For Ted Pederson
Paul picked up the phone. He dialed 911. “Sheriff, this is Paul Tyler.”
“Paul? What’s the matter, son?”
“I’m at the Daniels clinic. An old man’s just been killed out here.”
Paul did not notice the two drops of moisture that dropped onto the desk from the ceiling or the smoke that rose up as the fluid ate into the wood.
“You said killed?”
“Yes, sir,” said Paul.
“Okay, you just sit tight and I’ll be right out.”
Two more drops fell, and this time Paul noticed. He looked up. It was hanging there, just above the lamp. It looked like a monstrous red slug, glistening with a sheen of moisture. Another spatter of moisture fell onto Paul’s hand, and the droplets burned…
He looked back up in horror, frozen… and the thing dropped down on him like a cloak of phlegm.
Paul Tyler screamed. He couldn’t escape…