“Somehow the fire started while you guys were still in there,” said Bill. “I was going to trigger it when everyone was back out in the vehicles, but something went wrong. When I saw that smoke, I didn’t know what to do.”
“Nope,” said Mike. “No, I’m telling you that’s not possible. I saw that fire, it was supernatural. It moved with a purpose.”
“I hid the device in the kitchen, under the sink, and waited for you guys to leave, but the next time I saw Gary, he was falling out the front window already on fire,” Bill continued, not even hearing Mike’s protests.
“Bill, listen to me, that’s not the way it happened,” argued Mike.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw the fire start, and it wasn’t like that. First of all, it started upstairs and it flowed across the rafters like water. One second there was nothing, and the next, the whole place was lit up like Vegas. Gary already had his hand bitten off, and the fire just dripped…”
“Wait, what about his hand?” asked Bill.
“You remember all that blood on me when I got out of there? That was Gary’s. That thing that was inhabiting your house bit his hand off and he sprayed blood everywhere. I don’t know how it started the fire, but that was no man-made thing.”
“Like the carpenter’s hand,” said Bill, exhaling. “That’s so awful.”
“I know,” said Mike. “It really was. I should have never put Gary in that situation. He was just doing it out of friendship with me, and I got him killed.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Mike,” said Bill. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have known because you warned us.”
“Shit, I didn’t know anything. I was just trying to get you guys to do an investigation and give me an alibi. Weird stuff happened there, for sure, but nobody could have foreseen that day,” said Bill.
“We’ve both been carrying around a lot of guilt,” said Mike.
Bill didn’t reply. He stared at the display on the device. “It’s coming,” he said.
Mike sat up straight in his chair and raised his shotgun slightly. It was aimed down the booby-trapped staircase, and he flicked the safety off with his thumb. “How close?”
“A few miles,” said Bill.
“Oh,” said Mike. He reengaged the shotgun’s safety and set the gun down. “I’m going to check on our hosts." He pushed up and stepped over the supplies set around Bill’s chair on his way to the bathroom. Inside he found Sharon lying as they had left her, resting face up with her head next to the toilet, but Ken had rolled over to face the bathtub. “Ken?” asked Mike. “Ken?”
The doctor moaned softly in response. Mike stepped over Sharon’s legs and started to kneel next to his friend, but then remembered the infection that had caused the man’s distress. He plucked the rubber gloves from the bathroom sink and pulled them on while he stepped over Ken and Sharon so he could stand in the tub.
He leaned down close to Ken and gripped his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, Ken?” he asked again.
“Whuh?” asked Ken.
“How are you feeling, Ken? Your pulse seems a little slower, are you feeling any better?”
“Bedder than whuh?” Ken asked. His face was pressed against the cold tile. Ken’s eyes remained unmoving and half-closed.
“We’re going to get you to the hospital very soon,” said Mike, hoping it was true. “What’s the code to arm the security system?”
“Ol’ zip coe,” slurred Ken. His left eye, the one closest to Mike, opened slightly wider and rolled up to look at Mike.
“Our old zip?” he asked.
“Yuh,” said Ken. His eyelid drooped again, and Mike rose to pass on the information.
In the hallway, Bill had cracked another soda and sipped it while keeping a close eye on the detector.
“I think I’ve got the code for the alarm,” he told Bill.
“Doesn’t do us a lot of good now,” said Bill. “I don’t want to risk screwing up the stairs to go set it.”
“There’s another keypad in the bedroom,” said Mike.
“Fancy,” Bill said. He rose and set down his soda. He placed the detector on his chair and picked up one of the paintball guns. Mike followed him to the master bedroom, where Bill turned on the light and quickly found the panel. “What is it?”
“Try zero, two, two, eight, three,” said Mike. Bill prepared the system with a few quick button-presses to enter the correct mode, and then typed in the code.
“It’s green,” said Bill. “Does this mean our bathroom friends are waking up?”
“Not exactly, but almost,” said Mike. “Let’s get back to the command center, it’s making me nervous being away from our post.”
“Roger that,” said Bill.
Mike sat down first, after stepping carefully through the various supplies arranged around Bill’s chair. He took up the shotgun and pointed it down the stairs towards the front door. Next to him, Bill sat down and exchanged his paintball gun for the soda and the detector.
“How we looking?” asked Mike.
“Hmmmm,” said Bill. He then uttered the last two intelligible words that would ever leave his mouth—“That’s weird…”
Bill’s knees lifted for a split second, and his chair rocked back. The surprise set Mike’s legs in motion; he sprang away from Bill’s panicked scream and the tearing, splintering sound coming from the floor. Mike spilled off his chair to his right, away from Bill. His chair was knocked backward, giving him a view of the tragedy befalling his partner.
An enormous hand, stretching from Bill’s heel to the back of his knee, had blossomed from the carpet and latched on to Bill’s leg. As Mike watched, the hand jerked down back through the hole, pulling Bill’s leg with it. Amongst the screams, Mike heard Bill’s pants ripping against the jagged plywood of the edge of the hole.
Blood arced from hole. Bill’s scream jumped a register as his hands beat at the floor. Holding the shotgun up and away from his body, Mike tried to get his feet under him. The scream echoing in the hallway changed to a gurgling moan when Bill jerked down another four inches. Already up to his hip in the floor, the next pull produced a deep, horrifying snap.
Mike had just reached his feet. He swept the gun across the floor, between himself and Bill, and wondered if shooting would yield any result. Beyond conscious thought, Bill flopped back and forth, looking at the ceiling as the color drained from his face.
“Fuck it,” said Mike. He pointed the gun at the floor and pulled the trigger. His finger stopped short; he had to look at the gun before remembering to disengage the safety. He pointed and pulled. The gun fired and dirtied the floor with a cluster of black-lined holes. He pumped and shot again, bringing more definition to the rough circle in the carpet.
Bill jerked again and then fell over backwards, his torn pants and skin trailed off towards the hole in the floor, sparing Mike from seeing the ragged stump.
Mike swept the gun again, trying to decide where to shoot when he suddenly realized the folly of standing on the carpet. He jumped atop his overturned chair, balancing on the side of the seat and one of the legs. The floor shook. It shook a second time and nearly toppled Mike from his perch.
He looked up and down the hall at the closed doors and tried to decide which direction to run.
“Ghaaa,” said Bill. Mike had raised his weapon and almost shot at the sound. The hand appeared again from the hole and reached towards Bill’s dying body. Mike aimed carefully and released a shallow breath before pulling the trigger. Two of the long, weathered fingers evaporated with the spray of shot. The hand disappeared back through the hole.
Mike held his breath and tried to listen past the ringing in his ears to hear the movements of the monster. His own pounding heart filled his ears and he almost missed the sound of breaking glass from the first floor. Earlier, Bill had closed the door to the kitchen and balanced a glass on the knob. Mike knew that the creature would be in the hallway, heading for the staircase. He lifted his foot from the seat-edge of the overturned chair and tried to silently move to the floor. Halfway down, his change in balance upset the chair and he wobbled before starting to fall.