The Collector Book One: Mana Leak

by Daniel I. Russell

  The first Prowler darted from the other side of the kitchen towards him, the pointed tips of its legs propelling it across the floor. He swung the table leg down in a golfer’s arc, hitting the Prowler on its side. It flew through the air, popping in a geyser of black goo and mangled limbs on the wall.

  Jake had little time to savour his first victory as another Prowler dropped from the ceiling and onto his shoulder. The claws snapped shut with a clatter in front of his face. He reached up, grabbed a handful of legs and threw the beast down. He stamped a foot through it. The thing smashed like a tar-filled egg. Two swings of the table leg destroyed another couple of Prowlers that sneaked across the wall.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them pouring in through the broken window. The loose table top lay flat on the work surface, serving only as a landing platform for the invaders.

  He swung the table leg at the gathering mass, all his weight behind it.

  A few of the Prowlers burst, the bulbous eyes collapsing and shooting dark blood all over their comrades. Others had limbs torn free and fell to the floor writhing.

  One Prowler managed to get in a lucky strike, ripping Jake’s T-shirt as his swing carried him sideways. He turned and drove the wood through it.

  “Oh fuck…” said a voice.

  Jake looked to the door. Joe stood in the kitchen, mouth hanging open.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Jake screamed. “Help me!”

  Joe grabbed the handle of one of the pans of boiling water.

  “Move,” he said.

  Jake ducked to the side, kicking through two more Prowlers and smashing one on the wall with the table leg.

  Joe heaved the pan up, splashing a wave of bubbling water onto the Prowlers gathered on the overturned table top.

  They instantly scattered as it poured over them, hissing and leaping onto the walls or the floor. Some ran around in panic, steam rising from their eyeballs where the water had struck them.

  Joe threw the empty pan down and leapt to the table top. With a grunt, he hoisted it up and pressed it against the broken window. The thuds immediately resumed from the other side.

  “Frank! Get in here,” he bellowed.

  Something tugged at his jeans.

  A Prowler crouched behind him, and one of its claws snapped shut, slicing the denim in a clean cut behind his knee. The fabric hung loose, exposing the bare skin of his calf.

  Joe kicked, but the Prowler scuttled back, avoiding his foot with ease.

  The table top fell away from the window, allowing more to creep in through the small opening.

  Joe strained his back and pushed the wood flush with the window again.

  “Frank! Goddamn it..!”

  The Prowler moved close again, its claws held aloft like an angry crab’s.

  Jake raced around the kitchen, batting the lurking creatures from the walls with the heavy table leg and stamping on them after they fell to the floor. His trainers and the bottom of his tracksuit were covered in black blood.

  The Prowler behind Joe took another swipe. He raised his leg, narrowly avoiding the claw.

  “Jake,” he cried.

  The boy saw Joe’s predicament with the table top and rushed to his aid.

  Another Prowler, bigger than the others, fell from the ceiling in front of him, blocking his route to Joe. He lifted the table leg, intending to drive it through the horrid eyeball.

  It swept a claw out and caught him on the foot.

  The blow knocked him off balance, and he lost his footing on the slippery linoleum. He fell on his back with a crunch. His teeth snapped together, and the table leg flew from his hand.

  7.

  The Prowler standing behind Joe writhed, claws waving in the air.

  Joe strained even harder against the table top, waiting to feel the claws glide through the flesh of his legs.

  A single thump pulsed underfoot, and suddenly the legs of the Prowler were twitching and the eyeball was still, looking upwards. A butcher knife stuck out the top of it.

  Frank stood behind it, two more knives in his hands. He joined Joe’s side.

  Joe’s muscles seemed to sigh as Frank took some of the pressure off. His arms already wobbled.

  “Jake,” Joe panted. “Quickly! Nail this thing back up. Jake?”

  Jake lay on his back, furiously kicking at the large Prowler that snapped at his feet. It darted to the side, causing him to scoot around on his backside to keep it in sight. A lightning fast sweep of a claw sent a trainer flying from his foot.

  “Help me,” he called, eyes locked on the Prowler.

  Joe released the table top, but even with Frank still pushing, it fell forwards, allowing a few more Prowlers to sneak through the window. He slammed his weight back against it.

  “We can’t move! They’ll come pouring in!”

  Jake kicked out again, and the Prowler scurried back. He rolled onto his front and quickly crawled towards the cooker.

  The Prowler scuttled up behind him.

  Diving forwards, he reached for one of the wooden handles protruding from the open oven.

  The Prowler leapt.

  Jake turned, holding the smoking barbecue fork in front of him.

  The eye of the Prowler widened before it fell onto the metal prong. The fork hissed as it penetrated the membrane. The Prowler’s weight carried it down, driving the fork all the way through until its tip poked out of the shell, spitting blood from its hot surface.

  Jake released the handle and shoved the body aside. He lay on the floor, out of breath.

  “Don’t just lie there,” shouted Frank. “Get some nails in this thing!”

  Jake jumped up and quickly found the hammer on the floor. He gaped at the handful of Prowlers waiting in the corner by the back door. They huddled together, as if unsure what to do now their leader had been slain.

  “Jake,” Frank screamed. “Get a fucking move on!”

  8.

  Anne paused at the top of the stairs. Jake cried for help from the rear of the house over the constant thuds and bangs of the Prowlers outside.

  “Can you hear them?” asked Eleanor, in the doorway to the bedroom.

  “Only Jake, but he sounds in trouble.”

  She cursed her own stupidity as Jenny wailed.

  “I’m sure he’s okay, though,” she said quickly.

  “What are you going to do?” said Eleanor. “Stay here, or go down?”

  Anne bit her lower lip and looked down the stairs.

  “I don’t know, they-”

  “Anne! Look out!”

  Anne raised her head to where Eleanor pointed.

  The attic hatch in the ceiling had swung open, and the dark hole instantly filled with large, staring eyes.

  “They’re in,” said Anne, slowly inching along the landing, away from the hatch and towards the bathroom. “Eleanor, close the door.”

  Two Prowlers jumped down and landed on the carpet.

  “Now, Eleanor!”

  One of the Prowlers leapt at the door as Eleanor swung it closed.

  “No!” cried Anne.

  The Prowler landed on the door and, clinging to the wood, made for the closing gap. It managed to get halfway inside before the door hit the frame, slicing it in two. Half fell to the floor. Anne heard Eleanor shriek as the rest landed in the bedroom.

  The remaining Prowler screeched and dashed down the landing towards Anne, who turned and fled into the bathroom.

  She realised her mistake as soon as she entered. The door had been removed to block the window in Bronwyn’s room.

  Hearing the patter across the carpet close behind, she frantically looked around for a weapon. With only seconds before the Prowler struck, she grabbed the toilet brush and turned around. She toppled back as the Prowler hit her in the chest.

  The side of the bath caught her behind the knees and she fell into the tub.

  As her back thumped the cold, hard bottom of the bath, she panicked, kicking and flapping her arms and hitting th
e Prowler with the toilet brush. It continued its attack relentlessly, snatching the brush from her hand and snapping it in two.

  Her hands gripped the edge of the tub, trying to pull herself up and out, but instead knocking over various containers of shampoo and shower gel. Anne threw some of these toppled toiletries at the Prowler, which crawled up her body towards her face.

  She grabbed one of the full bottles of shampoo and gave it a firm squeeze, sending a thick jet of white cream onto the Prowler’s eye.

  The creature stopped and shook its body from side to side, sending most of the shampoo flying and speckling the sides of the bath.

  Anne’s fingers found another bottle, this time Frank’s shower gel. Again, she fired it from the bottle, covering the Prowler in a urine-coloured slime.

  The Prowler immediately screeched and shuddered, trying to scrape away the gel with its claws.

  Anne pushed the Prowler from her chest, its legs easily losing their grip as they coiled in pain. It landed between her legs, continuing to jerk and screech.

  She slid her body up and managed to clamber over the side of the bath, falling on the floor in a panting heap.

  The bathroom filled with the sound of the panicking Prowler trying to regain its footing in the slippery tub.

  Anne jumped to her feet, almost grabbing the side of the bath for leverage. Thinking fast, she pushed herself up from the floor instead.

  She peered over the edge of the tub.

  All the spiders she’d ever had the misfortune to find in the bath paled in comparison to the horror that met her gaze. The sting of the shower gel had worn off. The Prowler squatted rigid, with globules of the yellow liquid still coating the giant eye, claws held close to its body in a defensive stance. It tried to leap, making Anne flinch, but a few legs slid out from beneath it. The Prowler flopped back, its body landing on the bottom of the tub with a thump.

  Leaving the trapped Prowler, she ran out of the bathroom and back onto the landing, cautiously keeping her eyes on the square of darkness of the attic hatch.

  “Eleanor?” she called. The name emerged as a coarse whisper. “Eleanor? Is everything okay in there?”

  The doorknob turned.

  “No!” said Anne. “Don’t open it. There may be more up there!”

  “But you need to come back inside,” said Eleanor. She sounded shaky; the old woman was probably in tears. The wailing of Jenny and the children blared over the din from downstairs.

  “Just keep the door closed tight,” said Anne. “I have to-”

  Her words tapered off as terror closed her throat. Two eyes filled the dark patch in the ceiling.

  “T-There’s more coming,” she said, keeping her voice low. She slowly edged towards the stairs. “I’m going down. It’s the only way.”

  “Please Anne,” cried Eleanor. “Come back inside!”

  Anne swallowed and bolted for the stairway, reaching the top step as she heard two soft thuds on the carpet behind her.

  Clutching the banister, her feet pounded down the stairs.

  Behind, the two Prowlers screeched and started their chase, claws snapping in the air.

  9.

  Joe gently released the top of the dining table and stepped back. It held. Jake stood beside him, out of breath and still clutching the hammer. The boy had done a good job of nailing the wood back up and then dispatching the remaining Prowlers. The hammer dripped blood from its head onto the floor. Joe guessed that vengeance for his brother had helped to fuel his massacre of the scuttling monsters. Jake had actually smiled as he brought the hammer down onto the last one, disturbing Joe more than a million Prowlers ever could, but it felt good to see the tables turn. The Prowler had run, desperate to get away from the onslaught, waving its claws around as it fled. It burst like a water balloon from the hammer strike.

  Frank, white shirt fully untucked and hair plastered on his forehead, returned from the living room.

  “Everything’s fine in there,” he said. “Looks like the first attack was a distraction so they could get in here.”

  “They still trying to get through?” asked Joe.

  “It’s silent. I risked a look through one of the peepholes. The front is clear. I don’t know where they’ve gone.”

  “I’ll go check upstairs,” said Joe, stepping forwards.

  Frank thrust a hand out, pushing him back.

  “No, I’ll go and check upstairs.”

  “It’s not just your family up there. I need to see my grandmother.”

  “Yeah,” added Jake, “my mum too.”

  “Then I will check on them too,” said Frank, turning his back on them and heading for the doorway. He stopped.

  Frantic, heavy footfalls thundered down the stairs.

  “What the hell is that?” said Jake.

  Anne fell through the doorway, looked back and carried on running.

  “Anne?” cried Frank. “Wha..?”

  Her feet slid across the slippery floor, and she slammed into the wall. Her eyes were wide, panicked.

  Joe looked around the floor and regretted not removing the Prowler carcasses that littered the kitchen.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “They’re all dead.”

  “They’re coming,” she screamed, diving into the corner and slumping against the fridge.

  The three men turned in time to see two more Prowlers dart through the doorway and enter the kitchen, chirping with anticipation.

  “Christ,” Joe yelled and jumped between Anne and the attackers with his arms out in a vain attempt to drive them away.

  “Get them,” gasped Anne. “Someone please just kill them…”

  The Prowlers hissed.

  “Jake, get beside me,” said Joe.

  The boy moved straight away, hammer at the ready.

  “Yours is on the right. On three?”

  Jake nodded.

  “One…two…”

  Joe leaned back.

  “Three!”

  Both men ran forwards. Joe kicked hard, catching the Prowler before it had the chance to open its claws. It hurtled across the room and hit the wall with a crack. Its shell split and black slime seeped out.

  Jake tugged the hammer free of his now mangled Prowler. “Easy,” he said. “Yours?”

  “High school rugby team.” Joe smiled. “No problem.”

  Anne put her head in her hands and cried. Frank shot over in a flash, pulling her onto her feet.

  “What went on up there?” he screamed in her face. “The kids! Anne! Are the kids okay?”

  “Frank, she’s upset,” Joe shouted. “Give her a minute.”

  Still holding her up with one hand, Frank raised a fist to Joe.

  “Stay the fuck out of this, McGuire!”

  “Screw this,” said Jake, heading for the door. “I’m going to check on my mother while you losers keep fighting.”

  “Wait,” cried Anne through her wet sniffs. “The bathroom. Don’t go in the bathroom!”

  “Why not?” demanded Frank.

  “I trapped one of them in the tub. They…they got in through the attic.”

  Jake ran out of the room.

  Frank grunted as Joe grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. With her support gone, Anne fell to the floor in a daze.

  “You said that upstairs was secure,” roared Joe, gripping Frank’s shirt and pinning him against the wall. “You put us all in danger, you son of a bitch!”

  “I…I forgot about the attic,” Frank choked. “Let…go…of…me!”

  “I ought to kill you myself and save them the bother.”

  “No,” said Anne from the floor. “Leave him, Joe. Please, just leave him.”

  Joe threw him down.

  “It’s nearly dawn,” she said. “We…we should repair the barricades and wait till light.”

  “Fuck this,” spat Joe, kicking the wall. “I’m getting my grandmother and getting the hell out here. If you have any sense, Anne, you’ll come too and bring the kids. We’re doomed if we st
ay here.”

  “You watch your mouth, McGuire.”

  “Shut it, Frank. You’re a fucking liability!”

  Jake reappeared at the door.

  “Guys?”

  “And we thought they were in the safest place up there…” Joe continued to rant.

  “Guys!”

  “What?” said Frank.

  Jake swallowed. “I think we have a problem.”

  10.

  The bath was empty.

  “But…but it was there,” Anne cried. “It was trapped, I swear!”

  “We believe you,” said Joe. “But it must have escaped somehow.”

  “Which means we have one running around here unchecked,” said Eleanor. She’d spent a few minutes weeping in Joe’s arms and seemed calmer now, almost back to her old self. “This is bad. It could be anywhere.”

  Damn, thought Joe. We can’t just sit here talking about it!

  “Jake, take your mother downstairs. Stay with her at all times, even if she needs the toilet or something.”

  Jake nodded.

  “Sure thing, Joe.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Using my name now?”

  The boy shrugged his shoulders.

  “You’ve been incredible tonight, Jake,” said Anne.

  “I agree,” Joe added. “We really would’ve been in a mess if you weren’t around.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  He headed out of the bathroom.

  “I’m starting to see a change in that young man,” said Eleanor.

  “I think he’s finding an outlet for his anger,” said Joe. “Smashing Prowlers with a hammer seems to be a good form of therapy.”

  Anne smiled. “He certainly has become attached to that hammer. He carries it around like it’s Excalibur.”

  “That boy and his hammer saved our skins. At least we’re getting on better. If only Frank…”

  “I can respect your opinion,” said Anne with a sigh, “but don’t start again.”

  “I’m sorry. Just he’s such a…such a hothead…”

  “I’ve spent fifteen years married to that hothead. You get used to it.”

  “Where is he?” asked Eleanor.

  “With the kids.”

  “Well instead of chatting in a bathroom, I suggest we get moving,” said the old woman. “We have an intruder to find.” She smiled at Anne and left.