its surroundings. It opened its mouth and screamed at the women. The air was suddenly fouled.
Emily moved. She jerked Alice forward and practically slung her into the hall. “Move!” Emily shouted.
The mummy-man screamed again and lumbered forward, knocking the table to one side.
The women ran into the den. Emily slammed the door and locked it. She grabbed one end of a heavy sofa.
“Grab the other end!” she told Alice.
“Heavens, darlin,’ ” Alice found her voice. No surprise to Emily. “We can’t move that big ol’ thing by ourselves.”
“Lady,” Emily said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Move it!”
Her sharp words were like a slap in the face to Alice. The woman grabbed her appointed end of the sofa and together they moved it against the door. They piled a large chair on top of the sofa. Emily pointed to the phone on the small desk.
“Call the cops. Move.”
Emily looked around the den as the inhuman sounds from the godawful looking thing grew louder in the hall. It was beating on the wall, sending small pictures and prints to the floor. She saw Quinn’s gun cabinet and ran to it. Locked. She picked up a poker from the fireplace stand and smashed the glass, jerking out a twelve gauge shotgun. She checked it. Unloaded.
“Oh no!” she groaned.
She found a broken box of shells and filled the tube. She was just conscious of Alice’s frantic phone conversation.
“Tell ’em to get the hell over here! ” Emily shouted.
“Get the hell over here!” Alice repeated automatically, startling the local city dispatcher. Mrs. Ramsey just didn’t talk like that. Alice hung up the phone.
“What did they say?” Emily asked, clicking the shotgun off safety.
“They said, ’yes, ma’am’. You know how to shoot that thing, Emily?”
“Yeah. I know how. I used to rabbit hunt with my brothers down in Alabama.”
The den door began splintering. A horrible grunting, panting, savage sound filled the hallway. Emily lifted the shutgun.
“If that big ugly thing comes through that door, I’m gonna fill his ass full of lead.”
“Emily?” Alice said.
“Yeah, Alice.”
“I’m glad it’s you here instead of some of those other helpless biddies.”
Emily smiled. “Alice, you’re a fraud.”
The woman returned the smile. “Of course, I am. But isn’t it such fun? And don’t you tell anybody or I’ll tell everybody your great grandfather was a Yankee sympathizer.”
Emily laughed. “Hell, Alice-he was. ”
The den door smashed open, the force of the blows knocking the chair off the sofa. The mummy-looking creature jumped into the den.
* * *
Mickey rummaged around the poorly-lighted basement, inspecting box after box. No luck. A noise spun him around, his heart hammering from sudden fear.
“Who’s there!” he called into the darkness.
But the darkness remained silent.
“Come out here!” Mickey called.
A hissing greeted his words. The hissing was unlike anything Mickey had ever heard.
Then he got mad.
“All right, kids. Now come on out here. You don’t have anywhere to run. Now come on out and face me.”
Then the thought came to him: What if it isn’t kids? What if it’s those crazy people who killed last night? Oh, God!
The hissing grew louder, an angry sound to it.
Mickey looked around him, his eyes finding a length of 2x4 on a crate. He picked it up. He sniffed the closed air as a very foul odor drifted to him. He backed up, the 2x4 in his hand.
Not kids, he thought. Definitely not kids. But what in the hell is it?
The hissing changed to a yowling type of sound. Much like what big cat might do. A panther? No, no, that’s silly. No panthers in this area for years.
And what was that terrible smell? It smelled like... then it came to him. Rotting flesh.
Mickey gripped the 2x4 and stepped forward. Whatever it was, one good bash on the head should do it.
Mickey was suddenly jerked to the floor, slamming down hard, knocking the wind from him. White hot pain filled
Emily moved. She jerked Alice forward and practically slung her into the hall. “Move!” Emily shouted.
The mummy-man screamed again and lumbered forward, knocking the table to one side.
The women ran into the den. Emily slammed the door and locked it. She grabbed one end of a heavy sofa.
“Grab the other end!” she told Alice.
“Heavens, darlin,’ ” Alice found her voice. No surprise to Emily. “We can’t move that big ol’ thing by ourselves.”
“Lady,” Emily said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Move it!”
Her sharp words were like a slap in the face to Alice. The woman grabbed her appointed end of the sofa and together they moved it against the door. They piled a large chair on top of the sofa. Emily pointed to the phone on the small desk.
“Call the cops. Move.”
Emily looked around the den as the inhuman sounds from the godawful looking thing grew louder in the hall. It was beating on the wall, sending small pictures and prints to the floor. She saw Quinn’s gun cabinet and ran to it. Locked. She picked up a poker from the fireplace stand and smashed the glass, jerking out a twelve gauge shotgun. She checked it. Unloaded.
“Oh no!” she groaned.
She found a broken box of shells and filled the tube. She was just conscious of Alice’s frantic phone conversation.
“Tell ’em to get the hell over here! ” Emily shouted.
“Get the hell over here!” Alice repeated automatically, startling the local city dispatcher. Mrs. Ramsey just didn’t talk like that. Alice hung up the phone.
“What did they say?” Emily asked, clicking the shotgun off safety.
“They said, ’yes, ma’am’. You know how to shoot that thing, Emily?”
“Yeah. I know how. I used to rabbit hunt with my brothers down in Alabama.”
The den door began splintering. A horrible grunting, panting, savage sound filled the hallway. Emily lifted the shutgun.
“If that big ugly thing comes through that door, I’m gonna fill his ass full of lead.”
“Emily?” Alice said.
“Yeah, Alice.”
“I’m glad it’s you here instead of some of those other helpless biddies.”
Emily smiled. “Alice, you’re a fraud.”
The woman returned the smile. “Of course, I am. But isn’t it such fun? And don’t you tell anybody or I’ll tell everybody your great grandfather was a Yankee sympathizer.”
Emily laughed. “Hell, Alice-he was. ”
The den door smashed open, the force of the blows knocking the chair off the sofa. The mummy-looking creature jumped into the den.
* * *
Mickey rummaged around the poorly-lighted basement, inspecting box after box. No luck. A noise spun him around, his heart hammering from sudden fear.
“Who’s there!” he called into the darkness.
But the darkness remained silent.
“Come out here!” Mickey called.
A hissing greeted his words. The hissing was unlike anything Mickey had ever heard.
Then he got mad.
“All right, kids. Now come on out here. You don’t have anywhere to run. Now come on out and face me.”
Then the thought came to him: What if it isn’t kids? What if it’s those crazy people who killed last night? Oh, God!
The hissing grew louder, an angry sound to it.
Mickey looked around him, his eyes finding a length of 2x4 on a crate. He picked it up. He sniffed the closed air as a very foul odor drifted to him. He backed up, the 2x4 in his hand.
Not kids, he thought. Definitely not kids. But what in the hell is it?
The hissing changed to a yowling type of sound. Much like what big cat might do. A panther? No, no, that’s silly. No panthers in this area for years.
And what was that terrible smell? It smelled like... then it came to him. Rotting flesh.
Mickey gripped the 2x4 and stepped forward. Whatever it was, one good bash on the head should do it.
Mickey was suddenly jerked to the floor, slamming down hard, knocking the wind from him. White hot pain filled
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