Monster by Kelly McGinnis

As expected, there was, again, no answer. Mr. Thomas Wormwood stared into the black of the crumby, collapsing doorway in front of him. Could Jonah have ran this far so quickly? Where the hell was this kid? Before he could move or contemplate further, he heard a creak in the floor an estimated 20 feet away. He took the risk and his first step into the building. An ice cold chill ran through his empty bones as he explored the dilapidated...hotel? He didn't know, this place had long since been cleared out of it's former identity. He sauntered down the hall and peered into an open room.   "Jonah? Jonah?!" he called, the name practically slipped from his dry, blistered lips. Similar to how his feet slipped from beneath his legs. Thud. A gun slid out of his breast pocket, along with his inhaler. Shocked with sudden strife, he couldn't for the life of him remember why he carried either of the objects with him. He figured they must be important and reached out for them. Mid painful stretch, he stopped, and tried to recognize a quick, continuous stepping noise. His heart jumped conclusions before his mind could catch up. Before he could rationalize what was happening, he slammed his hands down at his sides and he tried to lift himself up, but he only managed to lift his upper torso inches above the faded tile before falling again. The metallic, bitter blood taste that trailed from his mouth triggered his mad lust for flesh. His trembling tongue explored the open wound.   After he took a moment to recollect his thoughts, he attempted to stand up. Dust had accumulated everywhere at this point, ranging from under his finger nails to the particles in the air, constantly being inhaled. He felt himself becoming the dust as he realized it was inside of him. He needed Jonah, he needed the strength. He needed ...to cough again. The blood splattered onto the ground in front of him, specks of gleaming red mixed with specks of brown and green. And suddenly, his memory failed him.   Why was he bleeding? How did he get on the ground? Where was he? His head hurt. He heard more quick step foot steps, tapping on the creaking floor boards of the rundown building. All he knew was his passionate desire for blood, for flesh; for Jonah's blood, for Jonah's flesh. An easy target; consumption of innocence is impending, anyways, inevitable. His mouth watered and he grabbed the pistol, letting the inhaler drown under the blanket of dust that settled upon it. He ran further up the hallway to seek out his grandson.     "Jonah, Jonah!" he called into the bleak hallway in front of him. He could barely see anything, splotches of purple light flashed everywhere he looked. He rubbed his eyes, and when his vision cleared his stare was greeted by a tall, bright red door straight in front of him, just at the end of the hall. The door was so vivid against the muted, moldy walls that it practically called out to him- "Here. The boy is hiding here. This is your sanctuary". It was strong, and untouched. This door was completely his to open.   His legs began to give out as he stumbled down the hall. In an excitable rush, he called out for Jonah, saliva jumped from his mouth with every word. He bit his lip as to hold off his jaw from detaching and swallowing whole anything that came into it's path. A rush of adrenaline pulsated through his veins as he felt his entire body tense up- all muscles gathering their maximum potential of strength.   Fully charged.   His steps became stronger, and his strong steps became strong strides as he reached the red door; meters more, feet more, and finally the golden door knob was inches away from his grasp. The thrill of finally reaching his destination was overwhelming enough, then he heard Jonah scream in pure terror, and he couldn't help but to lunge for the door in animal instinct full force, hoping to knock it down. He let out a shrill, blood curdling demonic cry that exploded from his vocal cords, or from even deeper within himself, as he jumped at the door. SLAM.