The tone was frenzied and rising like a banshee’s wail, and it froze them in their tracks. Even after it had died the echoes carried it on, all around them. That’s why they didn’t hear the other sounds right away. The ratlike scraping of its nails on stone. The trickle of dislodged mortar. The thud of a falling brick. Two. And that frantic, sandpaper voice, muttering to itself, “Boys . . . mine . . . mine . . .”

Oh, God, it’s getting loose.

Del couldn’t will his legs to move. They simply wouldn’t obey, not until Bart shoved him from behind and that was all the incentive he needed. He splashed through the puddles and clambered up the darkened cellar steps on all fours to keep from falling, and would’ve been on down the hall if the darkness at the top hadn’t been so tangible. Instead he waited at the cellar door, panting, until Bart and the flashlight could catch up. The older boy cleared the doorway a few steps behind him, gasping as well, still cradling his arm, and was barely through before Del slammed the door shut and jerked the bolt home.

“You think this’ll hold him?” he asked fearfully.

The answer was obvious. They both bolted down the hallway and out the front door.

Del was already wheezing with effort when they cleared the porch and plunged into the tall grass. The front yard seemed so much longer now, like two football fields, end to end. He began to fall behind about halfway across. “Can you make it, Cap?” Bart called back.

“Don’t worry about me,” the boy wheezed, “I’ll be—” But Bart was no longer there to listen. He was running the other way and pulling Del after him. “Another one!” he was yelling. “Another one! The woods!” Del looked there immediately. There was something moving near the tree line. He caught a glimpse of milky whiteness. Two silver specks of reflected moonlight, staring back. Then he was running again, back toward the house and even faster than before.

The banshee wail rose behind them. “No! Nooo!” Del felt his innards twist at the sound. It was coming. He passed his brother like he was standing still. By the time Bart reached the house Del was already at the door, digging at the wedge so he could close it. “You freakin’ idiot!” he cursed as his brother came across the porch, “why’d you jam it in there so tight?!”

The redhead’s only response was to grab the boy by the collar and virtually walk him through the door and up the winding staircase like an oversized puppet. They collapsed on the second floor landing and flicked off the flashlight just as a shadow spread through the open doorway like running oil.