For CreepOs Part One, Click Here

Warning: Graphic Violence 

Mrs. Donatato sat at her roll top desk and tapped away on the keys of her typewriter, occasionally stopping to reverse the wheel and make a correction. She mumbled, “Television too loud…music too loud…has loud lady friends over,” and, to herself, “yes, you will listen to Corella Donatato, and you damn well better do something about it.” She was wondering just how she would word the final nail in Mr. Dale’s coffin when she thought she heard something in the kitchen.

“Are you hungry, Shu-Shu?” She said into the air.

There was no response, and she didn’t expect there to be. Shu had probably gone to sleep, so it was most likely the downstairs neighbor or the building settling.

“Mister Dale’s latest, what could only be called explosion, wasn’t just loud, it was dangerous,” she said as she typed.

There was another noise from the kitchen—one of her plastic containers, filled with leftovers, hit the floor and popped open, the food slopping across the tile—she could almost picture it. No way Shu-Shu could open the heavy refrigerator door. Had she left it open after grabbing a cold can of beer? She looked at the can, the condensation running down the side.

Mrs. Donatato heard Shu-Shu make a gruff sound and pat over to the kitchen from her bed in the hallway. Mrs. Donatato held her breath, turning slightly in her chair.

Shu-Shu growled, barked, then there was nothing.

Mrs. Donatato stood up and looked around her bedroom, her closet and settled on an umbrella. She took hold of it and walked towards the kitchen. “I don’t know how you got in here, but you better get the hell out of my home!” She shouted, her voice cracking.

A crunching, gurgling sound was coming from around the corner.

Mrs. Donatato’s brain was trying to figure out what was going on—it sounded like Shu-Shu was eating whatever had fallen out of the refrigerator, but obviously Shu-Shu wasn’t the one who had opened the refrigerator door.

“Who…?” She started to ask, and as she peeked around the corner, the sounds finally made sense, but what she was looking at was impossible.

Shu-Shu was being eaten by a creature six times smaller than the Bichon Frise, its round little head having distended like a python’s, with the elasticity of a surgical glove, and its round little body was growing to accommodate Shu-Shu’s head, even as the dog continue to writhe in protest of its situation.

“Get off my precious!” Mrs. Donatato exclaimed in horror and brought the umbrella to bear on the creature. There was a crack and the umbrella bounced off the creature and right out of Mrs. Donatato’s hands.

“Oh!” She exclaimed and stumbled back. She scrambled for the umbrella, spied the broom in the corner, and figured its reach would be better. She loved her Shu, but she wanted to keep as much distance from the creature as possible. She sobbed as she made her way to the broom, putting a couple chairs between her and the thing eating her dog. Her hand grasped the broom and she held it ready to pound the creature—but it was too late. It had swallowed all but Shu’s little tail.

“You spit out my dog, or so help me, I will pound you into hamburger and make you into meatballs.”

Despite its grotesquely distended face, it seemed to be in a drunken stupor, grinning from ear to ear. It bit down and spat out Shu-Shu’s tail.

“Mum at me, mitch,” it said, its mouth—and body—still full.

“Ahhh!” She screamed, taking a run at the thing, but slipping on the slop from one of her food storage containers on the floor. She hit her head and she thought she heard her hip crack, there was pain, and she blacked out for a second, maybe two.

Somehow, it was long enough for the creature to waddle off down the hallway.

“Nee me sum Tums,” Mrs. Donatato thought she heard it say.

Whimpering, she began to crawl to her phone in her purse on the stand next to the sofa in the living room. She prayed she would be fast enough.

Eight agonizing minutes later, Mrs. Donatato toppled the stand and grasped at her purse, scattering its contents beside her crumpled body. Lipstick, candy, fashion jewelry, an extra pair of undergarments, compact, sunglasses, keys, phone—phone! She turned it on and fumbled with the passcode. She dialed her ungrateful son Cliff—no answer! She called her sister next—

“Hello? Corella? Are you alright?”

“No, no, no, I fell down, it ate Shu-Shu,” she sobbed.

“What? You fell? You want me to call an ambulance? Should I come over?”

“There is something in my apartment, Camille!”

“I’ll be right over,” she said.

“No, no, call the—” Mrs. Donatato started to say, when the creature swallowed her phone in hand.

She screamed and slammed it repeatedly on the carpet, but it did not let go.

It started to chew, sending blood spraying everywhere.

Mrs. Donatato screamed again and again.


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