Maw Sputum

A man shot into a sitting position, recently awakened in his dark bedroom, drenched in his own sweat. His knuckles were white as he clung to his sheets; the only sound he could hear was his own heavy breathing. Why was it so cold?

He stretched his legs under the sheets, before throwing the covers to the side and planting his feet close to the floor. With a wince, he took note that his socks were soaking. ''Had he spilled something? ''

He shrugged it off, switching the bedroom lamp on. Everything around him was illuminated and he was horrified to see what was on his floor. His bedroom was completely flooded to his ankles, with a clear, yet sludge-like liquid, swimming with hints of burnt umber.

The man shakily sighed, then proceeded to trudge through, wincing at each disgusting squelch that echoed through the house and crawled in his ears as he made his way down the hallway. His eyes darted around the house, hoping to find a reasonable source for this mess. They landed, with further disgust, on the walls. It became clear where it was coming from.

Rusty liquid seeped from the ceiling, running down the walls. He shuddered, clenching his jaw to avoid gagging. What was this disgusting stuff? He legitimately hoped that it was just a plumbing issue. That would have been preferable over what he was suspecting were spilled cleaning supplies.

He shook his head, turning his focus back onto the sludgy sound of his walking, echoing through his entire house... Echoing... Echoing.... He stopped walking. The footsteps continued to sound through the house, and his arms stiffened. An intruder?

"Hello?!" he shouted, against better judgement.

The sploshing footsteps picked up in speed, becoming louder and less distant. Before he could react, he felt something ram into his back, and he fell, face-down, into the liquid. The taste of iron and oil flooded his mouth and nose, his eyes and throat burning agonizingly as the sludge filled all of his senses.

Something sharp was pressing onto his back, but it didn't scratch or cut him, despite him struggling against it. He clawed at the floor below the liquid, trying to push against the pressure on his back. He was desperate to breathe. He needed air.

The sharp feeling disappeared, then he was yanked from the substance by his scalp. He clawed at his throat, ignoring the raw feeling as he frenziedly gulped and wheezed for air. His eyes rolled up, to face his attacker. He only got to see a milky eyeball shining into his own, before his attacker grabbed him by the neck, and shoved him under again, squeezing hard. He could feel four of what he suspected were spindly limbs, crushing his arms against his sides so he couldn't struggle. That didn't prevent him from trying.

He jerked his head from side to side, trying to distract the thing or loosen it's grip against his throat. This only resulted in it squeezing his neck tighter, causing him to open his mouth and intake more of the slime. He jerked his head forward, struggling to keep his eyes from closing. He was painfully close to breaking to the surface. His nose was mere milimeters away from air. He was so close...!

In his spotty vision, he could see the blurred sillouhette of the thing, it's maw opening enough for him to see teeth glistening slightly in the dark, long and layering over eachother, dribbling and blending perfectly with the substance he was likely going to die in. He thrashed his body with quickened pace, desperate to escape from his own house, and away from this thing. He couldn't die like this, in some monsters fucking spittle!

Just as he was sure he would be dead, his dampened thrashing pressed against one of the thing's spindly limbs hard enough to crack it. As it reeled back with a loud sound, likened to a series of loud snaps, he shot into the air and onto his feet, wheezing violently, and wretching slime, as he rushedly stumbled out of his house. He heard a window break behind him, and much to his surprise, the things footsteps that rapidly quieted as it retreated.

He disregarded his spotty vision, as he stumbled to his nearest neighbor's front porch. He tried to yell, but after the strangulation and drowning he'd almost succumbed to, all he could manage was a raspy, crackling sound. He slammed a bruised fist against the door with a wince and rang the doorbell, then shakily pressed his back against the door, listening to his own ragged gasping.

He shakily eyed the black, starless night sky, as he waited for his neighbors to answer.