond help.
Becky reached for the telephone which stood next to the computer monitor. She froze at the sight which greeted her. Cat-like creatures glared at her from the monitor, their sharp fangs seeming to reach out to Becky. Instinctively Becky stepped back to avoid those razor-sharp teeth. Averting her eyes from the screen Becky bent, turned off the power and unplugged the machine. As the power died Becky fancied she heard an angry howling coming from the headset which remained strapped to Mark’s head.
K Morris - Poet 