She heard it enter the room, its claws scratching at the wooden floor. It sniffed the air, it had to know she was here. It remained still, panting quietly, rhythmically. Footsteps. Her heart soared, mother. The feet stopped at the kitchen entrance, heavy booted feet. Not mothers feet. The small man with the wolf.
“In ‘ere is it?” asked a deep voice. It was answered by a low growl. “Good, I ‘ate chasing ‘em ‘round,” the short man laughed “Alright pretty, come on out.”
Evelyn went very still. All instinct screamed at her to run, but run where. She didn’t understand what was happening, why it was happening. For reasons she couldn’t fathom she found herself rising to her feet. At least she would look this bastard in the eye. Something akin to indignation began to riot through her. How dare they, this was her home. She looked at the short man, never had she regretted anything so much in her short life.
Short and barrel chested the thing had overlong arms and large feet. Its face was a twisted crag of scars with large ears framing a misshapen head. It leered at her with dark eyes, it was filthy. Dark brown smudges ran down from its mangy crusted beret, her brain recognised it as blood. She wished it hadn’t. It wore a balding fur waist coat and ragged pants that ran into large iron capped boots. The thing grinned revealing a row of yellow and black teeth filed to points. In a gnarled hand it held a spiked club with the same stains as the beret. They were blocking her exit. The hallway that led to freedom, a simple corridor that held so much promise, was denied her by these two beasts. She didn’t know why, the why didn’t matter her brain told her, survival mattered, it was paramount.
Movement behind them caught her eye, the mirror in the hall. Was that a face? The wolf made another low growl. The thing hobbled to the right around the counter, the wolf to the left. Run! She scrambled over the counter and made for the hallway as fast as she could, the wolf almost upon her as she grabbed the stairway banister and swung sharply onto the stairs. The scratch of claws on the wood floor told her the wolf had over shot her. Taking the stairs two at a time she was onto the landing and into her room, the door slamming closed on the wolfs head. It yelped in pain and began clawing at the door. She slammed her chair under the handle and then moved for her desk. The vanity mirror moved. She caught a glimpse of amber eyes, autumn hair and a smile. It was nothing her brain told her, bar the damn door!
Moving the desk close she knocked the chair out of the way, a filthy hand shot through groping for a handhold. It smeared dirt along the nice white walls. Mother would not be happy she thought, finding it odd she cared. The man thing grunted as it applied its weight to the door. Snatching the nail scissors from the desk she hacked at the arm in a frenzy. Cursing the arm withdrew.
“Ya filthy little bitch,” it roared as it slammed its weight into the door. Her favourite perfume fell from the desk and shattered on the floor. Bathroom ordered her brain. Quickly she got into the small bathroom and locked the door. It wasn’t much, just a slide bolt but the door opened inward and the room was narrow. She braced her back against the wall and her feet against the door.