Atticus Jackson

I watched him cross the living room, saw the toe of his shoe catch on the little metal lip separating the carpet from the scarred linoleum in the hallway.

And then something changed.

Corey didn't just hit the floor.

He sprawled out like an ordinary human body would sprawl.

But when he landed, his whole shape changed.

Like a water balloon that bounces off the grass instead of breaking.

Waves seemed to course through his body, rippling across his narrow back even through his black t-shirt, which looked like it was changing color in the fluorescent light just over his head.

No, not changing color.

Getting wet.

Wet with blood.

I will never forget the sound Corey made right before he went away.

I'd never heard a human make a sound like that before.

Somewhere between the mewling wail of an animal desperate for rescue and the cry a baby makes when it's in between sobs and so exhausted it can barely find the strength to scream anymore.

He made that sound and then his body broke.

Broke is the only word for it.

He didn't exactly pop like a balloon, and he didn't crumble and crunch the way you might think a body full of bones would.

He broke.

His skin split, his bones seemed to vanish beneath the weight of whatever unseen pressure was coming down on him, and a second later...

He was nothing but gore.

In my periphery, I could see Logan looking up from his phone, watching as our friend became a shallow river of red bits laced with ropey entrails spreading across the hall.