Harmon stared blankly at the dim screen of his laptop. His mouth was open, but he didn't seem to be aware of it. His squad car was parked on a dirt path leading into a cornfield next to the highway. Outside, the moonlight reflected off the paint showing Dunwich Police on the side. He stopped the video feed and played it back again, not sure if he'd fallen asleep. Most nights the area was quiet enough that he could, in any case. Part of the reason the department had been chosen for his cover was the relatively low call volume which allowed him to operate with little interference. It was only on nights like tonight, when he'd had to play mediator between Mr. and Mrs. Richardson for the past hour and a half after they'd both called 911 on eachother, that he found himself missing a step.

Not quite believing what he'd seen, he played it again, watching the girl and the boy laughing as they watched their nerdy Asian show, then suddenly grow quiet. Then the girl got up and lifted her shirt, showing off her stomach before directing the boy to kneel in front of her so she could perform a slow sensual dance. It was basically a strip tease, sans the stripping, Harmon thought. She wasn't bad, either. He paused the video as she suddenly yanked him towards her.

“Fuck me runnin,” he muttered, zooming in and playing it at half speed.

He hadn't been asleep. Chelsey Irons was in Aaron Jakeman's residence and had somehow opened her stomach from the navel and swallowed him whole almost an hour ago. He went back to the live feed to see her sprawled out on the couch, sleeping soundly as a fat cat, her massive stomach slowly heaving up and down with the very definite shape of a small man huddled inside.

Harmon's first thought was to get over there, bust the door down and send about fifteen rounds into her blissful face, but something told him not to. Afterall, Aaron would already be dead by the time he got there from suffocation, so he wasn't about to barge in like the woodsman and tear him out of the wolf's stomach. Mr. Richter wouldn't appreciate that sort of sloppiness anyways. Something like that would become big news, draw lots of attention and blow his cover. Whatever reason the office had for keeping him in the area, he couldn't jeopardize their plans. Mr Richter would want to hear about this before he did anything.

Harmon switched the visible feed to the opposite angle. The cameras he had placed in and around Aaron's house were of excellent quality. They had been inside the package Mr. Richter had left for him in the office. Discreet little things that could be place with a bit of glue. Harmon wondered if his superior had known what this woman could do before hand. That would be troubling, though not devastating. The man was ruthless. Perhaps that was what it took to last in this line of work. He took out his phone and called. It was answered immediately.

“Sir, I've got news,” he said, “She's just killed Aaron Jakeman.”

“Killed?” Mr. Richter asked with a yawn, “What are you talking about? How?”

“She sort of...ate him,” Harmon replied, “It's hard to describe, I'm sending you the video now.”

There was a long pause as Harmon finished clipping the footage and e-mailing it to his superior's secure address. He waited a few minutes, trying to gauge the mans reaction by the sound of his breathing. It remained steady and slow as always. That could mean he was unsurprised by the video...or perhaps simply unimpressed. Both prospects were disturbing and comforting at the same time.

“Where were you while this was happening?” Mr. Richter asked.

“I was on a call, sir. Unavoidable. I checked the feed as soon as I could get clear and it was already over. I decided to contact you instead of heading there to intervene.”

“That was the right decision,” Mr. Richter said, “There's nothing you can do for now that would be useful. The important thing is to observe what she'll do next.”

“There haven't been any missing persons around here since that boy drowned six years ago,” Harmon said, “Ms. Irons has lived around here for longer than that. It doesn't add up that she would do this now. Mr. Jakeman is practically a staple of the community. He coaches the boys soccer team. People are going to miss him the second he doesn't show up to classes tomorrow morning.”

“You believe she might be preparing to leave town?” Mr. Richter asked.

“No,” Harmon shook his head, watching Chelsey as her arm fell off the couch and she shifted her legs, causing Aaron to shift as well, “She's got roots here. Not much money. Her folks live in town. I can't see her going far. There has to be something else going through her head. Maybe she just lost it. Gave in to some sort of mutant urge.”

“She doesn't fit into any class of creature we've come across,” Mr. Richter said, “Her method of feeding is almost like a star fish or an amoeba, but she hadn't displayed any other indicators which would superficially identify her as anything but human. Before we can justify a capture, we'll need more.”

“So I should wait?” Harmon asked.

“See what she does in the morning. A meal like that would take a large python at least a week to digest. She can't possibly go out in public carrying him around. If she doesn't leave the house, we can move to apprehend her. By then I'll have worked out an appropriate story to cover the deaths of both her and Mr. Jakeman.”

“Understood, sir.”

Harmon heard the line go dead and put his phone away. A car went by and his radar flashed. Sixty five in a fifty five. Not worth the time, he thought. He dimmed the screen of his laptop. Surveillance was dull work, even under unusual circumstances like this. Just looking at her bulging squirming stomach made his own twist and turn in knots. It was going to be a long night.




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