She didn’t know one. She leveled the knife, silk tube and all, and charged at the thing, speared it on one of its frayed edges. Darn it, she must do better! HURT! Hurts! What is this? Ghost . . . layer . . . ghost . . . killer. NO! It whirled to her, the mass hit her, the freezing, blinding snowstorm of it. Must. Keep. Moving. She couldn’t feel her feet, her hands. Pretend they were there. Slash! Stab! Don’t do this! the Other thundered in her mind, all rolling and roaring, drowning out the faint mind wisps of the thing she battled. The whispers that slid across her skin like slime, speaking of sin. Of hunger. She thought she felt the nibble of little sharp teeth gouging into her. The door to the apartment opened! Oh, no! “What’s going on!” This shouted in male and female voices. Zach cursing, really cursing, using words she hadn’t heard from him before.
