The fur coat (standard:horror, 2096 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Jun 09 2009	Views/Reads: 3974/2620	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Why would it be advisable not to wear this coat?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

wore your coat all night”. “Well, they need to sort out their heating, 
it was quite cold, and again, if I'm going pay nine hundred pounds for 
a coat, I might as well show it off”. “It does look rather nice though, 
I'll admit,” said Dean. Beverley gave him a slight, genuine smile, and 
the rest of the journey home was spent in silence. 

Their house was fairly large, even though it was half the size of the
place they had just come from. It was in a secluded urban area with 
other, similar houses, their nearest neighbours being around forty 
metres away. They were hidden also behind high Birch trees in an 
extravagant front garden, which was only a quarter of the size of the 
back garden. The Bentley drove to a halt in their driveway, and they 
both got out into a cold wind. Dean locked the car, and hurried across 
to let them in. 

It was 23:15pm, and they ate supper with normal conversation. No
quarrels or bickering. Beverley hung her coat up under the stairs with 
her other expensive garments, and at 23:50pm, they went to bed, and as 
ever, every night for the past 17 years, lay with their backs to each 
other. 

Outside, nocturnal creatures scurried in their quest for food, trying to
avoid becoming it, and avoiding any form of light, as dotted along the 
roads, orange street-lamps bathed vehicles and front gardens with their 
muted hue, the cold wind having died down to a light breeze, blowing 
the odd leaf across the road that made no sound at all. Silence 
pervaded the town, and the moon was hidden behind blackened clouds that 
rolled languidly across the sky, unseen by anyone. In the Stockton 
household, it was even darker, and seemingly even more quiet. It was 
03:18am, and nothing moved. That was, until a few minutes later, whilst 
Beverley and Dean were still at the peak of their dreams, at the 
deepest of their sleep, they never heard the creaking of a leather coat 
beneath the stairs, as the fur coat began to move against it, sliding 
off its hanger, and moving slowly to the door which was always open 
slightly. It pushed against it and slid out of a six-inch gap to float 
unhurriedly into the hallway, where it stopped to regain its composure. 
It filled itself out as though somebody invisible had put it on, then 
began its slow journey towards and up the stairs, where it drifted 
across to the bedroom, pushing itself against the door which opened 
with only a slight creak of protest from the hinges, which had no 
effect whatsoever on the Stockton's slumber. The room was black as 
pitch, but the coat seemed to know where Beverley was, as it stopped at 
the foot of the bed, hovering, as though contemplating what to do. It 
drifted across to her, and lowered enough to place the right forearm on 
her face, where it slid down her neck and around the back, forcing 
itself between her and the pillow. It took a few seconds for her mind 
to wake her up, the dream of sailing boats and dolphins vanishing 
instantly. Her eyes opened, and her mouth was covered, so she could not 
shout. She could not fathom what was happening, and felt something 
sliding down her back and along her arms. The coat was manoeuvring and 
twisting itself so she was wearing it. The first word she screamed was: 
“Dean!” when the coat could not cover her mouth anymore. Her husband 
woke instantly, looking around in the blackness in an almost state of 
panic. “What? What?” he asked. “Help me!”. Dean turned and put the 
bedside lamp on, then looked at his wife and could not immediately see 
what was wrong, as the duvet was still near her shoulders. She began to 
rise slowly, the duvet sliding away as she drifted away from the bed, 
near a mirrored wardrobe, where she turned to stand upright on the 
carpet, facing Dean. “What's happening to me?” she yelled, unable to 
move. Dean could only stare at her, frozen. Then the inner lining of 
the coat began to rapidly grow hotter, and burned away her long lace 
nightdress, continuing onto her skin, where she screamed as it seared 
her flesh, burning her nerves, the sizzling audible to Dean who still 
lay there staring. Slight wisps of black smoke billowed from the edges 
of the coat. Her eyes were closed as the pain tore through her very 
being, her blood seeming as though it was boiling as well. 

The last nerve burned away, and the pain ceased, but the coat's fur at
the neck fused with Beverley's hair. The coat had wrapped itself around 
her to become her skin, but unable to reach her lower legs and head, 
but the essence of the Siberian tigers had penetrated her core, which 
meant her toe and fingernails had become white claws. When she opened 
her eyes, they were exactly the same as a cat's. Her teeth, also 
feline. 

Dean still lay there, not knowing what to do, watching as Beverley
crouched on all fours, then leaped onto the bed, and within a second 
her mouth had clamped around her husband's throat. He gave a yell of 
fear before he could make no more sound, and the teeth sank and 
squeezed tighter, Beverly breathing through her nose as she waited for 
Dean to die. His head was pressed into the pillow, and rivulets of 
blood ran down onto the fabric. The tenseness in Dean eased away and he 
relaxed as he passed away. She clamped even further and tore away the 
flesh, swallowing it whole. Her sharpened claws then proceeded to tear 
open his stomach, and she ate most of its contents, including what he'd 
recently ate. The light from the bedside lamp reflected from the blood 
streaming down Beverley's jaw and neck, and cat-like, she leapt to the 
floor, made her way onto the landing and down the stairs. She went into 
the kitchen, and knew instinctively that she had to be away from prying 
eyes, and also that beyond their housing community, there was a large 
stretch of countryside. With the instinctive knowledge and collective 
intelligence of the four white Siberian tigers, and Beverley, it knew 
what to do. It must hide out there somewhere, away from the danger that 
was human, whilst feeding on that very threat, and anything else that 
could satiate its hunger. 

The back door was locked, so she leapt up onto the counter next to the
sink, and without hesitation leapt through the pane of glass onto the 
patio. The noise shot through the night air, but was soon lost to the 
wind. Glass rained and danced down around her, but she didn't notice, 
concerned with getting away, and finding a new home. 

Running into the garden, she easily leapt over the small fence
separating the house from the terrain beyond, and ran as fast as she 
could out into the darkness of the countryside. 


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