It starts with that sloppy tapping sound

They approached with that shambling gate, step by step, kicking litter and twitching those tense slender fingers. Their maggot-like flesh glistened by the light of my torch in this narrow dark alley.

I had no space to get around them. I had to retreat until they gave up enough of a margin to brush by them, but they were about to back me into a wall. I looked around the floor for something to distract them when I saw the whip-like red tendril dart from above.

It was hoisted upward with legs dancing like a crab on a fishing line. It thumped against its partner making it lose its balance. The rank stink of the proboscis hit me.

Up and up it went, like riding a lift. It was dumb luck that malingering naked gibbon didn't wrap its putrid thing around my neck.

My heart hammered my sternum as I watched the digital kick against the walls. A good effort to try to get a grip on one of the windows but the malingerer's strength was hopelessly unmatched.

A drop of its mucus landed on my eye lid. I nearly vomited then and there.

When what I presume to be its mouth dilated, ropes of a viscous clear liquid spilled out of it, drizzling it in the acrid sour spittle before disappearing in its dark red envelope. There were no screams, only the muffled sounds of bones snapping.

It felt as though someone struck me in my ribs with a sledge hammer and left it embedded in my side. It was startling and annoying. In fact, I was already dead.