She staggered back. She’d tried to keep her hold on the axe, but it had been too heavy, the muscles in her hands too weak. It hung in the creature’s arm, embedded in bone just below the shoulder, for only a second. And then it fell. The jarring clatter as the heavy weapon dented the floor barely registered to Margot. The dead man was climbing through the doorway.

One long arm—the arm that had taken the axe—reached out to shove the table away. The blade had cut through skin and muscle and sinew and part of the bone, but there was no blood. As the arm flexed, the severed flesh flapped open, exposing gray, bloodless veins and off-white marrow. A maggot fell free, its fleshy, white body writhing.

Margot’s discarded phone lay on the floor. As the dead man stepped through the doorway, his bare foot landed on it, splintering glass.

He didn’t seem to notice that any more than he’d noticed the axe.

Margot backed away. She couldn’t breathe. She thought her fear couldn’t grow any worse, but then the dead man closed the door behind himself, and it did.

Get out. Get out!

But there was no other doorway. Only the wardrobe, the bed, and…

The window.

She was on the second floor. She didn’t care. Margot grasped at the latch. The hasp lock sealed it closed.

No. No, please.

The key was still in the lock. But the dead man was moving closer. Margot fought with it, numb fingers struggling with a key that refused to turn. Floorboards creaked under the dead man’s weight as his bare feet dragged his corpse toward her.

Then the key turned. Margot shoved the window open, pushing the rusted hinges to move and forcing herself through in the same movement.

A grave-cold hand landed on her shoulder. Rigid fingers dug into her, long nails biting through her flesh, and Margot screamed. She writhed, half-mad with fear, and her shirt tore as she slid through the window and out of the creature’s grasp.

The porch’s roof ran beneath Margot’s window. It slanted at an angle, just gradual enough for her to cling to it as she slid toward its edge. Hot blood flowed across her shoulder. The edges of her vision blurred. She thrust one leg out and jammed it into the gutter, preventing her from slipping over the edge entirely.

The window frame creaked above her. Margot lay prone on the tiles, fingers digging into the lichen and the cracks to hold her position, the cold wind dragging her hair across her face and half blinding her.

Above, the enormous figure crawled through her open window.