6The black stuff that comes out of John's mouth as he lies on the studio floor pools slowly, expanding around the old man's head in an oily halo. There's a moment of complete stillness as Luce looks down at the body, the broken drumstick still clutched in her fist like a stake, half its length coated in black gritty gore.
When the black blood starts to move and writhe as if with sentient life, and small, questing tentacles form out of the murky sludge, Luce backs away towards the door, crouching to help Ross to his feet as she goes. He's in a bad way, and can barely make it to his feet, his face a misshapen b****y mess.
“Come on, let's get the f**k out of here,” Luce urges, looking anxiously over at the squirming pool of ooze beside John's corpse, which is becoming more agitated by the s
