Hereditary (A Holloway Pack Mini) Read Free

pushed to my feet. “What is it?”
    He stared down
at his hands, twisting and turning them. “It’s everywhere.” A hint
of alarm tinged his voice as he lifted his arms and peered at
those. “Spreading.” He bent and rubbed at his legs, before he
straightened and lifted a bare foot from the carpet, flexing his
toes. “Spreading fast.” Bright blue eyes, full of fear, met
mine.
    Heart booming
in my chest, I crossed to him and placed my hands on his shoulders.
“What’s spreading, Gabe?” My calm voice sounded alien. I wasn’t
composed. On the inside, only screams belted the insides of my
head. Because, over the weeks, Gabe seemed to have grown a quiet
acceptance for his ‘condition’, and the glint of panic in his eyes
was a seriously unwelcomed return.
    “Tingling. It’s
everywhere.” He shrugged me away and brushed at his skin as though
fighting it off. “Like pins and needles.”
    “Tingling? What
kind of tingling, Gabe?”
    A sharp gasp
united with the slap of his hand to his neck. Smaller gasps
followed as he kneaded the spot just below his right ear, using his
knuckles like his palms didn’t hold the necessary force. Within
seconds, his left hand did the same on the other side.
    Taking hold of
his fingers, I pried them away. Beneath where I lifted them from,
his pulse points throbbed, visible pulsations, as though something
within banged for release. As I tugged his hands out of the way for
a better look, his wrists came into view. The harsh boom-boom bounced against his flesh there, too, hastening in
tempo as his breaths increased.
    He whipped his
hands from my grasp, rubbed at his thighs. His face twisted as his
complaints evolved into low moans. Tugging up a leg of his shorts
revealed that even his femoral artery had joined in the act.
    The static buzz
of anxiety swarmed inside my head until dizziness and tunnel vision
vied for the space in there. “Gabe, please let me call for
help.”
    No
response—other than the sweeping crackle of friction from his
rubbing hands and the ragged breaths sending his chest in a manic
up and down dance.
    “Gabe, this is
bad.” Discouraging words never helped anyone—but control of my
emotions had taken a hike.
    Still, no
answer.
    “That’s it!” I
headed for the phone. “I’m calling an ambulance this time. No
argument.”
    He grabbed my
arm before I could reach it, his fingertips digging in with the
power of a vice.
    Trembling, I
turned back to him.
    His eyes shone
bright, his brow had slicked wet, and … something was wrong with
his face—something pulling his expression out of order, stretching
the skin taut across his bones.
    A shake of his
head accompanied his, “No!” and I almost stumbled backwards as the
word left him as a ragged, guttural growl.
    Despite the
tremors weakening my legs, I reached up for him. The moment I did,
he plummeted.
    He hit the
carpet on all fours. His body bucked and thrashed. Retches left his
throat, yet no vomit arrived.
    What I
witnessed could never be described with accuracy. Something was
happening to my son, something bad, unnatural, something …
evil.
    Bone crunched,
and muscles stretched, distorted.
    I took a step
back, followed by another—until the wall faltered my escape, and I
just stared in horror as my son became possessed from the
inside.
    Throughout the
deformation, he grew even broader, shoulders expanding, tearing at
the seams of his shirt. Even his shorts ripped as they became
filled to capacity and beyond.
    With each
onslaught to his body, my son cried out—agonized screeches,
beseeching shrieks.
    Between those,
he called for me, over and over.
    My feet refused
to take me nearer.
    Vision blurred
and abstracting the scene before me, I left my back slide down the
wall, whilst sobs shuddered my body to the point of convulsion.
    I swiped away
tears, and the clearing of my eyes revealed hair—Gabe’s bright
blond—growing, lengthening, sprouting, covering his body in a dense
golden coat.
    His shrieks