The scuttling sound comes from behind him.

The thought strikes him: He’s fast. A stupid, obvious thought; one proven true as the Boss soundlessly leaps upon his back.

Claws like iron nails drive deep into Mookie’s side. His flesh is hard, unyielding, able to stop bullets, and here Zoladski has no difficulty. The wounds are cold in the heat of his rage. He stands, screaming, flailing. The thing’s mouth clamps down on the flesh just below his neck. Razor teeth spin and bore. Something wet and cold like a tongue slithers into the wound and begins to coil around his spine. His body lights up with a fireworks display of pain.

Nora staggers out of the room. Numb. Bewildered. At first she thinks, I’ve peed myself, but it’s not piss, it’s blood, her blood. Her throat throbs. Her head pulses. Images of a dead city parade before her. Like now there’s an open door inside her mind and anything can come through it. She sees visions of goblins cooking humans over barrel fires. Of snake-men slithering through the darkness of an alley.

She sees a pattern of dots.

She says it aloud: “Pattern of dots. Blast. Bone dry.”

Again: “Pattern of dots. Blast. Bone dry.”

And a third time. The words don’t make any sense to her. But there they are.

In the hallway, Mookie the Monster fights…

It’s him. It’s Konrad Zoladski. Except he’s not human anymore, either.

Nobody’s human anymore. We’re all monsters now.

The two smash into walls. Bannisters. Wainscoting. Pictures tumble off walls. A vase shatters. Blood sprays.

Then the Boss-Thing crawls onto the back of the Mookie-Monster. It bites down. Back of Mookie’s neck. Crunch. Tongue splashing in blood. Her father drops to his knees. Wails in pain.

A body. Nearby. One of the Snakefaces. With the golden eye.

A gun at its hip.

Suddenly it’s in her hand. She barely remembers picking it up.

Barrel wavers. Sights dip and swerve.

Bang.

A wall sconce goes spinning on the wall like a prize wheel.

She pulls the trigger again. This time, the bullet finds its target. It clips the Boss-Thing in the head – it wrenches its neck backward and howls in pain, letting go of Mookie’s neck in the process. Nora gasps. Sobs. Steps through a doorway into a study and collapses on the floor, all the strength leaving her body as warm blood splashes.

The Boss is back up. A flap of skin has peeled back from his forehead – like a bundled tear in the felt of a pool table made by a stuttering cue – and beneath is something that looks less like flesh and more like a bottomless hole.

Mookie turns. Sees Nora stagger into a nearby room.

A small voice beneath the hurricane of rage: She’s safe.