“They can’t get you here!” The old woman shouted.

“Wha-?” I stopped, panting. I’d been running for what seemed like days. “What, lady? What? I don’t have time, they’re coming. You should run!”

“They can’t get you here, boy.” She was old, reminded my of my grandmother. Though my grandmother wore better clothes. I looked over my shoulder.

They were coming. Sliding across the ground, frictionless. Shifting. Horrible.

“Lady!” I yelled, “RUN!”

“No, dearie,” she practically clucked. “You’re safe here. They can’t get you here.”

I looked around. “What? This street corner? What’s so special about this damn corner?”

“It’s protected,” she said. She pointed. I turned around and the…things. They slowed. One, two, three, eight, ten. They kept coming, but they slowed.

“Why? Why are they slowing down?” I was still panting. Honestly, I needed the break.

“Because, dearie,” she said. “They’re hungry. And they’re home.”

As I ran I heard her voice, her old woman voice, laughing. Fading.

Shifting.

Horrible.

I ran.