It strained on relentlessly past the obstacle. Bone hands clawed at the chair, and decay began to spread out from its touch. The upholstery started to wither and perish, exposing yellowed stuffing, springs and wooden frame, then those too began to disintegrate. The chair gradually decomposed from the seat-back down, dissolving into dust. One arm slumped aside as the back-frame powdered. Hungry green sparks writhed on the remaining upholstery.

Macks turned to Drusher and began to kick with him. The firebox dislodged entirely and fell heavily onto its front. They pulled at the broken vent and the chimney plate, ignoring the burns they got from the metal. Accumulated black filth poured out of the flue, decades of dust and soot. They were both coughing and choking.

The plate fell out with a clang.

Drusher looked over his shoulder. The chair was all but gone. The thing was in the room.

‘Get up there!’ he yelled at her.

‘You first!’

‘Just get up the chimney, Germaine! I’ll boost you!’

She tossed the riotgun and wriggled down into the hot cavity of the chimney place, groping for handholds on the stone. Drusher bent down and made a stirrup from his hands, cradling her right foot to hoist her.

‘Climb!’ he yelled. ‘Climb, Germaine!’

He didn’t dare look behind him.

He didn’t want to see it when it happened.

Macks’ head and upper body were inside the flue. He could hear her scrabbling for grip.

‘It’s too small!’ he heard her yelling, muffled. ‘It’s too tight! I can’t!’

Old, heat-cracked stone inside the chimney gave way. Macks lost her grip and came crashing back out, chunks of stone falling with her. She almost landed on Drusher. They both went over in the hearth.

‘Magos! Stay down!’

Drusher heard the commanding voice. He saw Nayl in the doorway behind the walking thing. Garofar and the other deputies were crowding in behind Nayl, staring in utter dismay at the sight in front of them.

But Nayl’s face was grim, as if he’d seen the impossible far too many times before. He raised his lasrifle.

Drusher grabbed Macks and pulled her as flat as he could, covering her head and shoulders with his own arms and body.

Nayl fired a sustained burst. Shrieking bolts of light ripped into the parlour, striking the figure from behind, doing nothing but making it jerk a little. Stray bolts tore past it, blowing holes in the far wall over Drusher and Macks. Several shots crippled the old wooden dresser pushed against the wall. It shook, sagged and toppled over on its front.

The figure swayed then slowly turned to face Nayl and the deputies behind him.

‘Oh, Holy Terra…’ Garofar gasped.

The figure took its first lurching step towards Nayl. It raised its right hand to stroke his face.