The Horrible Thing That Slipped Through My Window One Night
As he searched, using the flashlight with his left hand and sorting through the dusty items with his right, he kept expecting to feel a pair of cold, moist hands clamp around his neck; hands with skin so soft that he'd be able to feel the network of rubbery veins beneath it. And if that happened, he'd be pretty much screwed. He knew he'd hear anything coming down the steps easily they made so much noise that it would be hard not to hear something come down them but knowing didn't help.
He dug deep into the stash of antique junk, trying desperately to make his hand feel the polished maple of which he knew the stick was composed. But there was nothing. He overturned a small music box, which began plunking out an eerie, high-pitched melody as he let it go; he swooped a power drill, a saw blade, and a case of metric wrenches all onto the floor with one quick shove from his meaty arm. He went through the piles, feeling his armpits and the rolls of fat upon his stomach releasing warm sweat.
After five minutes he knew the stick wasn't there. He had scanned every inch of the two tables and seen nothing. Still, he felt sure that it was here somewhere. It seemed like he had heard -
"Thump!"
The sound of the thing moving on the upstairs floor rang clearly into the basement, so suddenly and loudly that Tom's heart skipped a beat. It was like raw meat being slapped onto a cutting board.
"Thump!"
No longer was there the noise of something being dragged; the creature was walking. For a horrible moment Tom did freeze up again, but somehow he managed to get control of himself a little quicker this time, perhaps it was because it was his only option. He tried to think; to remember where the stick could possibly be hidden, all the while hearing the footsteps of what could've been a drunken man in goulashes approaching the kitchen tile.
He dug deep into the stash of antique junk, trying desperately to make his hand feel the polished maple of which he knew the stick was composed. But there was nothing. He overturned a small music box, which began plunking out an eerie, high-pitched melody as he let it go; he swooped a power drill, a saw blade, and a case of metric wrenches all onto the floor with one quick shove from his meaty arm. He went through the piles, feeling his armpits and the rolls of fat upon his stomach releasing warm sweat.
After five minutes he knew the stick wasn't there. He had scanned every inch of the two tables and seen nothing. Still, he felt sure that it was here somewhere. It seemed like he had heard -
"Thump!"
The sound of the thing moving on the upstairs floor rang clearly into the basement, so suddenly and loudly that Tom's heart skipped a beat. It was like raw meat being slapped onto a cutting board.
"Thump!"
No longer was there the noise of something being dragged; the creature was walking. For a horrible moment Tom did freeze up again, but somehow he managed to get control of himself a little quicker this time, perhaps it was because it was his only option. He tried to think; to remember where the stick could possibly be hidden, all the while hearing the footsteps of what could've been a drunken man in goulashes approaching the kitchen tile.