I didn't think. Thinking is slow. Thinking gets you killed.
I just moved.
I dropped the flashlight, lunged forward, and wrapped my arms around Lily’s waist like I was tackling a fumble in the Super Bowl. She didn't scream. She didn't fight. She was stiff as a board, a little mannequin in a yellow jacket.
"Mine," I grunted, twisting my body to shield her.
With my free hand, I ripped the chef's knife from her grip. The handle was freezing, slick with that black slime. I didn't look at the thing in the hallway shadows. I didn't check to see if the reflective lenses were getting closer. I just heard the squelch-step, squelch-step accelerate into a run.
I bolted for the stairs.
The attic studio. It was the only room left. The only room with a reinforced door because I used to lock myself in there for days when the "mood" hit me.
"Daddy, he wants the picture!" Lily yelled, finally snapping out of her trance. She kicked her legs, her heels drumming against my thighs. "He said we have to finish it!"
"We're done drawing, Lily!" I panted.
I hit the landing and scrambled up the narrow staircase, my boots slipping on the carpet. Behind me, something heavy collided with the wall at the bottom of the stairs. The drywall crunched. The house shook.
He—it—was fast. Faster than a snowman should be. Faster than a man in a costume should be.
I reached the top, threw Lily into the room, and slammed the heavy studio door. I turned the deadbolt. Click. Then I shoved the old iron drafting table against it.
Bam!
Something slammed into the door from the other side. The wood groaned, and a fine dust of varnish rained down.
"Open up, Elias," I whispered to myself, backing away. "Don't freeze. Do not freeze."
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.