Everyone knows that every successful horror film is bound to spawn a franchise of sequels, each promising to be more gruesome and terrifying than the last. I should have expected the Centipede of Death to not go quietly into the abyss. Somehow I had assumed that its unpleasant death would serve as a warning to other monsters.
Revenge is a dish best served cold on a hot summer’s day in a dark stairwell. One would think that having seen the founder of their colony executed by drowning, the centipedes would flee in terror. Instead, they continued to lurk in the shadows, biding their time before implementing their demonic plot.
Just as we had begun to think that it was safe to use the back stairs again, they struck. The violent assault on my coworkers confirmed our worst fear: there were two of them! One beast had been dangerous enough, but battling two seemed a suicide mission. Nevertheless, Karen attacked with nothing more than a newspaper.
The screams could be heard in the halls the monastery, carried on the still air through the Romanesque arches by fear itself. When the newsprint settled, the brutes were pronounced dead. Life has gone back to normal in the library, except for the wary glances cast toward the staircase. After all, if there were two survivors, who’s to say that there aren’t any more?
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