The tunnels are dark and damp. Ground water seeps in through the packed dirt and old concrete, and the drip, drip, drip is as constant as the beating of The Skinner’s heart. As constant as the urge he feels to dig his teeth into Rebecca’s skin.
The big black one who wishes to f**k his little kitten will soon enter into the corn to track him down. But before that, The Skinner will leave his hole in the ground and find a way to touch his kitten. It will take only moments to accomplish, but the sensation he will derive from the touching will last him hours and hours.
He about-faces, walks swiftly through the wet, cave-like tunnel and back into his basement home. There, on the far wall, behind the steel vats of formaldehyde, methanol, glutaraldehyde, phenol, cell conditioner, and humectant
