Dark Cherub

Miss Mark switched off the lights throughout the library, except for the ones directly overhead, at the front desk. She headed toward the back of the building to check that no one was remaining in the library and that everything was in order before locking up. All the displays of the computer terminals were set to the log-on screen, but as she scanned the line with her eyes, Miss Mark saw someone still sitting at a computer. She groaned. It must be one of the homeless people that come in off the street once in a while.
“Excuse me but you have to leave. The library is closed,” she called out as she walked toward the individual. As she drew closer, a sudden stench rose in the air. It wasn’t the typical drunk or unwashed scent with which she was familiar. It was the overpowering smell of blood. The coppery, unpleasant aroma rose in the air until she stopped walking and gagged, holding her mouth over her nose.
“What in the world…” she started to exclaim when she realized the individual was staring at her, eyes full of a terrifying glee illuminated by the blue screen of the computer. Miss Mark thought—in a rather odd way at a moment like this—that the image reminded her of when she was a girl and she or her friends would tell ghost stories in the tree house, a flashlight under their faces to complete the eerie effect. Back then, it had been childish fun. At the moment though, it paralyzed her with fear.
“You don’t like my perfume?” A husky voice—which sounded like the tone of an old woman—spoke, and then cackled.
Miss Mark saw them suddenly—black splotches racing on the sides of the computers, darkening the screens as they squiggled across the displays, moving faster and faster, over the chairs. Her field of vision widened and she saw the walls were covered with these same splotches.  They were all moving.
Toward her.
“Oh no! Oh no!” She started to scream as she turned, trying to run.
It was too late. The black splotches enveloped her from above and below, covering her body in an instant, crawling into her mouth, choking off her voice. A film sheathed her and the stinging pain began.  Her body writhed back and forth in a grotesque dance. The old woman stood before her with an expression of sick pleasure as everything seemed to dissolve before her eyes. In her last moment of consciousness, Miss Mark heard a chilling, breathy voice say one word.
“Mother.”