A short story about a man who sees a flashy ad online advertising a twenty-dollar treadmill. He buys the machine, too cheap to be scared, and realizes much to his dismay that this machine has a taste for blood. Big Bob better run like his life depends on it, because in many ways it does.
The fat around his waist was bouncing like it had never bounced before as he tried to keep up with the pace the treadmill was setting.
He was breathing heavy. Sweating like a man on a diet in a doughnut shop. A heart attack was surely on the horizon now, because he knew that he wasn’t supposed to go from couch potato to marathon runner this quick.
He tried to do what most would do in this moment, and that was to scream for help. He went to do this, but he was so winded that he couldn’t even muster a breath, let alone a scream.
He looked down at the dark video screen, and saw something pulsing, trying to push forth, trying to birth itself into this world. A second later, the screen split down the middle and a large tentacle rose up out of it. Bob could see (even though his vision was a bit blurred now) that this tentacle was made up entirely of wires, woven together and braided. At the top of this tentacle, there was a large metallic suction cup with two big lips, and this tentacle looked slimy, slick, all lubed up, ready for some kind of penetration . . .