THE CAT'S MAW

CHAPTER XIII (Part 2)

Billy screamed as the first wave of vermin charged down the slope. He grabbed his pack and swung it in front of him, sending squealing bodies smashing into the wall. He backed into the corner as more scurried towards him, swinging careless and wild. He felt something cling to his leg, and bashed it with his fist before it could climb past his thigh. Another climbed on his bag, and paid the price as Billy hurled it against the cornerstones. 

"Get back!" he yelled, grabbing one on his sleeve by the tail and flinging it into the pack. The sea of rats parted, watched their comrade hit the ground, and swept back in to hold their position. "Get BACK!"

Billy swung the bag and waved his light as he shouted, hoping to frighten them off. The rats scurried back and forth looking to flank the boy, inching closer and closer as they gnashed their pointed teeth. The boy felt his arms start to seize and become leaden in the mounting din of hisses and squeals.

There was a loud THUMP from beyond the room.Then another. And a CRACK. The rats shrank back in unison, lifted their heads, and twitched their whiskers.

Mrs. Thomas, Billy thought. She's awake.

"Help!" he yelled. "I'm downstairs!"

There was another thump, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Some of the rats stood on their hind legs and sucked at the air. Others ran in nervous circles, rubbing noses with their brethren. The rest scurried up the ridge, flattened their tails, and began to hiss and screech. 

Billy watched them with a mix of dread and fascination, but in the madness of it all there was something that he missed – a black, oily thing the size of a small dog. It had lidless eyes, gnarled ears, and deep scars on its flanks. The thing was slinking along the wall, dragging its hairless tail through the muck, preparing to strike from the darkness.

The group on the ridge shrieked as one, cuing a violent symphony of growls, yowls, and gurgling whimpers.  Billy held up the light and saw a tornado of vermin on the ridge and the broken rat bodies being tossed down it. The ones near the boy's feet began burrowing into the ground, clambering up the walls, and fleeing in panicked packs over the far sides of the ridge.

They're being attacked, Billy thought. Slaughtered.

That's when the creature struck. It leapt up the foundation, dug its foul claws into the moss between the stones, and pounced on the boy. Before Billy had time to react, the monster had its jaws clamped down on his hand, drawing blood.

"Get off!" the boy screamed, flailing and shaking and trying to smash the thing against the stones. The rat was relentless, digging in its claws to hold fast, and then scurrying around Billy's wrist at the threat of another blow. It kept on biting, tearing at the sides and palm of his hand, and leaving gaping wounds in his flesh.

Billy wailed and toppled into the hole he had dug. He tried to trap the thing beneath him, and squash it against the stone. But the thing squirmed free, and ran up his arm towards his neck.

Then there was roar. It was a primal, ferocious cry that rang in the boy's ears. The roar was answered with a defiant hiss. Then came the terrible shrieking, which at last ended with a sticky, sickening crunch.