“…we live between the tick and the tock of their lungs.”

They’re so close that I can hear the percolation of their breath leeching through the windows. They’re listening. Sniffing. Grinding the cool, October air in and out of their lungs. Watching for us with their red, blood-infested eyes. Edging near the walls and plying their scrabbly hands over the windowsills. Finger-painting chunks of their last victims on the door handles, and searching around the basement windows like kids looking for chocolate Easter eggs. The sounds are like someone picking at a scab in my brain with a razor blade.

It’s almost as if they know that we’re here and they’re making a game of waiting. Waiting for us to make a noise. To make a mistake. Or to simply get tired of them distilling time through their mouths as we live between the tick and the tock of their lungs. Waiting. Waiting for the game to end, to come into our home, and to say, “You lose,” with their teeth.

— From The Changed by Anthony Jay Blackwell
Visit: amazon.com/author/anthonyjayblackwell
#TheChangedNovel

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