I held the torch close enough to scorch my chest and plunged into the pack. Cold smoke slithered ’round me, but the dancing light was bright enough to keep the shadow creatures at bay. They parted, and I saw the dazzling fire of their eyes, and the slack dark clay that hung in the shape of their faces. If they could feel anything, I’m sure it was pain.

I dug for the key and prepared to take the steps two at a time. It was an old gesture, smooth with practice, and it would have seen me through the front door in a second or two had it not been for the smallest of the ghouls: a hungry little child who had once been called Roach, who crouched at the foot of the steps, just low enough to catch my foot and send me sprawling.

The torch rolled one way. The key another. Like water rushing into a lock, the creatures swept toward me. Roach came first.

That poor, ruined boy. Had I the power, I would have saved him, or killed him, but that was far beyond me. He reached out, hungry still, the writhing tendrils that had replaced his arms running up my unfeeling legs.

I kicked him in the face, knocking him down the steps, and stretched for the key. It was hopelessly out of reach.

Roach’s smoky limbs dug into the stone, and he launched himself at me. I rolled out of the way. He landed as silent and gentle as a cat, and crawled on all fours, mouth dangling open, eyes burning horribly.

I shoved myself backward up the stoop. Something flickered on my thigh. It was my dress, catching fire. I had rolled onto the torch and not even felt its bite. Roach lunged again. I wrapped my fist around the torch and swung it upward, catching him on the chin and scattering him among the herd.

I scrambled up the last few steps and tried the handle. Locked, of course. I banged on the wood and didn’t even feel it shake. I leaned on the door, and the shadowy host climbed the steps to greet me. There was nothing between us but the torch, and it was beginning to die.

The ghouls reached the top step. They stretched out their hands.

The door opened behind me, and I stumbled backward—graceful as ever—into Hellida’s arms.

Her hair was wild, her eyes were bright. She looked gaunt, hungry, exhausted. She had been waiting for countless hours, waiting for the door to fail, waiting to fight and die. She was not expecting me.

The ghouls followed me inside and closed us in a ring.

I unscrewed the gas can and tossed the lid aside. They unfolded their limbs across the floor, and smoke swept up our legs.