Copyright Gary Weston 2012
Andrew Foreman felt the tugging on his arms, and shook his head.
There was a smell of something smouldering, of electrical wiring melting and fusing together. There were other smells, too. None of them nice. Foreman dared to open his eyes. Monkley was staring right back at him.
'Asshole,' said Monkely. It was one of his favourite words.
'Right. But apart from that, are you pleased to see me?'