The dead woman reacted wildly to the shriek, rushing Malcolm with its arms held high, grunting loudly. He pulled the trigger. The ball struck the corpse in the center of the chest and tore a huge hole in it, but then the thing was on him. Its strength was surprising and a flailing limb slapped the pistol, sending it clattering across the stone floor.
Fingers seized his throat, cutting off his air with a powerful grip that dug deep despite the folds of thick wool. Malcolm grabbed the arm and putrid flesh dissolved in his hand until he held only cold bone. He blocked a wild swing from its other arm but he was unable to bring the second pistol to bear. It was all he could do to hold the thing at bay as the corpse jammed him into a corner.
Malcolm head-butted the undead woman. He heard a dull crack as its skull caved in with the shallow impression of his forehead. It staggered back. He planted a foot in its chest and kicked it farther away, with the sound of more bones snapping.
Gulping air into his desperate lungs, Malcolm brought his remaining Lancaster up and fired numerous booming shots in quick succession, the quad barrel spinning with a violent hiss of steam. Each ball slammed into the dead thing, forcing it back across the kitchen. When the gun clicked empty Malcolm drew a long savage dagger.
Then it saw the young woman rush in and dart toward a row of hanging knives and mallets. Before she could reach the tools, the cadaver seized the woman by the hair and pert high collar. The woman twisted to face her rancid attacker. She was pulled close against the coating of ooze leaking from a variety of jagged openings. As the horrid creature struggled with the woman, it turned its crumbling back to Malcolm.
He charged, grabbing the corpse around the neck to drag it away from the terrified woman, but it was like trying to move a rail of iron coated in grease. Bits of rotting clothes and desiccated flesh came away in his hands. He saw the young woman rearing back and pressing her small hands against the monster’s emaciated chest.
A buzzing noise intensified in the room. Malcolm’s skin started to tingle with electricity, his hair rising on his scalp and arms. He wasn’t sure what was happening. He shook his head as a bluish aura enveloped the corpse. His first instinct was to get away, but he couldn’t abandon the petite, bonneted woman. Then he saw multiple spidery arcs of electricity crawling over her slim hands.
It was the last thing Malcolm saw as the stunning crash of Thor’s hammer falling to Earth reverberated in the room. He found himself airborne and smashed against a wall before the world went dark.
Malcolm came around to someone shaking him urgently. Everything hurt and his head was spinning. His eyes barely focused on the worried face of the young woman hovering over him.
“Oh, thank the Lord, you’re alive,” she exclaimed, clutching his rough hand.
He shoved himself up dizzy onto his elbow. “What the hell was that?”
The woman flinched. “I … I don’t know.”
“Are you hurt?” Malcolm asked groggily.
She looked amazed. “That, sir, seems a rather ridiculous statement when you are the one who was unconscious.”
He laughed and rubbed his eyes. “Just being polite.” He sat up straighter and felt none the worse for wear except for a sore back and the nagging heat of mild burns. He grinned wryly at her. “We have never been properly introduced. I’m Malcolm MacFarlane.”
Her expression continued to hold a look of stunned shock, like a startled deer caught in the rush of Penny’s infernal motorized contraption with its single blazing lamp.
“Jane.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Jane Somerset.”
“My pleasure, Miss Somerset.” Malcolm examined the red scorches on his hands and forearms.
Jane’s attention turned to the cadaver that was burned and blackened. It began to collapse into a shapeless pile. “That looked like Mrs. Higgensbottom, but that can’t be.” Jane stared back at him in confusion, and then offered, “She was the cook here for sixteen years till she died a year ago. That’s when I volunteered to help.” She clutched her hands together and wrung them fretfully. “But I recognized that dress. We buried her in it.” She went dreadfully pale and whispered, “There were … were … maggots.”
Malcolm was worried she’d faint. He tried to attract her gaze away from the sizzling thing on the floor. “Miss Somerset, that flash of light, it seemed almost like lightning.”
Jane glanced at him quickly but remained silent.
“Did you see it?” he asked.
“No.” Her retort was too quick and too quiet.
Malcolm took her hand firmly in his and examined it. She gasped at his boldness but didn’t pull away. There wasn’t a mark on her skin despite the fact that he had seen arcs of lightning envelop her hands completely. “It seemed to come from you.”
“No!” She jerked her hand from his, and said in a desperate quivering voice, “I’ll ask you please not to talk about it, Mr. MacFarlane, if you are a gentleman, sir. I beg of you.”