The Husk

I heard the footsteps, I felt the air cool around me when it approached. The smell of death hung in the air. My primal instincts told me it was right there. So why couldn’t I see it? Why, even when all the evidence I had told me it was coming, was I unable to see the damned thing? Why was I left to suffer in perpetual mystery and terror, deprived of the one sense I could use to confirm its existence? Was I going insane?

I fled endlessly through the halls of this terrible place, after each corner hoping to see a way out, always being let down. It seemed as though the walls themselves were shifting around me, smothering me in a permanent sense of confusion and helplessness. I slowed down to take a breath. The creature chasing me grew closer. My fear gave me a small boost of endurance, but I wouldn’t be able to keep running for long. My chest was on fire, and my legs felt like jelly.

My knee buckled. No longer to support my own weight, I fell to the ground. I heard the heavy footsteps approach, and in a final act of bravery (or maybe acceptance of my demise) I reached for the lit candlestick on the wall. I heard a shrill, not-quite-human screech, and I tore the candlestick from the wall and threw it in the direction of the noise. The air in front of me caught fire, and a charred mass seemed to appear from beneath the flames. It collapsed.

What was left was a large, vaguely humanoid cadaver, with claws longer than its fingers, and teeth the same size and shape. A red glow in its eyes was fading, and the smell of death was replaced by the painful smell of burnt hair. I kicked it to make sure it was real, and I heard a hollow, resonating “thump.” A black ash mark was left on my shoe.