Walk Me Home: Dating a Monster Girl

Norman felt something behind him.

He turned and locked eyes with his would-be stalker. Apparently, that landlord was trying to sneak up on him again.

Mr. Brukup held perfectly still as Norman strode right up to him. Norman’s steps were calm and fluid, like a panther on the prowl. It was the unflappable composure of a predator who knew his place in the food chain. Norman flexed his knuckles under those menacing, fist-mounted weapons. They whined, capacitors firing up.

Amy’s lightning ball sprawled a writhing web of tentacles, like the flagella of a germ that grew bigger than it had any right to be. The prey part of his mind knew what he was looking at. Jaws. Little or not, she was preparing to feed.

Between these two, he didn’t think he would survive the next few seconds.

Mr. Brukup winced as Norman raised a hand. He closed his eyes, only to feel a pat on the shoulder.

“Dude, I can literally see you this time,” Norman chuckled as he passed. “What are you doin’, freezin’ up like that changes anything?”

Mr. Brukup didn’t dare relax. Norman had moved on, but he could feel Amy Mini lingering close. Her presence was like heat, yet it wasn’t. Above all, he felt her hunger. He knew exactly what she wanted to do, almost more than anything.

And yet, her presence receded.

Mr. Brukup cracked an eyelid, then another. He was … fine? The landlord looked back to see Norman and Amy Mini examining the organic lock on the elevator door.

Did … did Mr. Brukup mean so little to Norman that he could turn his back on him?

Wrath boiled in the landlord’s heart. His face contorted in a scowl hideous enough to make goblins nope out of there. He wound back his keychain and hurled it. Amy Mini darted to block it. The keychain popped her like a bubble a bubble and kept going. Norman tilted left and it missed his skull. The beak-like probiscis bounced off the wall. With one hand, Norman snatched the key chain’s head. The other whipped towards the landlord, making a fist.

*TSSK!*

A blast of light hit Mr. Brukup like a physical force. It sounded like one of those old-fashioned camera flashes. Mr. Brukup was a bit too busy bawling and writhing to make the connection.

Through bleary, teary eyes, he saw Norman searing the organic lock with the light from his knuckles. Amid his squealing, Mr. Brukup heard bits and pieces of Norman talking with the chat: “Flash knuckles they’re still prototypes.” “… risk of overheating.” “If it weren’t for these gloves, my fingers would be ...” “… work out the kinks …” “… if you ask me, the overheating part makes them slightly more dangerous- Hey, landlord, could ya pipe down? I’m making a sales pitch.”

Mr. Brukup screamed. His wrath pushed him through the pain. Why that little-!

He heard the organic lock seal itself tighter due to Norman’s tampering. The light would burn through eventually. In the meantime, Norman was stuck with him.

Light-drunk or not, Mr. Brukup shoved his keychain at the-!

Norman grabbed it again.

“Get that disgusting thing out of my-! Wait … actually I’mma borrow this real quick,” Norman declared, yanking it towards the keyhole.

Mr. Brukup blanched. “What? … Wait … NO! wait-Wait-WAIT! GUAAAAAH!”

Norman had plunged the keychain into the locking mechanism. The horrible twist? That keychain was empty. The peeping building was a greedy thing. It demanded something from all its residents. If a keychain had no nutrients to offer, it would extract them from the host.

Mr. Brukup could feel it. Precious fluids, ravenously pumping through the keychain to the suck of the socket. His strength vanished as he wrinkled like a raisin. Finally, the doors peeled open.

Norman plucked out the keychain and dragged the dribbling landlord into the elevator, smearing a trail of saliva in his behind him. He punched in the top floor and the doors sealed shut. His weight increased slightly as the elevator began to move.

Looking down at the shallowly panting landlord, Norman frowned. “Don’t drool like that. You can’t afford to lose the body fluids.”

Mr. Brukup meant to snarl, but it came out like an infant’s gurgle.

He felt light, wispy things brush against his head. Their touch was unsettling in a way he couldn’t describe. They reminded him of thread, or tendrils. He looked up.

… Oh no.

His hair stood on end as terror washed over him like icy wind. He didn’t know when, but Amy Mini had respawned. Now, she was inches above him. Gone was the pink. What remained was burning red. Her centre had split into a slit pupil, radiating anger, hunger and … other things. More feeding tendrils extended as she descended even closer.

He had to get out of there.

With nary an ounce of strength to stand, he began to crawl. Amy matched his pace casually. Her rate of approach never changed. Mockery. That was what it felt like. Probably what it was. He could not escape. She could take her time.

She could savour it.

He felt those feathery tendrils weaving through his skull. Again, he looked up. Mere millimetres stood between them. Her eye spread wide. At this distance, he could see that it wasn’t really an eye.

It was a mouth.

Tiny, writhing hairs laced its edges, spreading outwards as they prepared for their task. He turned away, no longer able to look. That didn’t stop the feeling. It crept across his head like a heavy, moist mist that tingled. He raised a hand to fling it off. Spaghetti fingers flailed for a grip and failed. Without his palm on the floor, he collapsed.

She continued to engulf his head.

His vision went red as she enveloped his face. His scream went almost nowhere. It bubbled into her before being forced back to his lungs. There was nothing he could do to stop her. It was a horrible thought. She would casually consume his mind like a snack, move on and forget about him. He realised that wasn’t true. She would devour his memories, his personality, his final bursts of terror. She would recall it all, and she wouldn’t care. There was nothing he could do to make her care.

She stopped. He sensed her attention shift away from him. Through the red aerosol, he saw Norman leaning against the wall. His nonchalance was unflappable, as though he weren’t witnessing an eldritch feeding. However, he was looking at Amy Mini, and she was looking at him.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. Amid the paralysing terror, Mr. Brukup sensed a silent conversation. They were talking without words in the way that couples did. Norman had said … something, though he never opened his mouth. It felt like a disapproval, but not quite. He wasn’t stopping Amy, but he wasn’t cheering her on either. From the feeling emerged a sentence. Mr. Brukup could practically hear it.

‘You could do that, Amy, but do you really want to?’

Then Amy Mini’s rage ebbed away as pity coloured her aura. She peeled herself off of Mr. Brukup and returned to Norman’s side. Mr. Brukup had a hunch as to why. Amy could eat his mind, but after losing this much fluid to his keychain? He’d suffered enough.

Her pity was almost worse than her rage.

Norman checked on the chat.

__CHAT

AMBIVALENT_TRENT: new phobia unlocked 😳

LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: What did I almost witness here?

ARN74: your future, Lemmy. i’m in your basement

LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: No you’re not. I have cameras and motion sensors down there.

ARN74: I shorted them out with an EMP

LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: You said you couldn’t fit in my house.

ARN74: i lied. i’m coming up the stairs now. i’ll get you and your little dog too 🐶😋. then i’m coming for all of wonna!

ATTACK-OTAKU: 😃

ARN74: EXCEPT YOU!

ATTACK-OTAKU: 😟

ARN74: i’ll do it in your sleep, starting with you, THOMAS_SANT0S

THOMAS_SANT0S: WHAAAT?? WHY ME?!?

ARN74: i don’t like trolls, and your username is stupid

THOMAS_SANT0S: GURL, I WAS ON YOUR SIDE!

NORMAN: ARN74, remember when you told me not to die?

ARN74: 🤨 get to the point

NORMAN: Take your own advice. If you mess with Lemmy, you’re going to die.

ARN74: so?

NORMAN: What do you mean ‘so’? Are you being difficult, or do you wanna die?

ARN74: maybe

NORMAN: …