Skin Thief

During the third night of her swim across the Atlantic, Jan opened her eyes to the sky’s infinite largesse and power, floating on what felt like a liquid astral mirror.

She woke to the faint splash of fingers breaking water, and turned to notice someone swimming towards her. The figure was featureless; blue skin pulled over a smoothly bald, earless head, with blank eye sockets, a nostril-less nose, and a padded mouth.

The figure grabbed Jan’s bicep, and she could feel it pressing female breasts without nipples against her. It continued its curious assault on her body, running fingers along her back, waste, and inside her vaginal orifice.

A strange paralysis overtook Jan as the figure pulled her toward a remote island of green sand. The figure stood tall before her, and Jan could feel her skin pulling, breaking, ripping off.

Her face, lips, eyes and mouth were being sucked onto this stranger’s body, pasted haphazardly like a Picasso of living death. The figure strutted proudly in its new flesh costume, beeping and purring, swaying its hips side to side. At the water’s edge, it caught a glimpse of its skewed, crooked face. Happiness turned to dejected groans, then screams in a thousand voices.

It shrugged off the stolen parts and marched over to Jan’s raw body, pulling her limbs off one at a time. The Skin Thief of the Atlantic showered itself in blood that poured generously from Jan’s quadriplegic corpse, ingesting every drop through its pores.