by Holly Schofield
The penthouse door shut behind Clive.
Mike scowled at his back. Weenie. Next-door neighbours as children, Clive had deserved whatever Mike had dished out to him. Now, Mike had convinced Clive to let him sleep on the sofa until he got back on his feet.
Mike munched Camembert, hunted through drawers, stuffed his backpack with cash, a Rolex, and a Nikon camera.
What about Clive’s childhood treasures? That baseball card collection should be worth a lot now.
Mike fished an arm below the bed.
Clive’s childhood monster had waited fifteen years for this moment.
Teeth bit and pulled Mike in.
Holly Schofield’s stories have appeared in Analog, Lightspeed, Escape Pod, and many other publications throughout the world. You can find her at hollyschofield.wordpress.com.