The Horrible Thing That Slipped Through My Window One Night
He shown the light beneath the tables, the panic that he had so impressively fought against now washing over him, and sure enough, there it was. The hockey stick was about six feet long. It had a navy blue handle, but the part used for hitting the pucks was the unpainted color of maple.
"Thump!"
Tom could hear the thing, only yards away from the basement door. He slid under the table and grabbed the length of the stick with both trembling hands. He didn't know if the thing knew where he was, but he thought it did.
"Thump!"
He breathed in the chalky smell of cool concrete, as moisture poured from his forehead. He knew he would be able to fight better if he got up and stood, rather than hid under the table, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The thing was at the door.
Tom waited in anticipation, for perhaps ten seconds, before he heard the next footstep. It went past the door.
Don't you make a fucking noise! he thought. Don't you make a fucking noise, and maybe it won't find you. Maybe it'll just go back to wherever it came from.
For the next five minutes he listened carefully. The wet thumping noise got further and further away, slowly winding around the hall, back by the staircase, and finally into the entrance room. At last, there was the sound of the front door opening and then being slammed shut.
And still, Tom waited, not making a noise. From under the heaping tables, he listened to heavy rain and the deep bass of the thunder. Both of them slowly became less and less audible, until they faded away completely.
"Thump!"
Tom could hear the thing, only yards away from the basement door. He slid under the table and grabbed the length of the stick with both trembling hands. He didn't know if the thing knew where he was, but he thought it did.
"Thump!"
He breathed in the chalky smell of cool concrete, as moisture poured from his forehead. He knew he would be able to fight better if he got up and stood, rather than hid under the table, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The thing was at the door.
Tom waited in anticipation, for perhaps ten seconds, before he heard the next footstep. It went past the door.
Don't you make a fucking noise! he thought. Don't you make a fucking noise, and maybe it won't find you. Maybe it'll just go back to wherever it came from.
For the next five minutes he listened carefully. The wet thumping noise got further and further away, slowly winding around the hall, back by the staircase, and finally into the entrance room. At last, there was the sound of the front door opening and then being slammed shut.
And still, Tom waited, not making a noise. From under the heaping tables, he listened to heavy rain and the deep bass of the thunder. Both of them slowly became less and less audible, until they faded away completely.