Dr. NoSleep

Go look.

He put the phone down again and crept to the door.

He moved the chair and the dresser out of the way and peered through the peephole, careful not to make himself heard.

The moment his eye looked into the small glass partition, he nearly screamed in horror.

It was them!

with their huge misshapen heads and undulating coiling bodies that overflowed from their ill-fitting clothes with fungi limbs and jagged teeth from anus-shaped mouths.

Their smiles wide and perverted, their teeth too small, and their polyped foreheads pulsing and festering beneath their thin gray skin.

Three of them huddled outside the door, two short and fat, and the third tall and hairless.

The tallest one was pawing its nubbish hands at the lock, murmuring in its obscene and disgusting language as it jerked roughly at the handle.

The other two chattered nonsensically, their bloated, slug-like tongues lolling from their puckered lips as they made sick gestures with what passed for their hands.

He stumbled backward, gripping the pistol in his hand to the point flesh and metal fused together.

Beads of sweat poured down his forehead.

He gulped violently to swallow any rising vomit.

He returned to the phone and, nearly choking, spoke to his new friend.

Jesus Christ, oh Christ, oh Christ, he said.

They're here, they're here, what do I?

You know what to do, the voice answered, its tone calm and collected.

That's why we came.

He stared at the gun in his hand.

Who's we?