Stacy hugs her mochi and stares the figure down.
It takes a while before it fully forms. Before the crowd fully collapses into a featureless smear. Before you can see it's details clearly. A smooth face, almost devoid of features. If you look closely, you'll see the stitches that sow their eyes shut and where the metallic plates that replaced their missing features have been bolted on. You don't have to be that close to see their mouth though. That gaping maw that goes from cheek to cheek, filled with rusted needle-like teeth, locked in a perpetual smile.
As they move, half-dancing with unearthly grace, their hooded robes, sown together from flayed skin and still-writhing tapeworms flutters open and closed, revealing what lies beneath. A nervous system lies bare, supported by what little of its skeletal structure remains. Blood vessels criss-crossing the interior like a spider's web of sorts, securing its ghastly garment to its mutilated form.
It becomes abundantly clear that their arms are bolted onto their outfit rather than being attached to their actual body. The appendages of ossified flesh so thin that they noticeably bulge at the joints, before terminating in glove-like hands. Their palms marked with numerous puncture wounds, each of which contain an eye.
It dances towards you, slowly, inching closer and closer. Its form flickers, seemingly dislocating and appearing in a differing location for brief instances. As it draws near, you hear a noise. It starts out faint, too faint to hear. But it grows. It's a women's wail. Repeating, echoing. It takes a few more seconds to realize that it's your voice, or at least identical to it. And it's coming from behind you, drawing ever closer.
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Topic: Overhang - Sorry (Read 30306 times)