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chin.
           Greg lay for a moment with his eyes closed as he caught his breath, each inhalation causing a spike of pain in his chest. Eventually he opened his eyes and, as he did so, the scream left his throat with painful ferocity.
           Ryan was laid on his back; his eyes open yet sightless, his mouth frozen open in a scream that had never made it out. Greg crawled towards Ryan and scooped the limp body into his arms and stood up. He clutched the body tightly and began to retrace his steps. No more tears came as Greg travelled back to the van, his emotions torn to shreds and his mind shut down with shock.
    He didn't feel the warmness of the sun when he reached the lakeside, only the coldness of the little boy he loved so much. Greg carried the child back to the van, stopping and looking up at the vehicle when it was in sight.

           The first thing he noticed was the blood. He'd seen enough of it in the last hour to know what covered the inside of the van windows. Greg didn't run, instead he carefully lay Ryan down on the ground and walked slowly towards the van. He didn't call out for his wife or his daughter; he knew it would be pointless.
           Greg lifted a hand and pulled on the van door. It squeaked open as it always did. He stepped up and peered into the living area. He didn't scream when he saw the shredded remains of Courtney spread across the kitchen worktop.
           Greg moved to the rear of the van and pushed open the door to the bedroom he'd shared with Maria on many trips around the country. He didn't cry when he saw her laid out on the bed, her clothing torn to reveal her nakedness. He didn't gag as his gaze travelled over the body he had kissed tenderly over the years, now torn open to reveal the woman on the inside.
           He moved into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't look up when he heard the growl and he didn't fight when the talons sank into his chest.

Three

           The room was now lit with portable halogen units that had been erected in the far corner, but upon Detective Kyle Harrison's arrival earlier it had been dark within the confines of the apartment. In retrospect it was something he was glad of.
           Every bulb throughout the four room abode had been removed and the windows that should have overlooked the city had been pasted over with what appeared to be at least two years worth of daily tabloids.
           Harrison had been called in when two uniformed officers had gained entry by force after numerous complaints of a foul smell originating from apartment
    369. During a quick search by torch light the source of the rotten aroma had been discovered. In truth s ource is the wrong word, multiple sources would have been nearer to describing what they found.
           Harrison had entered the apartment on his own. Of the two uniformed men only one was capable of doing so and the other preferred not to, having seen more than enough during his first venture to fill his nightmares with a lifetimes worth of twisted imagery.
           "Just send Tom and his team in as soon as they arrive," Harrison ordered as he'd flicked on his torch and crossed the threshold of 369.
    On first impression the hallway showed all the classic signs of a hoarder. Magazines were tied in bundles and stacked along the right hand side wall whilst the left was piled high with empty food tins. Harrison shone the hand-held light over the tins, quickly getting an idea of the owner's diet. Whoever had lived here had survived on a complex mix of rice pudding, baked beans and cat food. He quickly scratched cat food from the mental list when he stumbled over the first of the cats.

           Well, stumbled over what was left of it.
           The tabby had suffered before it had died. The frozen, wide eyed horror on its face giving testament to extreme pain. It looked as if someone had seared the fur from its hind quarters,