Amy jumped off the couch as if hit with a shot of adrenaline. The wine had thoroughly sedated her, now realizing she’d nodded off. Disoriented upon waking, her brain was trying to catch up as she panned the room for Wes. The screams continued in rapid succession. Amy, now in a panic, darted through the house, then upstairs, into each closed bedroom, yelling for her son. She stopped to catch her breath, panting, the room partially spinning on an angle. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from, now nauseated with anxiety. They were unnerving, growing dire, and just as she was about to lose it, it suddenly dawned where he was.

The basement door was slightly ajar, and after flying down the staircase and a forceful enter, it swung open, then slammed shut behind. Amy stopped short on the landing, gripping the railing at the top of the hollow, wooden steps. With a quick glance back and a strained exhale, her heart just about sank until a sonorous WAIL drew her attention. She turned. Stunned. She couldn’t believe the scene before her, scanning over the havoc—a momentary lapse of why she first ran in. Wes was nowhere in sight among the stacked clutter. She hollered for him, cautiously maneuvering through the frigid water.

A squeal directed her focus across the basement, where she saw some THING emerge from beyond the foundation into the flood. Amy’s eyes widened in disbelief, her jaw dropped, and fear electrified every nerve. She was instantly short of breath, larynx suppressed, preventing her from screaming, albeit like hell, she tried. All she could do was swiftly glance around for Wes. The lights began to dim, and the room fell silent. Wes, standing on the rattling buffet hutch, was shaking violently, absorbed by debilitating shock. Amy darted over, quickly pulling him off, and aimed back toward the door. Wes was tightly wrapped around his mother’s torso as she fired up the stairs and pulled back on the doorknob, slipping right off. Stumbling backward, she tripped down the few steps, landing in the shallow—her head smacked the cement, the water alleviating some impact. Squeezing Wes with one arm, she rolled over and was right back up the stairs.

Her wet hand grabbed at it again, shaking it vehemently, but it wouldn’t budge; two hands came next, but still nothing. Trepidation set in; she was whimpering, peering back over her shoulder, cursing erratically as she shook the door.

It was jammed.

The beast fully emerged and was quickly closing in on the stairs. Not looking, Amy could hear it grunting, sloshing through the water as she turned for any object. A metal folding chair was close by, up against the side of the staircase. She bent down, grabbed it, son still clinging on. As she came up, the beast lunged at her, mouth open. Amy fell back against the arm rail, the end of the chair lodged in its squealing orifice. She held it back with everything she had, screaming, while the beast tried to advance forward. It thrashed, missing her legs, striking the wooden support planks of the steps with protracted, razor claws, tearing away the bottom planks. Amy slid down a step as a shallow blow from a swipe struck her calf through wet denim; she screamed out in pain. Quickly twisting the chair, she cocked back the beast’s head, thrusting it off the staircase, losing her shield in the process. The beast fell into the rising water, and Amy made a blind run for it.

She trekked across the basement, looking for a place for cover. There was a small pantry cupboard connected to the upper wall, running lengthwise above the workbench. Her son was hanging on her for dear life, still tightly gripped. She climbed atop the bench and opened a cabinet, yanking everything out to the water. Adrenal glands gave Amy sudden strength she couldn’t have ever imagined. She was able to pry Wes off, which allowed her to immediately boost him into the opening. Shutting the door, she looked around for an elevated spot to fit. One section of the ceiling had metal rods running perpendicular across wooden boards, storing kayaks, skis, and other awkward sporting equipment. She leaped from the bench to a dining room table, to the hutch where she was able to reach the rod.

The beast sprung from the flood for Amy’s leg while she pulled herself up, missing by mere inches before falling back to the water, empty-handed. It rose up on hind legs and clawed at the wall, slicing through the soft rock, reaching for the ceiling but sliding away. Amy repeatedly jabbed with a plastic ore, preventing it from gaining footing. It slipped back under and was gone. She was trapped in the rafters, freezing, dripping wet, shaking, wanting nothing more than for her husband to return.

The power went out.

Next Chapter: CH. 15 - THE ATTACK