amplified, and the monster’s coarse grip cut into the skin of his throat like a hangman’s noose. His larynx crumpled in a bloody gurgle.
Through the pain and the terror, Brad knew he had only seconds to live. An awful darkness had crept into his vision, replacing the pinpoints of lights, and he willed it away with all of his might. Then, with Death’s hand within reach, his fingers encountered the item he was hunting for: his Zippo lighter.
His flicked it open and thumbed the striker wheel.
The wick lit instantly.
With another jab of pain the carpet-creature yanked tight the final thread on his wrist, and when it faced him again he snapped his arm up and held the lighter under its chin.
The glue backing of the carpet strips ignited easier than Brad imagined, and the shredded fibers went up even faster. Melting nylon dripped from the ignition point, landing on the monster’s outstretched arm, spreading the flames.
The thing roared, throwing Brad against the wall. The stereo cut out.
Brad crashed to the floor, and the choking pressure in his head and on his throat vanished. He inhaled a huge breath that felt like gargling glass shards.
The monster backed away, its head and arm on fire.
The hallway smoke detector blared, then exploded in a blast of plastic when the creature waved a hand at it.
“That was foolish,” the thing said through the blaze. “You could have been burned. I need you looking human if I’m to get the help of your friends.”
Like a gas fireplace, the flames went out with the ease of shutting off the fuel. Its half-melted head bubbled and smoked.
Brad ran.
He didn’t know if it was fear or adrenaline that gave him the strength to move, but it propelled him down the hall, through his parent’s bedroom and into their bathroom. He slammed the door and turned toward the window. It was a bone-breaking drop to the concrete patio below, but after the hell he’d already been through the two-story leap seemed minor.
He clutched the window frame with his good hand and—
A groan arose behind the walls.
Brad spun to face the door, but it remained closed.
He snatched his father’s straight razor from the sink top and flicked the blade open. Chest heaving, he stood silent and listened for sounds of the carpet-creature.
Why hadn’t it followed him?
The groan came again, deep and metallic. Pipes rattled. It came from all around him, inside the walls.
“Fuck this!”
Brad faced the window again. He lifted it an inch before it slammed shut.
“No!”
He tried again, but it wouldn’t budge.
Clenching his teeth, he made a fist and drew back to punch through the glass. Before he could, the toilet beside him exploded. It blew off his mounting bracket in a fountain of rushing water, knocking him back. The shock spurred him away without heed to what was near him, and his legs caught the edge of the tub, causing him to fall into it. His head smacked the opposite wall.
Dazed, he could only watch in wonder as the wall tiles shattered above him. Copper pipes crashed though the sheetrock, spraying the ceiling and creating a torrent of rain. The sink, the shower, and the tub drain erupted like high-pressure geysers, flooding the room with hundreds of gallons of water.
But it wasn’t the water that drew Brad’s mouth into a mute scream.
It was the thing within it, the invisible force that for a moment surged up before him in the shape of a towering liquid horror with blazing white eyes.
It crashed down on him with the force of a breaking tidal wave, violently gushing into his mouth and nose. He felt his lungs and stomach expand, convulsed in unparallel agony as the organs burst inside his chest.
This time, he begged the darkness to take him.
The entity stared down at Brad’s corpse.
Lying motionless on the water-soaked bathroom floor, coupled with the stone-gray hue of his skin, the boy looked like a statue toppled off its base.
It had almost gone too far in killing him, but the damage dealt to his internal organs was not noticeable on the outside. Disregarding his weak complexion, the teen’s body could still pass for human. Heavy clothing and deep shadows would easily disguise both his pallor and the wound on his wrist.
It slid into Brad’s husk and rose to a stand, flexing the boy’s limbs while it adjusted to the annoying pull of gravity.
The dead body offered none of the means by which its previous owner perceived the world. The lifeless eyes within Brad’s skull were nothing more than decorations on the mask of its costume, his skin a concealing blanket. But cadavers made valuable tools, providing golem bodies of flesh and bone it could use to interact with the physical world when its ethereal state proved impractical. It retained its own incredible perception, along with its potent mental capabilities, but there was no
It strode to Brad’s closet, pawing through the few items on the hangers. It selected a change of clothing, including a black hooded sweatshirt to conceal the vessel’s peculiarities. Slipping it on, it hurried downstairs, heading to the basement.
In the elaborately furnished lower rooms, among a trove of framed sports memorabilia, it found an oak gun cabinet housing a formidable array of weapons. It crossed the floor toward the case, psychically manipulating the electrons in the metal of the lock. The door clicked and swung open.
It scanned the various hunting rifles and shotguns, eventually removing a Remington semi-automatic 12- gauge, along with a box of ammunition. The shotgun would be an effective instrument of intimidation, allowing the entity to gain the compliance of others without having to deplete its own valuable stock of energy. Every action— every telekinetically thrown object or electrically manipulated device; each constructed body and telepathic communication—burned more of the precious power it had gathered, power it needed in order to retrieve Kane.
Brad had already forced it to use more energy than it preferred.
Snarling with anger, it loaded the weapon to capacity—chambering one round and adding another for a total of six shots—then stuffed a handful of additional shells into the sweatshirt’s right pocket and clambered upstairs.
Now all it needed was transportation.
Back on the main floor, it strode through the kitchen and into the garage, where a highly polished black Lexus occupied the far side of the two-car space. Using the same means by which it opened the gun cabinet, the entity popped the trunk and stashed the shotgun behind a leather bag of golf clubs.
It glanced around the room, practicing the act of looking human. It twitched its facial muscles with precisely timed bursts of energy, doing its best to bring a look of life back into the boy’s dead flesh. Once satisfied, it walked to where a collection of lawn tools hung on storage hooks along the back wall and chose two long-handled garden shovels, adding them to the trunk.
The entity slid behind the wheel and once again used its control over electricity to activate the garage door opener and start the car’s engine, all at the speed of thought.
With the door up, it backed the car into the night.
It cleared the garage when the flicker of human life drew its attention, causing it to stop. Taillights stained the driveway red.
Looking to the left, it spotted the exact two humans it planned to go search for—Brad’s friends from the woods—both stepping off the street and walking across the lawn toward the house.
They eyeballed the Lexus with hard-faced features, each trying to look tough despite their earlier ordeal.
The entity created a wide grin on Brad’s face and rolled the window down.
