The cat spirits were clawing at the bedroom door. She could hear their claws scratching away. There was noise, yes, but in the morning, even she wouldn’t see any of the marks they made. Some of them were yowling softly. No doubt, they were trying to get her out of bed.
Mel stared up at the ceiling, frowning. She could feel something out there. The air was definitely thicker, but it didn’t have as much urgency as the previous night. Was it just her imagination? She was slightly mad and not a little frustrated at the whole situation. Wasn’t she going to have at least one night of uninterrupted sleep? One of the cat spirits decided to stop his caterwauling and instead jumped on her bed, pouncing on her. Wake up! Get up!
“All right, I’m up,” she grumbled, pulling the covers away. Her feet were bare and once again the floor was cold. Whoever or whatever it was…it was going to get it this time, she thought with determination. Sure, there was a tiny bit of fear niggling at the back of her mind, but she shoved it away, instead focusing on her growing irritation and anger.
Pat, the cook, had given her the choice of skillet. Out of a perverse sense of amusement, she had chosen the largest one—cast iron, square, big enough to house a decent sized plant, if she had the inclination of growing any. It was also heavy, several pounds and to her mind, took way to much energy to lift it. It would take one of those muscle-bound weight lifters to even attempt to use it to cook anything let alone flip pancakes. Stuart had actually laughed at her for picking the biggest one. You’re biting off more than you can chew, he had joked. Well, he wouldn’t be joking now, especially if that thing was doing what she thought it was trying to do.
The skillet was on top of the bureau. With a fortifying breath, she took hold of the handle and swung it around. She winced. She hoped she didn’t pull a muscle. The cat spirits were yowling louder now. They wanted out. And they wanted out now.
Mel blinked, to make sure that her eyes were adjusted to the dark. In her room, she could see the shadowy outlines of the bed and the armchair. A little bit of moonlight streamed through the window. Well, that would have to do for now, she thought. And enough of the procrastination!
She opened her bedroom door and the cat spirits streamed out like silent wisps of steam. They weren’t making any noise now. They were busy stalking whatever it was that was out there in the hallway. Mel stepped out and she was suddenly struck with the force of the air. To any normal person, or to anyone who wasn’t really paying attention, it would have been just the usual—a darkened hallway. But the air was definitely heavier, even heavier than what the air had become in her room. And across the hallway, in front of the door that was Stuart’s room, was the thing.
It was a tall black shadow, blacker than anything that she had ever seen. Even though the hallway was slightly dim from the moonlight that came in through the windows in the various parts of the house, this thing absorbed all the light as if it were a black hole, sucking everything in. She could make out the shadow’s shape, tall, elongated, slightly humanoid—although she would have been more comfortable just calling it a thing than a person. Something dragged on the ground, it didn’t make any noise actually, but just something drew her attention to the thing’s feet. Claws tickled the wooden floorboards. She had no doubt now that this had been the thing visiting her the previous night.
The cat spirits that had been lurking toward the thing pounced in a mass of darkly colored fur. The thing stilled, its attention transferred from Stuart’s door to the little spirits enthusiastically attacking it. It didn’t seemed to be bothered by the cat spirits though—it just seemed darkly amused as it looked down at the animals sinking their claws into shadowy spirit flesh. And then, the thing turned and looked at her and suddenly she was frozen, very, very afraid.
The thing had bright red eyes filling what she had thought was its neck. What she thought was its head was actually a spidery network of horns, so dense that at first glance, one would have thought it was solid. The arms reached out, ignoring the clawing cat spirits. It was reaching towards her. It didn’t quite touch her, but she could feel the air getting even thicker, trying to crush her lungs.
Her sluggish brain then sparked and automatically, her arms swung up, the skillet heading toward the thing. It’s not going to work, she thought. It’s just a spirit, it’ll go right through.
The skillet hit something solid. It clanged like a gong and her arms wavered from the vibrations. For one moment, the air cleared and everything seemed even more silent and even more still.
Stuart’s door opened. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the reporter standing at the threshold in his pink pajamas and mused hair. He had managed to put his glasses on his face, but she could tell from his muddled expression that he was still half-asleep.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Stuart, shut the door!” she yelled at him.
“Huh?”
The thing, torn between the woman with the cast-iron skillet and the object of its search, decided to lunge towards what it was looking for.
“No!” Mel called up some reserved strength within her and swung the heavy skillet, once again connecting with the thing. She ignored the protest in her arms. As if in response to her battle cry, the cat spirits yowled in union, calling up the rest of their brethren in the house. More cat spirits rushed out of Stuart’s room, forming a line between him and the thing and several more leaped up from the lower levels, pouring over the stairs. They launched themselves towards the thing as Mel swung her make-shift weapon a third time.
Stuart’s eyes widened at the scene, finally wide awake. “Mel!”
“Shut the damn door,” she yelled at him again. “Or are you just going to be stupid and stand there like a chicken out to slaughter?”
The thing retreated, watching her. The Horned One wasn’t into retreats, she knew. It was after something, and she was pretty sure what it was. She heard Stuart close the door, but he wasn’t safe on the other side. No, the headstrong reporter was now outside in the hallway standing between her and that ancient thing.
“Are you insane?” she spluttered.
“I’m not going to let you out here alone with that.”
She glared at him, but at that moment when they weren’t watching, the thing leaped toward them, claws outstretched, eyes glowing, and finally, its maw revealed—sharp teeth gleaming like polished silver and emitting a terrible stench, worse than burning sulfur.
Mel wanted to hit the thing again, but the smell was too much and her lungs rebelled, taking her into a coughing fit. She wasn’t going to make it, she thought. The skillet was falling out of her grasp.
And then there was a clang. She looked up from her coughing fit and saw Stuart on his knees, his hands holding up her skillet like a shield. The Horned One had rammed its face and its claws into the back of the skillet and there was a hiss that sounded like pain. The cat spirits were now attacking the back of the thing—they were making some progress as bits of black shadow were shred into ribbons that melted on the floor.
The thing hissed again and Stuart looked like he was about to faint, his glasses dipping on the edge of his nose. The air grew heavy as it retreated and with one flying leap, flew over them and down the stairs, the agitated cat spirits at its feet.
He let out a breath and the skillet fell from his fingers to the floor in a dull thump.
