The doll-thing hissed at him.
God in heaven, what is this – Showdown at the Twilight Zone Corral?
When the police arrived, he would have to tell them what was happening, even though he would sound like a poster boy for paranoid dementia. Then the mini-kin would either brazenly reveal itself, and the rest of the world would plummet into this nightmare with Tommy or the cunning little demon would hide and let the police transfer their raving ward to a windowless but well-lighted room with rubber wallpaper.
At this moment, Tommy almost didn’t care which of the two scenarios played out. In either case, the immediate terror would be over, and he would be able to avoid peeing in his pants. He’d have time to catch his breath, think about this, maybe even puzzle out an explanation for what had happened here – although that seemed no more likely than his arriving at an understanding of the meaning of life.
The fiend hissed again.
A new possibility occurred to Tommy, and it wasn’t a good one. Maybe the hateful little thing would secretly follow him to the psychiatric ward and continue to torment him there for the rest of his tortured life, cleverly avoiding being seen by the physicians and attendants.
Instead of charging again, the mini-kin abruptly darted toward the sofa, which still stood away from the wall where Tommy had left it during the search.
With the pistol sight, Tommy followed the creature, but he wasn’t able to track it closely enough to justify squeezing off one of his remaining shots.
The thing disappeared behind the sofa.
Buoyed slightly by his adversary’s retreat, Tommy dared to hope that the .40-caliber round had done some damage after all, at least enough to make the little beast cautious. Seeing the mini-kin run from him, he regained a degree perspective regarding the indisputable advantage of size that he enjoyed. A modest measure of his lost confidence returned to him.
Tommy eased across the room to peer around that big piece of furniture. The far end of the sofa still touched the wall, and it was built to the floor, so the space behind it was a V-shaped dead end, yet the mini-kin wasn’t there.
Then he saw the torn flaps of fabric and the ragged hole in the upholstery. The creature had burrowed into the sofa and was now hiding inside it.
Why?
Why ask why?
From the moment the stitches had pulled out of the doll’s face and the first monstrous eye had blinked at him through the tear in the cloth, Tommy had been beyond all the why questions. They were more suitable for a sane universe where logic ruled, not for this place in which he currently found himself. The main issue now was how – how could he stop the beast, how could he save himself? And he also had to ask what next? Even if the utter irrationality of these events made it impossible to anticipate where the night would lead before dawn, he had to try to puzzle out the purpose behind the doll, the course of the plot.
THE DEADLINE IS DAWN.
He didn’t understand that message at all. What dead-line, for God’s sake? Who had established it? What did he have to do to meet the deadline?
TICKTOCK.
Oh, he understood that message well enough. Time was running out. The night was passing as fast as the rain was falling outside, and if he didn’t get his act together, then he was going to be toast before sunrise.
TICKTOCK.
Toast for the hungry mini-kin.
TICKTOCK.
Munch, munch. Crunch, crunch.
His head was spinning – and not simply because he had thumped it hard against the floor when he’d fallen.
He circled the sofa, studying it as he moved.
Fire. Maybe a roaring fire could achieve better results than a bullet.
While the creature was building a nest – or doing whatever the hell it was doing in there – Tommy might be able to sneak down to the garage, siphon a quart of gasoline out of the Corvette, grab a pack of matches from a drawer in the kitchen, and return to set the sofa on fire.