The creature pulls out the rod and lifts it over his head. He brings it down upon her shoulder and she can finally scream, curling her legs into her chest and kicking out at his stomach. Her feet make contact and the creature keels over with a grunt.

“Fucking kill the whore!” he demands through raspy breaths.

They all come down upon her, obscuring the vast ceiling and grabbing at her dress. She fends them off, yanking her arms free of their grip, kicking and punching, swatting their hands away, only to have their attacks ricochet into her ribs.

One mouth opens, revealing a circle of jagged teeth: “Bitch’s strong!”

Blurred streaks of black and light disorient her as she whips her limbs about in a frenzy. Still, they come down on her, slingshotting knuckles into her jaw. The hurt is great, but the true pain comes from the discomfort. The assault on her senses—a feather made of needles tickling her system.

The stimulation fills her with rage.

“She’ll tire out! Keep beating!” a different voice shouts.

“Yeah, yeah! Does she got a wallet? Purse?!”

“Ain’t seen nothin’ on her!”

“’Er body’ll ’ave to do!”

A hand grabs onto the skirt of her dress and tugs. She hears a slight rip that instantly absorbs her attention.

A moment later, her mouth is filled with sweet iron.

“AH! FUCKING BITCH! SHE BIT ME!”

Hands pull away, leaving a trail of thick drops she can feel in a line down her center. The weight of four bodies lifts from her chest. The ceiling is still nothing but empty tears. She doesn’t understand what she has done until she looks up at the group of creatures backing away from her.

One of them displays his bloody hand, three fingers missing.

She feels hard slime and knitted fabric swish in her mouth. She spits. A succession of fingers and a clump of dark fabric shoots out from her lips. A mouthful of blood and flesh pours down her chin.

They all pause. Then one creature shrieks, setting off a domino effect as they scatter away, stumbling and tripping over themselves to escape.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here!”

“Bitch ain’t worth it!”

“Freak!”

They run out of the alleyway and disappear around the corner.

One final screech—

“My fuckin’ fingers!”

—the sound of distant wet footsteps, and then silence.

She licks her lips, feeling the tacky substance cling to her skin, and whimpers. She looks down at the limp, crimson-colored foreign bits before her and gargles on the blood in her mouth. Or at least she thinks it’s blood. Do creatures bleed? It has to be blood.

But it tastes so sweet. Like candy.

Like her lollipops.

Repulsed, she spits up as much as she can, hacking up red phlegm and wheezing until the taste of sweet iron is barely detectable. Until the taste of creatures is out of her.