They’d lingered too long after the sirens searching for a lost toy. The wisps had come. They ran for home’s threshold, but Avi tripped. Eve screamed, forced to watch the jawless, black-runed skull floating in roiling fire and shadow feed on fear and slowly rent flesh.
They call it “It Won’t Let Go” because it never does. A cylindrical mass of arms that folds in on itself as it moves, creating a maw of groping hands. Victims pulled into its depths suffer unimaginable violations, then are left behind, their arms added to the mass.