The Horrible Thing That Slipped Through My Window One Night
He found the handle of the laundry room door, and opened it. With a shaky hand, he reached into the darkness and felt along the cold, metallic surfaces of the washer and dryer. After only a few seconds, he managed to snag the handle of one of the flashlights, and immediately flicked it on, desperate for the comfort of its light. It worked.
By the dim light, Tom could see clothes piled on top of the washer and garbage bags filled with pop cans stashed in a tight corner of the room. He had the flashlight, and it still worked. That was good, but he still needed some kind of weapon. Using the bright beam, he quickly scanned the room, confirming what he already knew: there were no weapons in here.
He exited and carefully closed the door, shining the light across the entry room as he did. It was empty. He still hadn't heard any sounds from the thing that had grinned so widely at him, and he could feel the seeds of terror beginning to grow roots inside of him once more. He had managed to keep himself under control amazingly well, given the circumstances, but he knew himself too well to pretend that he was going to be able stay in this semi-panicked state for much longer. He still wanted to believe that the thing he saw wasn't real, that someone was perhaps playing a prank on him; things that were dead simply did not climb on your roof and tap at your window. But he knew better. He had seen the way the veins in the cheeks of that horrible, dead face had squirmed as it smiled, had even heard the wet, rotten sound its flesh made when it moved. If that was a costume, then Tom knew one trick-or-treater who wouldn't be getting very much candy this Halloween.
By the dim light, Tom could see clothes piled on top of the washer and garbage bags filled with pop cans stashed in a tight corner of the room. He had the flashlight, and it still worked. That was good, but he still needed some kind of weapon. Using the bright beam, he quickly scanned the room, confirming what he already knew: there were no weapons in here.
He exited and carefully closed the door, shining the light across the entry room as he did. It was empty. He still hadn't heard any sounds from the thing that had grinned so widely at him, and he could feel the seeds of terror beginning to grow roots inside of him once more. He had managed to keep himself under control amazingly well, given the circumstances, but he knew himself too well to pretend that he was going to be able stay in this semi-panicked state for much longer. He still wanted to believe that the thing he saw wasn't real, that someone was perhaps playing a prank on him; things that were dead simply did not climb on your roof and tap at your window. But he knew better. He had seen the way the veins in the cheeks of that horrible, dead face had squirmed as it smiled, had even heard the wet, rotten sound its flesh made when it moved. If that was a costume, then Tom knew one trick-or-treater who wouldn't be getting very much candy this Halloween.