“Help,” I croaked, my mouth not forming the way it should. “Please help us.”
A growl sounded outside. I must have been hallucinating.
“Help, please!” I cried. Why wouldn’t they help me?
They stepped, crunching the glass, around to my side. I could see their legs. And then the stench rolled in. I still didn’t understand, I just wanted to get out of there. I desperately reached my hand out, out the window onto the pavement, towards the person’s legs.
“Please help me,” I whimpered.
They dropped something on the ground. Something mushy, wet, like a washcloth. Too smooth to be a washcloth. I heard another guttural growl. Closer that time. The smell was nearly overwhelming, putrid and sharp, stinging my nostrils and turning my stomach. Couldn’t be real.
Beside me, finally, Ben shifted. He groaned, moving, alive, alive, alive. He’d know what to do. I crane my head back to him, back toward his familiarity. “Ben? Are you okay?”
He groggily turned towards me. Something dripped on my hand, warm, wet. I didn’t turn around. It didn’t matter. “Ben? Ben? Please tell me you’re okay.”
Ben strained towards me. “I’m okay, baby. I’m okay. What happened?”
I didn’t know. I didn’t know what to tell him, or what to do. I turned to the person outside.
They were crouched down now, looking at me. Something was wrong about their shape. I couldn’t identify it. Too crouched, too still, too long, too tall. Too empty. “Pllleease helppp uus.”
I didn’t say that. I didn’t say that. My words, out of their mouth. My voice. That person just looked at me, face shrouded in shadow, too sharp, too—what? Not enough. Not enough of something.