He listened. Nothing. Then....pitter-patter. Little feet running along the ground. [That's Absurd] Charles
told himself. The pitter-patter continued. He looked around. The inky black walls outside the glass seemed
to hold a secret. The pitter-patter was coming from behind that black wall. It grew, more and more, and
gained in numbers. [They are surrounding the house]. Charles shook his head. [They are not! It's just your
imagination!]. pitter-patter. He could stand it no longer. "Where's the #@^($#* flashlight?!" He began to
rummage hurridly thtough one of the boxes.

Click.

His heart stopped at the sound. He raised his head to the glass doors. A huge animal stood in it's wake. It
blended in perfectly with the night. It's eyes glowed an evil green in the blackness. A paw appeared, then
dissipeared into the black. An instant later it reappeared with a resounding crash!

The glass tinkered to the floor. The monsterous animal stepped through, and let loose a roar. Charles bolted
through the other  door. Down the hall, into the living room, and through the wide open

how the he--

front door. The pitter-patter of many, small feet resumed, seeming to come from the blackness at his feet.
He could hear the black beast crashing its way through the living room. Charles skipped blindly down the
stairs, guessing where the trail was. The pitter-patter was getting louder now. He bounded down the walkway.
A branch caught his foot, nearly twisting his ankle. His heart was beating so fast that the blood was blasting
into his brain. He was now darting down the walkway next to the pool. A quick movement to his left, and he
ducked just as the mountain lion lept off the patio toward him. It's claw slid accross his neck, drawing a fine
line of blood. The cat landed with a roaring splash in the pool. All around the crickets were cricketing louder
and louder, the frogs croaking louder and louder, the owls hooting louder and louder.

The pitter-patter was growing louder and louder.

He dove off the sidewalk and scampered down the hill to the other cabin. Accross the porch. He reached the
large, strong, oak front door. He threw it open, threw himself inside, slammed it shut, and locked the door.
He was in a large living room. Tables and sofas and such were all around. There was a huge stone fireplace at
the back. Next to him was a great wooden staircase that lead up to the second floor bedrooms. Straight ahead
of him was the master bedroom. And to the right of that, the door to the kitchen. He breathed a sigh of relief,
and began to walk forward toward the bedroom. The glass windows had the draps pulled over. But one of
them wasn't a window. One was a door. Another glass door, with the draps hiding its face. Charles shivered.
The cold in the room seemed to be getting colder. Silence reigned.

He made it to the bedroom door. As he placed his hand on the knob, a sudden squawking and squeaking erupted
from the fire place. Hordes of bats came vomiting out. They flew in a great frenzy to the roof. Charles watched
in horror as they dove down--toward him squawking and shrieking filled the air. Their wings, and small claws
began harrassing Charles. They beat his face, his head, his neck. He waved his arms frantically, trying to drive
them off, but to no avail. Cuts were now oozing out blood around his eyes and nose. His ears were ripped to
tatters, but the bats continued beating him. He ran forward toward the stairs, briefly leaving behind the frenzy.
He dived down under the lowest step, and curled into a ball, hoping to hide from them. He waited, anticipating
the coming assult. He waited, eyes closed tightly, teeth clenched. He listened.

The squeal of the bats was gone. Not a sound could be heard.

He slowly uncurled himself and crawled out from under the stair. The bats were nowhere to be seen. The room
was empty. He checked the ceiling, but no they wern't there either. They were nowhere. He was looking at the
fireplace opening, where the bats first came from, and massaging his ears, when a cold, evil, line traced its way
up his spine. His heart began to beat faster again. His breath was becoming gasps. His vision fell from the fireplace,
down the wall, across the furniture, to the glassy door. The two red eyes burned through the draps.

Charles took one look and ran. he turned and bolted up the stairs, taking the huge, wooden steps 3 at a time. He
reached the middle step when the glass downstairs broke. He kept going, not looking back. The pitter-patter had
resumed, more menicing than ever, on the roof above his head. He reached the top of the stairs and dashed down
the hallway. He reached the door, flung it open, and rushed inside.

He was in the guest bedroom. Two beds were next to him, one on each side. A little ways up was a dresser and a
desk, one on the left, one on the right. Even farther up was two more beds, again one on each side. At the end a
bed was layed sideways against the wall. There was a window above every single one.

He flinched his head upward. The pitter-patter was right above him. He could hear it running down the roof like
a gargling stream rushing down a mountain. It was flowing down the center of the roof, then branching off at
different places. Toward the windows. Charles's fear reached its climax. He didn't want to find out what was
making that sound. He did the most logical thing he could think of. He paniced. On the floor, in the middle of
the room, was a trapdoor leading to the master bedroom below. He ran toward it. That instant, all the windows
smashed simultaneously, throwing glass across the room.

And they poured in.

continue