“I have to leave by midnight.”
“Why, will you turn into a pumpkin?”
“No, but I get hungry.”
As the date ticked from October to November, though, I was lost, buried too deep to care, her claws in my back and her breathless lips on my neck. Then: teeth.
That was ten thousand Halloweens ago. There are no humans left to feast on now. Our kind sucks on scorpions, fight and fuck to pass the time, and wait.
