Slipstream, horror, romance
Skins carry remnants of souls. If I listen carefully, I can hear them whispering in fear and confusion.
Momma
I resist it as long as I can, but eventually I clutch the skin and cradle it close. It’s fresh and carries the copper tinge and slickness of blood. My body tingles and buzzes. My claws edge through my fingertips. A deep sensation that might once have been hunger crawls through me. I want to slip my arms within the sleeves, dip my head and pull the child’s face over my empty space. I want to breathe in the scents and memories. Perhaps I could pull some dreams and thoughts from the layers of fat and from underneath each freckle.
Stupid idea. There’s no point getting to know these remnants. Marcus tells me that we must regard them the same way they look at a steak.
I place the skin on the faded couch, and move to the bathroom. I stare into the mirror and slip a claw into my own skin, just beneath my throat. I tear down and peel myself open. In the half-light my black slit eyes stare back.
I am a monster made of smoke. A nothingness that only steals.
Review by R. Graeme Cameron in Amazing Stories
Shades of Ed Gein, the grave robber and murderer who wore the skins of his victims and later inspired the creation of Norman Bates, Leatherface, and Buffalo Bill in the movies. This story involves monsters who utterly absorb their victims but for the skins which they retain as suitable clothing/disguises to enable them to blend in with humans on the street. Every once and a while they like to fondle their wardrobe because the lingering fears and fading memories attached to the skins give them perverse pleasure. Don’t want to give away too much, so I’ll just conclude by saying this is one creepy “human interest” story.
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