She felt heat on her knuckles and guessed she’d burned the skin there, too, but that was nothing compared to what happened to the monster: the wood burned its way down the thing’s throat. The creature’s body distorted the light, refracted it in a way that made its head look like some kind of misshapen disco ball. Tess watched the flame slide down into the monster’s innards, sure the melting water would put it out soon enough but hoping it would do plenty of damage to the creature first.
The tentacles around her squeezed harder for a second, and Tess was sure they were going to crack her ribs. Or worse. Maybe snap her right in half. But when it seemed like the pressure couldn’t get any worse without killing her, it finally let up. Just barely at first, but then some more.
The creature chomped its teeth together, made a series of wheezing sounds that might have been gags. As if it were trying to hack the piece of wood back out.
When the tentacles loosened enough, Tess pulled free and backed across the kitchen, still holding the tongs.
The chunk of firewood had stopped halfway down the thing’s body. If it had any kind of anatomy, maybe that was its stomach. Regardless, you could see the wood in there, a dark spec within the semi-opaque layers. Wood, but no flames. The fire had gone out.
Parts of the creature had caved in, cratered and cracked. It ran its tentacles and its icicle fingers across these depressions the way a person might finger fresh wounds. It hissed, and although it looked wounded, it was far from dead. She expected it to lunge at her, to wrap its limbs around her body and squeeze her to a pulp. Instead, it turned, stuck its head through the window, used its tentacles to push off the floor and the counters (snapping one cabinet door right off its hinges in the process) and wiggled its way back out into the blizzard.
Tess gaped, not sure what had happened, why the thing hadn’t retaliated.
Maybe it’s hurt worse than you thought. Or maybe it went out for reinforcements.
Didn’t matter. Whatever the thing was doing, and for whatever reason, she needed to take the opportunity to regroup.
In the hallway, Bub continued struggling with the other creature. She heard the two of them in there, hissing and barking and bumping into the walls. And she heard the first creature in the bedroom, still battering the door. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t gotten into the rest of the house yet. Maybe their doors were tougher than she thought.
Forget about that. Save Bub. It’s not too late.
The half of the log the creature hadn’t swallowed lay on the kitchen floor in a pool of water. It wasn’t going to do her any good, but there was still another log crackling in the fireplace.
She hurried into the living room, swinging the tongs at her side. The chunk of wood on the fireplace grate wasn’t much of a log anymore. It had burned down to the size of a softball and was really more of a coal. But it was bright red, and the little creature in the back hall wasn’t the behemoth its partner had been. This would be enough. It had to be enough.
She poked the tongs into the fireplace and gripped the piece of wood, careful not to squeeze it too hard, afraid she might break it into a dozen worthless pieces if she did. The wood smoked, but it was already losing some of its color.
Hurry!
She ran through the living room, through the kitchen, into the hall.
She found Bub on the floor in a puddle of gore. The creature stood over him, blood running out of its mouth and pinkening as it ran down the beast’s wet body. Tufts of yellow fur poked out from between its teeth. It had a pair of tendrils wrapped around Bub’s neck, and the dog’s tongue lolled.
“No!” She jumped at the monster, aiming the tongs and fiery coal at its head. It started to move, to dodge, but it was too late. Tess pressed the wood into the side of its head and held it there until the thing let go of Bub and backed down the hall.
Not that there was anywhere for it to go. It backed up to the door and crouched there, flailing its limbs, trying to knock the tongs out of Tess’s hands as she advanced on it again. Most of the side of its head had melted away. Even with its mouth closed, you could see into its maw, see those pointed rows of blood-stained teeth.
The wood seemed to have lost most of its heat, but she jammed it against the thing again anyway. The creature screamed and wrapped its tentacles around the tongs and as far up Tess’s arms as it could reach, but although the snaking tendrils were freezing cold, there didn’t seem to be much strength in them. Tess grabbed one, broke it off, and flung it at the monster.
When the coal stopped smoking, she pulled back the tongs, let the chunk of cooled wood drop to the floor, and swung the empty tongs. They thunked into the creature’s head, and a long fissure opened up in the ice, running from the impact point to the middle of its mouth, breaking its head almost in two.
The thing reached up for the tongs again but couldn’t seem to find them. Its limbs curled, whipped, and waved from one side to the other, searching, reaching, finding nothing.
Tess lifted the tongs over her shoulder and swung them into the monster again. The tongs hit the creature right in the split running down its face. If she’d been chopping wood, it would have been the perfect swing. And really, she guessed this was basically the same concept. The tool thunked into the thing’s wound, widening the gap, pushing the two halves of its head farther apart. Before the monster could pull free or try to tug the tongs out of her hands, Tess gripped the handles and jerked them apart. The end of the tongs spread, the creature shrieked and shuddered. A long, wet cracking sound came from somewhere in the vicinity of the thing’s neck (or where’s its neck would have been if it’d had one), and then one half of its head broke clean off. The chunk of ice slapped against the wall, broke in half again, and fell. The creature let out a wet, guttural sound, something almost like a burp, and toppled to the floor.
Tess didn’t wait to see if it was still alive; she grabbed the other half of its head with the tongs, squeezed the handles, twisted, and decapitated the little son of a bitch. Then she smashed the remaining torso and tentacles into slush.
From the other end of the house came the loudest cracking sound yet. A thump followed, then a series of scrapes and a triumphant-sounding roar.
Tess dropped to her knees beside Bub.
His eyes were closed, his fur covered in blood. She slid her hand under his head and cupped the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse, not sure if that even worked for a dog. She felt nothing.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” And then she was crying. Tears ran down her cheeks and into her mouth, hot and salty. Snot dripped over her upper lip and from there to the floor. She wiped her face with her arm and cried harder still.
Quit it! Get out of here now and mourn later, or stay here and die beside him.
She wiped her face again and took a few long, gasping breaths.
Where was she supposed to go?
She heard the monster sliding through the house, heard the taps and bangs she guessed were its tentacles hitting the floor and the hallway walls. She thought the fire might keep it at bay, at least for a while, but then remembered there was no fire. Not anymore.
You’ve got to go. Go, go, GO!
She pulled her hand out from under Bub, still crying. She guessed she had two options left: stay here and fight the thing with nothing but the tongs and her bare hands (which wasn’t an option at all if she wanted to live past the next five minutes; she’d been lucky so far, but she was no kind of monster slayer) or go out into the storm. Out with no warm clothes. Out to where the larger kitchen monster had fled, to where there might be dozens more of the things. Out to almost certain death.