In Laymon's Terms

When he reopened his eyes, he found himself standing, searching the darkness for that damn thing which had made his life miserable for much too long. Soon enough, he’d make it join its friends. He’d kill it and leave it there for a few days. Then he’d boil it to make sure it was really dead, just like he had with the others. Then he’d bring the remains here and throw them with the others where it would remain forever.

No, that thing couldn’t live. Not if it was going to keep on tormenting him the way it had for so long now.

But then, the world toppled again and he found himself fighting the small dots of darkness that threatened to overtake his vision. His legs gave out from under him and his body met with the ground for a second time.

It couldn’t live. It couldn’t live. It...

He clawed at the ground, pulling his whole body toward that thing. He clawed and clawed until he felt the blood flowing from his breaking fingernails. He was only inches away from its leg now, only one more push forward and—

Just as he leaned down to pick up the shotgun, something grabbed his leg and pulled him backward. Mark felt his whole body plunge to the ground. A shot of dizzying pain scurried through his body as his whole body collided with the cement floor beneath him. Tears welled in his eyes as another bolt of pain shot down his spine.

He turned to see Bradley clawing at his ankle, a wild grin covering his lips. There was very little that was still human in that face. His every feature had been replaced by something animal, something rabid and thirsty for blood.

Mark turned to look at the gun. It was so close to him! Just a few feet or so and he’d be able to grab it and blast Bradley back to hell. He kicked at the man with his free leg. The first kick went wild, hitting nothing but empty air. He kicked again. This time, to his complete surprise, the kick did collide with the man, hitting him straight on the forehead. A loud scream of pain erupted from the man’s lips. The fingers gripping Mark’s ankle loosened, giving him just enough leeway to be able to push his body forward. The tips of his fingers kissed the end of the barrel. He kicked at the man again and pushed his body forth.

His palm searched the wet floor. When his fingers finally found the hard, circular shape of the barrel, Mark brought his whole body upward and stood over the man. This time, he was the one grinning as he brought the gun in front of him and pointed it at the man who lay moaning at his feet.

Only, the thing in his hand wasn’t the shotgun. He felt a deep-sinking sensation as he realized that he was holding a long, white bone, a bone to which dried little pieces of flesh still clung.

When the thing pointed the bone at him, a loud, happy laugh rose from his throat and burst through his lips. So those things were as dumb as they looked!

He got up from the ground to stand a few feet away from the thing.

Both their heads turned to look at the shotgun that reposed only inches away from them.

Time froze as they both stared at each other, each waiting for the other to make his move. Bradley wasn’t about to make another mistake. He’d play his cards right this time and win the hand fate had dealt him.

Their eyes locked. They both shared a strange rush of anger and fear as they each waited for the other to make his move. The air stood still and heavy and silent around them. Except for the two of them, nothing else lived in their world.

It didn’t surprise Bradley one bit to see that little monster make the first move. Something sparkled in its eyes and a strange grin covered its thin, nearly non-existent lips as its tiny body lunged sideways toward the gun. A faint animal screech burst out of its mouth.

He followed it in its dive, his arms extended in front of him, reaching for the thing’s legs. His fingers clasped around its ankles as they both hit the ground beneath them.

Billy heard the first gunshot echo through the woods and knew too well where it had come from.

Mark!

A shudder of fear sent his body into a stream of panic. His every muscle clenched to render him motionless. He waited, listening to the thick silence of the forest, hoping that what he thought he’d heard had only been the product of his imagination.

But then, another shot exploded through the night and the fear he had been able to drive away for the time being came back to haunt him with a newfound voracity.

“Mark. Jesus, Mark!” Tears welled in his eyes, burning the already irritated flesh of his face. He couldn’t go home now. He couldn’t leave Mark back there on his own. He had to go back and help his brother out.

He turned around and ran in the opposite direction, toward that house, toward that barn, toward that horrible man and his gun.