From Salon.com
They rise, like steam, like gas fumes, from the Brooklyn streets, howling, wailing, their hands reaching for food that won't fall from the sky, their faces contorted, all gaping mouths, frightened eyes, but you don't see them. "I was here," they say, "long before you arrived with your iced coffee and your yoga mat, I was here just yesterday, please let me stay," but you can't hear them, can't help them, can barely save yourself.
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Short Horror Stories- #Wattys2015
Short StoryI've always loved horror stories, so I decided I would make my own book. Not all of these stories are mine. If they aren't, I probably included the site. Hope you like it! Vote, comment. I really appreciate it when you do! This book has already go...
