The Horrible Thing That Slipped Through My Window One Night
What Tom did next, he didn't want to do, but he was as desperate to get the thing off him and breathe air as the thing was to taste his flesh. He let go of the stick, leaving it in the hole where it had punctured the ancient skin, and began mindlessly grabbing everything his hand touched, yanking out the hoard of dead eels that were the creature's intestines and dropping them to the floor with a wet "Thump!". Next, he delved back in and latched onto what he thought were the lungs and peeled them down easily, tearing out what might have been other organs in the process.
Still, the stubborn thing strangled him with all its strange force; force that certainly didn't come from its muscles. Tom felt faint, and he could see gray static beginning to creep into the corners of his vision as he struggled for breath. He tried to reach up into the torso one last time; to go for the thing's heart, but his arm fell limp before he could get halfway there. It would have been a pointless endeavor anyways - it seemed that the creature couldn't be hurt. Tom could only think (incoherently) of one last tactic. He would play dead.
He stopped thrashing and let his entire body go limp, which was rather easy with his arms and legs feeling as though they had gained some immeasurable amount of weight. His cheeks were turning numb, and he could feel his heart beating wildly for oxygen, but he held himself as still as possible. The hands of the thing tightened down even harder for one horrible moment, but then they slowly loosened and let go of him entirely. Tom slid down the wall, feeling as though his chest would burst if he didn't follow his immediate instinct, which was to suck up as much air as his lungs would hold. He kept his eyes slitted just enough to make them appear closed and waited, hoping he could keep himself from passing out for the next ten seconds.
Still, the stubborn thing strangled him with all its strange force; force that certainly didn't come from its muscles. Tom felt faint, and he could see gray static beginning to creep into the corners of his vision as he struggled for breath. He tried to reach up into the torso one last time; to go for the thing's heart, but his arm fell limp before he could get halfway there. It would have been a pointless endeavor anyways - it seemed that the creature couldn't be hurt. Tom could only think (incoherently) of one last tactic. He would play dead.
He stopped thrashing and let his entire body go limp, which was rather easy with his arms and legs feeling as though they had gained some immeasurable amount of weight. His cheeks were turning numb, and he could feel his heart beating wildly for oxygen, but he held himself as still as possible. The hands of the thing tightened down even harder for one horrible moment, but then they slowly loosened and let go of him entirely. Tom slid down the wall, feeling as though his chest would burst if he didn't follow his immediate instinct, which was to suck up as much air as his lungs would hold. He kept his eyes slitted just enough to make them appear closed and waited, hoping he could keep himself from passing out for the next ten seconds.