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The grotesque thing that crawled from the bottle was gaining on her. |
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She had been forced into one retreat after another. This was her last refuge, her final sanctuary. |
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Doors splintered under its onslaught. |
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Cappy was down to her final, desperate act; the door leading from the hallway into her bedroom was closed and locked. She had stacked everything against it that she could move; first there was the dresser, then the hope chest was wedged against that for whatever additional safety it would offer. |
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She could hear it, relentlessly clawing its way up the hall. |
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The hysteria had passed, and so had the tears. She was motivated now, not only by her survival instinct, but by the thing's destruction. |
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She had a plan, a simple plan. |
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The pain in her leg had subsided, giving way to a maddening numbness. It was discolored and bloated. A crusted ring of blood served as the demarcation line between shattered and still intact bone. Her ankle bent grotesquely to one side, and her foot flopped uselessly like something that had been separated from its senses. |
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The thing was outside her door now, and |
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