Everything was wrong. Their whole plan had gone terribly wrong. The barricade was now in the wrong place. They had planned to attack it first thing as it came out of the cellar door. Cal was supposed to ignite his special light by remote, and then Camm would shoot it from behind the barricade.
But it had not come out through the cellar door. It had entered the main hall from somewhere else. It had surprised them. Now, it could be anywhere in the hall, and Camm didn’t even have the little derringer loaded. She did not know where Cal was or what he was doing. Was he having trouble with his special light? There was no way to find him in the blackness without making noise, and there could be no noise.
Camm was afraid to take a step or even breathe. The mixture of fear, confusion, and indecision paralyzed her.
What was that? There was something! A sound! Not much—not a footstep—but a sound, a swoosh. It could have been blowing leaves or a rope being dragged. Or it could have been the slight twitching of a very large tail. It came from above her. Above and behind. It was on the balcony behind her.
The air was thick with tension, and combined with the frigid temperature was causing Camm to shiver—something she could not control. She felt woozy, and realized she was holding her breath—she had been for some time.
She allowed herself to breathe, slowly and silently. Regaining her equilibrium, she took a step backward, careful not to make any noise. She wanted to move back under the balcony and up against the wall where she could not be attacked from the rear.
Having executed one soundless step, she attempted another. But how far back was the wall? Twenty, maybe thirty steps?
She continued back, always facing the interior of the hall. Holding the shotgun in one hand aiming forward, she searched behind her with the other hand for the impending wall.
By her calculation, she was close to being directly under the balcony. Was it standing up there, hovering above her? Was it smelling her? Did it know by some animal sense where she was while she could only guess at its location?
Something hit her on the ear! Camm froze and stopped breathing again. It was only a slight sensation, very slight; something had dropped from above and landed on her ear, like a large rain drop, but thicker than water. Camm brushed it off, and then brought her hand to her nose to smell the residue. A putrid, nasty, sickening, rotten-eggs-and-sulfur odor gagged her. The drop had come from the creature. Probably slime dripping off grimacing fangs. It must be directly above her. Could it see her? Could it smell her? Was it ready to jump down on her?
Where was Cal? Oh, where was Cal? That thinking did no good, not at this moment. She drew a silent breath and got hold of her emotions. Step backwards, out from under it, step again, and again. Keep moving, just keep backing up.
It didn’t matter which way she faced, she could see absolutely nothing, so she continued until her hand touched the wall behind her. She slid up against the wall. Nothing could come from behind her now. It was in front of her. Above her still, she thought. At least now she could face it when it attacked.
Camm was still shivering and could not bring it under control. What should she do now? She couldn’t stand there forever. Her knees felt as if they were about to give out.
The floor creaked above her. It moved! It was moving slowly toward the stairs across from the grandfather clock, its claws clicking on the hardwood floor of the balcony.
As quietly as possible, Camm cocked her shotgun and followed the clicking sound, sidestepping to her left, keeping her back to the wall. It was moving faster than Camm.
It stopped at the stairs, and so did Camm. Then, one creaky stair at a time, it descended. Camm raised the shotgun to her shoulder and tried to aim in absolute darkness. She pointed the barrel at the sound of footfalls on the stairs.
It was on the floor now, on the same level with her. It moved away from her, to her left. If it knew where she was, it gave no indication. The clicking sound of claws on the hard slate floor echoed toward the grandfather clock, and then stopped.
Slowly, almost indiscernible, something was happening. There was light. Camm thought it was her imagination—that her brain was creating an image of light to counter the total blackness. But the light grew until Camm was sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. The light emanated from the clock. Not bright, the light was confined to an area in front of the clock, glowing with a cold, dim neon shine. For a light, it was strangely dark, almost obscene, as if somehow filthy.
Camm held her hand up to see if it was visible. While the light did not illuminate her hand, it did illuminate something directly in front of the clock. The creature was there, and Camm got the best look so far. There was not enough light to see any detail, but she could make out a form, a brackish image tinted by the dirty color of the clock’s glow.
The thing was about eight feet in length with a long, hairless tail about the same length as its body. Whatever it was, it was four-legged with strong, stout limbs low to the ground.
It faced the clock, directly into the eerie glow. The body was crouched, the front legs bent lower than the rear legs in a position of obeisance. Its tail was motionless, its head bent to the floor with the snout turned down against its chest, so its forehead touched the floor.
The dim light reverberated, flowing out of the clock in undulating waves. It flowed over the form and seemed to sink into it, soaking it with its cold, dry rays. The crouching form shimmered, shivering in the pulsating rays. Even though the light did not brighten, it intensified. The pulsation deepened and strengthened, growing in intensity until it reached a climax.
The form raised its head and looked up at the ceiling, its mouth opened. Large, pointed teeth reflected the light from the clock. Camm expected a howl, but what came out was more like a wail, almost human-like. The wail began as a moan— a deep groan—then increased in volume and pitch, getting louder, more shrill, until it was a piercing squeal.
The pitch was so high it hurt Camm’s ears, which she tried to cover without laying down the shotgun. The squeal turned into high-pitched yelps, the creature’s throat moving rhythmically with the yelps.
Finally, the noise ceased, the head lowered. Camm instinctively brought the shotgun to her shoulder and aimed at the form. It twisted its head slowly toward Camm and stared directly at her. Camm was instantaneously breathless, looking through the sights of her shotgun at two angry red glowing eyes. As if on cue, the light from the clock went out, and Camm was again sightless.
XVII
KA-BOOM! There was a loud blast, an explosion. The force of its impact slammed Camm backward into the wall. At first she didn’t know what had happened, just that she was startled by the sudden loud noise and a very sharp pain in her shoulder.
Shaking her head, she cleared her brain and realized she had fired her shotgun. A penetrating screech told her that some of the buckshot had found their target, but also that the creature was still alive and now enraged. She re-cocked the shotgun, but had no idea where to aim, so she turned and ran instead.
Out into total blackness she ran in the direction she thought was away from the grandfather clock. “Cal!” she screamed. “We need the light! Now! The light, the light, the light!”
Claws skittered on the slate floor behind her. She had only gone about twenty steps when a large object hit her hard between the shoulder blades, knocking her sprawling to the floor. She hit the ground rolling, banging her head and elbow in the attempt. The shotgun flew out of her grip and slid away.
She came to rest on her back, spread-eagle. Gasping for air, she started to rise, only to be slammed back down again. A large, heavy paw on her chest held her pinned to the floor. Realization cut like a knife into the pit of her stomach—she was easy prey for a vicious predator. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel its hot, virulent breath on her face, making her gag. Its gaping maw had to be only inches away, directly above her face.
As she blindly kicked and punched, drool and pus leaked from its snout, dripping into her eyes and mo
uth. Whether it was her imagination or not, she didn’t know, but she thought she could hear its jaws open wide, ready to snap off her entire head in one gigantic bite. She screamed, flinging her head around as she tried to make herself a moving target. At that very moment, the entire main hall lit up.
The creature recoiled violently, screeching, withdrawing its claws from her chest, taking pieces of jacket, hoodie, and flesh with it. It scampered backward away from the light, jerking its head back and forth. Blinking its enormous red eyes like a half-blind mole and lunging from side to side, it tried to hide from the dancing, yellow brightness.
Cal’s head jerked up when he heard Camm scream. He peered into the blackness in the direction of the scream, but could see nothing. He had never heard such wild terror in Camm’s voice. Deep in his gut he knew the creature was upon her. Clenching his jaw, he turned back to the fireplace and concentrated on connecting the wires to his special light.
While Camm had built the barricade, Cal carefully rigged the mansion’s fireplace for an instant bonfire. He was proud of his creation. The creature had not been able to extinguish the fire in Camm’s fireplace, because the flames had been too big. He decided to mimic that effect in the mansion, but on a much grander scale. The walk-in fireplace at the opposite end of the hall from the grandfather clock had three tree-trunk size logs in it. Those logs had been sitting in that fireplace for seventy years. The dry desert air had sucked virtually all moisture out of them.
Cal replenished that moisture with three gallons of kerosene and connected a small twelve-volt battery to a wireless receiver with wires wrapped around kerosene-soaked rags tucked between the logs. He planned to start the fire by remote, which would have worked great if he had not dropped the remote to the floor upon pulling the .357 from his belt while holding Camm. When all the lights went out, he had not been able to find the remote.
He tried to find the fireplace in the dark, hoping to start the fire manually, but got disoriented, crossing the hall to the opposite wall. He had no idea where he was until he came to a staircase. Once he realized his location, he was able to follow the wall back to the enormous fireplace.
From the far end of the hall, he saw the unnatural glow radiating from the grandfather clock. At that distance, the form he saw bowing before the clock was indistinct, but the wail that rose from its throat scraped his nerves raw. Then came the blast from Camm’s shotgun, and he knew she was in trouble.
Searching frantically among the logs, he found the wires to his battery just as Camm yelled for light. Blocking out all distracting thoughts of what might be happening to Camm, Cal quickly connected the wires. It took a second for the wires to heat, but when they did, the kerosene-soaked logs exploded into flames in his face, singeing his eyebrows and hair, throwing him backwards onto his rear end.
Three immense logs burned, hot and bright. Yellow flames curled up into the chimney, sending bright light, for the first time in decades, to every corner of the main hall. Cal sat where he fell, brushing ash and burnt hair out of his face.
Camm scrambled away from the creature as fast as she could, doing a backward crabwalk on all fours. After backing several yards, her hand landed on the shotgun. Snatching up the gun, she jumped up and ran to Cal, who was just standing up and looking like a scorched scarecrow. From their vantage point, in front of the blazing fire, they could finally see the creature clearly.
It was huge, as big as a bear with matted and nasty fur the color of an old, dirty olive-green shag carpet. Its long head was large and pointed, coming to a narrow snout with several long fangs protruding from under thin lips. Long whiskers sprouted from either side of a coal black nose. Its eyes were red at the iris, bloodshot, and wild with anger and fear of the light.
Now that they could see the creature, it was no longer an “it.” They saw what it was—they knew what it was: a giant green rat, just like the picture in the secret stone dungeon below. Camm and Cal huddled together, staring at the rat in frightened fascination.
The rat twisted and jumped from side to side trying to hide from the light. When it saw it could not escape the bright rays, it hunkered down, lying flat on the floor, and faced the fire with its blazing red eyes. Standing between the rat and the fire, Camm felt its eyes look through her like frigid fingers reaching in to pull heat from her core. The chill became painful and the sulfuric smell filled her lungs like thick, heavy mud. At the same time, the bright yellow light around her flickered and grayed; its warmth seemed to disappear.
As Camm dropped to her knees, she looked back at the fire behind her. Instead of huge, bright flames, the fire was disappearing. Black smoke rose in columns from places where seconds before tongues of flame had danced. She glanced back at the rat. It was intently focused on the fire. The fire dimmed even more, and the plumes of smoke increased.
Cal had prepared for this eventuality. Racing over to his duffel bag at the side of the fireplace, he pulled out an old water bottle and unscrewed the top, throwing the entire contents—more kerosene—onto the fire. Where the kerosene hit, the fire blazed anew, flames spreading again across the logs.
The moment the kerosene struck the fire, the rat screamed in pain and recoiled as if the kerosene had been thrown in its face instead of the fireplace. Seeing the rat’s reaction, Cal grabbed another bottle and tossed more kerosene on the fire, but whatever connection had existed between the rat and the fire was now broken. The additional kerosene had no direct effect on the rat, though the fire burned ever bigger and brighter.
Camm stood and sidled up close to Cal without taking her eyes off the rat. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Cal answered, also focused on the rat. “But I guess you better load that little derringer.”
Camm handed the shotgun to Cal and pulled the pistol and small shells from her pockets. Sneaking quick peeks at the rat, she loaded the derringer, cocking both barrels.
Though the rat was halfway across the length of the immense hall, she brought the pistol up to eye level, with her arm out straight, taking aim at the rat, which was now moving toward the dining room wall in panicked, jerky motions.
Cal laid his hand on her arm. “No,” he warned. “Don’t shoot from here. That gun is too small. It won’t be accurate at this distance. We have to get closer.”
Closer to the rat was the last thing Camm wanted to get, but with Cal at her side, she cautiously moved forward. As she approached the rat, she noticed the direction it was headed.
“Cal, I think it’s headed toward the cellar door.”
“No! We have to keep it up here in the light.”
Handing the shotgun to Camm, Cal raised the .357 and raced the rat to the cellar door. As Cal drew near, the rat hunched back, preparing to pounce. Cal slid to a stop in front of the cellar door, dropped to one knee and pointed the gun directly into the rat’s chest.
Camm started to follow Cal, but he waved her away. He pointed in a wide sweeping motion, indicating that she should move to the other side of the rat, which was now facing Cal. Holding the shotgun in one hand and the derringer in the other, she sidled around the creature to come up on it from behind.
The rat jumped—a half jump—forward, feigning a pounce at Cal as if testing him. Cal had the .357 ready to go and fired twice. The loud retort was deafening in the enclosed hall.
Clearly, from its reaction, both shots had struck the rat, but it did not come close to bringing it down. The flesh where the bullets hit indented briefly, sending shock waves through the matted fur. After recoiling, the rat resumed its aggressive stance toward Cal. Camm shook her head. As she had feared, the .357 was not going to bring the rat down by itself.
The rat lowered itself on all fours, resembling a lion stalking its prey. After scratching at the stone floor, as if to pull Cal toward it, it crept in a prowling motion toward him.
Cal stayed on one knee and took careful aim at the rat’s head. He let fly two more bullets, both hitting their mark. Again, the shots had little effect. The
rat shook its head as if merely coming out of a daze, and once more crouched with tensed muscles, ready to pounce on Cal.
Watching, Camm felt panic creep up her spine. She knew she had hit it earlier with the shotgun, but could now see no evidence of that shot. Cal had shot it four times, two of them in the head with his .357, and yet it still kept coming. What could the little pistol she was holding possibly do against a beast that could withstand direct shots from a twelve-gauge and a .357?
Nevertheless, she quietly crept in from behind. She stepped slowly, not out of caution, but because her instincts were screaming at her to walk away from that thing, not go toward it.
She had only closed a few yards between her and the rat when it suddenly pounced. Like a released spring, it flew through the air, landing directly on Cal, knocking him onto his back.
It happened so quickly that neither Camm nor Cal had time to react. The rat lowered its snout directly into Cal’s face and bared its fangs. Its lips curled back ferociously, a low, menacing snarl emanated from its throat. Mossy slime dripped from its mouth. One huge paw lay on Cal’s shoulder, pinning him to the floor. Camm could not see Cal’s face, but she knew in a second he’d be dead. She ran toward the rat.
As Camm approached from the back, she saw Cal thrust the barrel of the .357 into the rat’s chest and fire the last two shots point blank. The blasts jarred the rat and seemed to cause it pain. It threw back its head and squealed at the ceiling, but it did not release Cal from his pinned position on the floor. Again, it shook off the shots and lowered its snarling maul back into Cal’s face, its mouth open wide, ready to bite.
Camm rushed up from behind. When just three feet away, she pointed the pistol with one hand and pulled one of the triggers, firing the crystalline bullet directly into the rat’s side.
The pistol sounded like a popgun compared to the booming reverberation of the .357. But while the .357 seemed to barely faze the rat, the shot from the little pistol caused the rat to shudder and jerk up violently.
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