I struck the wall on my way down, for the Thing’s arm struck me after my jaws had closed like a trap and I’d applied torque with my entire body, crunching and tearing away at its gullet before I let go to drop back. It was the arm and not the talons that connected with me, though. I dropped, momentarily senseless, to the floor, a terrible taste in my mouth, as the Thing from the Attic came into sight at the head of the stair and commenced its descent.
Seeing the Thing from the Steamer Trunk reeling and clutching at its throat, dripping steaming juices, the Thing from the Attic slowed for a moment, regarding the carnage. Then it rushed downward.
I pulled myself to my feet, preparing to face it as it thrust the reeling one aside and came on. Instead, though, the dying one seemed to take its descent as another attack, swung toward it, and raked it with its talons. The Thing from the Attic seized it, snarling, and bit at its twisted face. At my back, I could hear Jack moving about, bottling slitherers. A moment later, the banister gave way, and the pair on the stair were in the air.
Lightning flashed again, and again, and again, thunder coming and staying, becoming its steady accompaniment; and yet more flashes walked through the sky, entered at the windows, fluoresced the ubiquitous green to an eye-piercing intensity. The sounds of the rain were submerged. The house began to shudder and creak. Copies of _The Strand Magazine_ fluttered floorward from the mantel. Pictures fell from the walls, sets of Dickens and Surtees from their shelves; vases, candelabra, glasses, and trays slid from tables; plaster descended like snow from the ceiling. Prince Albert stared at the blizzard through cracked glass. Martin Farquhar Tupper lay atop Elizabeth Barrett Browning, their covers torn.
When the Thing from the Attic rose, shaking its head, rolling its eyes, casting wild glances about, the other lay still upon the floor, steam still rising from its scaly throat, head twisted to its left.
I seemed to hear Growler, prompting me to try for the throat again, and I slashed forward, attempting to repeat my earlier move.
I missed my target as it drew back, attempting, belatedly, to grapple me to it. My impact staggered it, however, and I slashed its left shoulder as I fell.
Immediately, as I secured my footing, I seized its right leg above the ankle and ground down for a bone-cruncher of a bite. It recovered quickly and kicked me with the other foot. I hung on for another second’s damage before releasing it and scrambling away, able to ride with the second kick. One, I figured I could take in trade for something that would slow its movements. But I lack the bulldog sensibility as well as the physique.
The lightning and thunder had continued steadily the entire while, the thunder now having achieved the state of a continuous roaring, as of a tornado singing its deep-throated song about the house, and the intensity of the light had us moving through a tableau of green and black, where tiny sparks now danced upon the surfaces of everything metallic, and all of my hair was on end for reasons other than the stimulus of combat. It was obvious now that this was no normal storm but a manifestation of magical attack.
I tried for the Thing’s other ankle and missed. Turning, I slashed at the arm which swung at me. I missed that, too, but it missed me, also.
I darted away, growling, roared and feinted to its right. It put weight on the injured ankle to reach after me and went off balance, struggled to recover. I was behind it immediately, passing on that side, and worrying the ankle again, from the rear.
It bellowed then as it tried to reach me, but I hung on until, finally, it cast itself over backwards in an attempt to fall upon and crush me. I relaxed my hold and tried to move away as it did so, but a flailing arm struck me on the head, knocking me to the floor, doubling my vision.