Darkness. A musty smell hung in the air. That was combined with old leather and dusty floorboards.
Charles stepped in, and flipped on the light. The bulb in the middle flickered for a moment, then came
on. The room was filled with antique furniture, a leather sofa, and stone fireplace. Large, glass widows
with the criss-crossed squares were to the side with seats below them. There was a kitchen, an small
but useful bathroom, a storage room, a bedroom, and an attic as well. Charles began to move in...

...A few hours later, 'round 9:30, Charles, having eaten a delightful dinner of steak, mash patatoes with
gravy, cooked carrots, and red wine, was relaxing in the rocking chair by the fire. He had just begun to
write in his journal. He had kept a journal ever since he was 8 years old, and in his study at home, had
a whole collection of journals from then till now. After only a few lines, he heard scurrying on his porch.
He got up and walked over to the window. A squirril was collecting acorns that had fallen off the nearby
tree. In a flash, a blood-red eye appeared in Charles's face. Quick as a wink, he grabbed his 12-gauge shot-
gun, popped in two-shells, and snuck to the door.

He opened it.

The squirril perked up, then bolted. Charles took one step, and pulled the trigger. Blood spayed across the
wood of the porch, and ran down the steps. "Muwwahhahaha!" Charles blew the smoke from the gun and
stepped back inside, pleased with himself...

...he sat back down in his chair. The fire jumped and played joyfully in the fireplace. It cast a warm, orange
glow to his feet. A calm, relaxed sigh came out of him. He picked up his journal, and began to write once
more. There was a tap at the window. He raised his head. Blackness stared right back. Nothing. He continued
to write. He looked back at the window, listening for the soft footfall he just heard.

Silence.

He continued writing. Now he was really listnening carefully as a loud THUD was heard...right outside
his door.

Silence.

He sat motionless for the longest time, then cautiously resumed writing. He had written a few more lines
when a click, click, click was heard at the window. He froze. Then he slowly raised his head.

To big red eyes burned in the night. Cat eyes. Big cat eyes. A paw was on the base of the window, with
one claw extended. click, click, click.

Charles's jaw slowly extended itself downward. The car curled back it's lps and snarled. The glass turned
foggy from the breath, then quickly cleared. Charles had stopped breathing.

Then anther thump at the nieghboring window. Something was there also. Something big. Something hungry.
He looked back toward the first window. The cat was gone.

Silence.

He saw his shotgun 10ft away on a table. Slowly he moved forward. Inch by inch. Still no sound came,
and no movement at either window. He had raised himself from the chair. One foot in front of the other.
Slowly, but surely, moving forward. Around the coffee table. 6ft away now. Charles thought he heard
a beating somewhere. 4 ft. He realized it was his heart. A horrible, lonely block of lead had seated itself
in the pit of his stomach. Even the fire seemed still. 1 ft. He stopped, reached out, and picked up the
weapon. Slowly he turned toward the window. The lead block got bigger every nanosecond. He looked
at the window. Blackness.

Suddenly, the eyes appeared. Big and red. A split second after they appeared a thunderous shattering
was heard, as the creature hurled itself through the window toward Charles. He pulled the trigger.

Click.

He stared down at the shotgun, the fact of Empty registering a moment before the beast landed upon him.
He sprawled across the room, slamming through a table. The claws had begun ripping at his skin. He felt
a warm trickle down his back. With one jolt of energy and desperation, he used his momentum to throw
the creature off of him.

Whether by luck or fate, it tumbled off and into the fireplace. The cat's eyes lit up as the flames kissed it's
fur. It screamed--a scream that chilled Charles's blood--and lept from the fire, biting it's crisp fur. Charles
wasted no time. He lept up and dashed across to the kitchen. As he ran into the he heard pitter-pattering
all around the house. Paws? He dismissed the thought. Through the kitchen, to the bathroom. He shut the
door and locked it. He heard pans crashing and dishes breaking outside. Then a soft thud outside the wooden,
flimsy bathroom door. He turned quickly to open the adjacent door, which led to the storage room. In there,
was his gun safe.

He quickly reached for the latch, and began to slid it open. It didn't move. The scratches at the other door
were more intense now. "Come on, baby, COME ON!!!" The latch remained rusted shut. The wood behind
him began to break. Splinters hit his neck and rolled down his shirt, sticking to the rivers of sweat that had
drenched his back. Beads of the excretion formed on his brow. It was dripping off his nose, and into his mouth,
leaving a salty taste of fear and anxiety. He worked the latch harder. The cracking of wood was greater now.
He quickly glanced back. The carthad it's head through, and raised it in a fanged snarl when he looked, and then
shoved another paw through the door. "Doggonnit!! OPEN!!!" He leaned back and kicked the door open. He
felt something hook his shirt. He turned to see the mountain lion's forepaw attactched to his back. It was now
nearly through.

He ripped himself free, and then dashed into the storage room. One wall had a set of glass doors, and the other
3 windows. Everywhere was dusty boxes filled with stuff. "Where is it?!" Charles exclaimed, frantically ripping
open boxes looking for his safe.[The bathroom couldn't have held this long. Could it?] Charles was quietly
asking himself. His search got more and more desperate. He suddenly stopped not making a move. No more
sound came from the bathroom.

continued