In some impossible way, the Marshall-thing squeezed its head into Mund’s open mouth. The man stared down at the sight below his nose. The Marshall-thing’s body was reshaping itself to inch its way down Mund’s gullet like an octopus fitting inside of a Coke bottle. It slithered and snaked through his esophagus and into his stomach, forcing his belly to bloat out like he was pregnant with triplets. Mund would’ve screamed if his throat wasn’t full of feet. And then he was falling.
