The Sign of Glaaki

Monk was still sitting in the chair they had left him in, but his eyes weren’t pennies in wishing wells now; they were glazed and incapable of focusing on anything. There was an open film canister at his feet and he clutched a reel of film to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the entire world. His whole body trembled violently, gripped by tremors that verged on seizures, and his mouth opened and closed again and again though he seemed to have little control over it or the word that he kept repeating over and over and over again. Just one word. It took Wheatley a moment to distinguish the syllables and differentiate the word from the rolling clack clack clack of sound:

Glaaki Glaaki Glaaki.

Clack clack clack...

Like mandibles... clacking...

He had heard that sound — that word — before. Realization sent a cold shiver down the ladder of his spine one bone at a time...