Every Sunday, we met at the little brick church, the one over on Warf Street and Columbus Ave. where the water met the sky. The preacher’s sermons were quick. Once, he merely said, “Jesus wept,” dropped the mic and immediately passed the collection plate. That was the congregation’s biggest offering to date.
Me and Tilly, sat in the back pew, belting out Amazing Grace until Tilly got a text from her older brother. “We gotta go,” she leaned over and whispered. I didn’t ask any questions. I got up and followed her out.
“If my momma…”
“Hush,” Tilly stopped me mid-sentence. “Listen,” she said. The waves let off a violent crashing sound, almost ear-piercing, but not nearly as loud as the wailing coming from the passengers of the old ship that rocked up and down as it neared the shore.
“What is that? Who are those people?” I asked.
“Mid-century bloodsuckers. My brother sent me this text,” she held her phone close to my face.
“How would he know?” I never trusted Tristan, I couldn’t believe his nonsense now.
“Him and Tommy Clox were over on the other side of town, fishing for crappy off the pier. The boat floated by, one of those creatures jumped off, swam towards them at warp speed. No time to react, Tommy was ripped to shreds.”
“Whatever,” I kicked a few rocks, spun around, and headed back into the church.
“Where you girls running off to?” Pastor Phillpe’s head fell frontwards, unrealistically still, his fangs shot out, he bounced back with force, reaching for the two of us.
We ran with the strength of a million horses.
It was impossible to match his speed.
The End…..
Leesa Writes 