Two weeks passed and it happend again. The cold night crept over the quiet little town of Redwood. The trees bent slightly at the breath of wind.
In a lamp-lit living room of a small house at the edge of town, Drew Ingle sat reading the last chapter of his favorite book. He turned to the last page and closed the book. His wrinkled hands rested the book on the table as he stood. He walked across the vintage room, complete with varnished wood and antique bookshelfs stacked with books from all over the world. He flicked of the light and slowly made his way up the stairs, carpeted with deep musty red wool.
Exausted, he laid his head on the light, feathery pillow and turned of the lamp on his bedstand. Right before falling into a deep sleep, a noise startled him awake. It was faint, but distinct. Like nails on a chalkboard.
He laid back down and closed his eyes, regarding the noise as a cricket or mouse. But there it was again. Faint, but distinct. He got up to investigate. He slowly walked downstairs, carefully walking against the wall as to not make them creak.
On the last step, the noise silenced. He listened agian, intently. There, again. Same...yet different. More of a...gargle...along with the scraping of nails.
Terrified of what it could possibly be, the old man reached out to his left in search of his umbrella. His long bony fingers wraped around the handle.
He had heard this noise before, two weeks ago, but it hadn't sounded quite like this. He now wanted to know where-or what- it was coming from.
He walked slowly to the corner of the hall and the living room. He was sure that was where it came from. He peered around the corner...and saw the most horrifing creature he'd ever seen curled in the corner.