I couldn't say—and it struggled back to its feet. I watched it take a step back up the driveway, then a step toward the street, too confused to choose, then collapse once again to its knees.
It edged forward, using its claws to crawl, and finally fell flat to the ground. I felt like I hung in that moment for hours, waiting for a twitch, or a lunge, or a shout—but nothing came.
The entire world was frozen and motionless.
I waited another moment, long and desperate, before daring to take a step out. The demon was inert on the driveway, lifeless as the cement it was lying on. I crept out of my hiding place and inched forward, never taking my eyes off the body.
Faint wisps of steam drifted up in the night air. I walked slowly toward it, squinting against the brilliant onslaught of the headlights, and stared at it.
The feeling was peculiar, like a visceral thrill building rapidly to transcendence—this was not just a body, it was my body, my own dead body, lying perfectly still. It was like a piece of art, something that I had done with my own hands.
I was filled with a powerful sense of pride, and I understood why so many serial killers left their bodies to be discovered: when you created something so beautiful, you wanted everyone to see it.
It was finally dead.
But why wasn't it falling apart, I wondered, as the spent organs had always done before? If the energy that kept it together was gone, why was it still. . . together?
A flash of light caught my eye, and my head jerked up. The light had come on in my front-room window. A second later, the curtains were pulled aside. It was my Mom—she must have heard the demon's roar, and now she was looking for an explanation. I ducked down next to the car, out of the headlights, and just feet away from the dead demon. She stayed in the window a long time before moving away, and letting the curtain fall back into place. I waited for the light to go off, but it stayed lit. A moment later, the bathroom light came on, and I shook my head. She hadn't seen anything.
The demon twitched.
Instantly my full attention snapped back to the fallen demon, so close I could practically touch it. Its head rolled to one side, and its left arm jerked wildly. I rose up from my crouch and stepped back. The demon flailed its arm again before planting it firmly on the ground and pushing up. It raised its shoulders, head still drooping, then kicked its leg shakily to the side. It wrestled with the leg a moment before giving up and reaching out with its other arm. It was crawling forward.
I looked up just in time to see another light go on—this time in my room. Mom had gone in to check on me, and now she knew I wasn't there.
Do something! I shouted at myself. The demon pulled itself forward the full length of its spindly arm, then reached out with the other. Somehow it had managed to revive itself, just like it had when it killed Max's dad. Only this time it didn't have a fresh body lying a few feet away—the nearest source of organs was me, and apparently it didn't know I was there. Instead it was crawling . . .
Toward my house.
Its claws dug into the asphalt just beyond the gutter, and it started to pull itself forward again. Its movements were slow, but deliberate and powerful. Every move it made seemed just a little stronger, just a little faster.
Another patch of light, and a burst of movement—my mom had opened the side door, and she stood in its light like a beacon, her heavy overcoat draped over her nightgown. Her feet were shoved into her high-top snow boots.
"John?" Her voice was clear and loud, and had the raw edge I'd learned to recognize as worry. She'd come out to look for me.
The demon stretched another arm forward, emitting an unearthly growl as it pulled itself closer to my house—faster now than before, and more eager. It was leaving black gobs of itself stuck to the asphalt, sizzling with unnatural heat as they decomposed in seconds. Mom must have heard it, for she turned to look at it. It was nearly halfway to her now.
"Get inside!" I shouted, and bolted toward her. The demon's head jerked up, and it reached out wildly with its long arms as I went past. I ran to the side, giving it wide berth, but it heaved itself up to its feet and lunged for me. I stumbled to the side, and the demon fell, missing me by inches. It slammed back to the street, howling in pain.
"John, what's going on?" my mom shouted, still staring in horror at the demon in the street. She couldn't see it clearly from where she stood, but she saw enough to be terrified.
"Get inside!" I shouted again, dashing past her and pulling her into the doorway. My gloves left dark red stains on her coat.
"What is that?" she asked.
"It killed Neblin," I said, yanking her back into the house. "Come on!"
The demon was back on track, crawling straight toward us with its brutal mouth of luminescent, needlelike fangs. Mom started to slam the door, but I grabbed it and forced it back open.
"What are you doing?"
"We have to let it in," I said, trying to shove her back toward the mortuary. She wouldn't budge. "We have to make it easy, or it might go next door."