I’m still not sure what in the hell he was wearing.
When I entered the room, still tired from butchering the wounded the day before, the man looked at me with surprise apparent in his eyes. For a split second, we stared at each other, and then he slapped the visor down over his eyes, adjusted the nozzle he was holding and sprayed a foul liquid at me.
The instant the fluid struck me, my clothes smoldered, and my skin burned. I’d suffered the effects of gas during the Great War, and that sensation was the only one I could compare the new burn to.
It was decidedly unpleasant.
What was stranger still was the fact that the nozzle and hose were attached only to the mask he wore.
I drew my Colts on the run, throwing furniture aside and into the path of the liquid.
Everything was destroyed by it.
It was as though acid was being vomited by the man.
That was proven a moment later when I put a round through his chest.
The bullet exploded out his back, and wherever his blood struck the walls, it ate through the plaster and whatever else it came into contact with.
My own skin struggled to recover from the injuries, and so I put another slug into his gun.
His muffled scream forced a spurt of acid from the nozzle, and acid pumped out of his belly. It burned his skin, bringing up great blisters that popped and oozed yellowish pus. He sank to the floor, unable to move as his acidic blood ate through his body and into the floor.
The man was game, though, I’ll give him that. Despite the pain, he was in and the fact that he was undeniably dying, he tried to spray me with the acid once more.
I let him get it into position before I shot him in the throat.
He tumbled onto his back, legs kicking spasmodically as his heart pumped out the last of his life onto the floor.
I shook my head, reloaded the Colts, and looked around to see if there was a sewing kit or a fresh shirt.
Mine, like the dead man on the floor, had seen better days.
#horror #fear #paranormal