The Worst Kind of Monsters

A horror short story

I could see exactly where I needed to go. That night was cold, the sticky after storm air clung to me like a wet rag, and the fog was starting to rise. Behind me, I could hear the unmistakable sound of feet pounding on the pavement, and the deep, winded breathing of a desperate charge. He was surprisingly fast, but I was faster and more desperate. He was an out of shape, overweight, middle-aged man, and I was none of those things.