As Darla transformed, her painted nails became talons; sensuous skin cracked; pouting lips became poison; and blue eyes washed into white. She was blind, sniffing the air, searching for meat. Darla aspired to be a fitness model and years of repressed hunger was unleashed. Her claws opened the refrigerator and she ate three steaks.

McMasterson inched towards the stairway. He hoped his infrequent bathing made him undesirable, but dogs will eat anything, and lizards… well lizards will eat their own kind. Darla turned to McMasterson. “Yes, I know you are there. You really should keep your chemicals locked up.”

“You’re not going to eat me?”

“Look at you… skin and bones, old and too tough. No; I have a taste for that PI who stopped by. What was his name? Gregson?”

“Would you prefer beef or pork?”

“No; I want a man who eats daily donuts. He’ll have sweet meat.”

Darla walked out of the house on two legs; her back expanded. Two enormous wings erupted from her scales and she sailed off into the mist.

MEANWHILE…

Gregson and Murphy swapped jokes at the bar, pretending there weren’t monsters in the fog.

“What do you call a man with no arms and no legs floating in a swamp?” Gregson asked.

“Bob,” said Bob. “That’s a good one.”

Creature noise rang out, silencing their laughter. Everybody took another drink.

“If I’m going to die, it won’t be sober.” The fat man said. “It sounds like there is more than one monster out there.”

“It’s just your imagination,” Murphy replied.

“Perhaps you’d like to go for a walk and check?” The fat man asked.

Murphy rolled his eyes. “Pour another. The police will be here in 30.”