From the bottom of the steps, the attic lay in complete darkness. Gwynn couldn't see any movement, and the noises ceased.

If he turned around now, he could wait outside with the others for the police. They would be able to help Sophia. The police would punish the football team for the prank. It made sense. If the football team didn't have Sophia, wouldn't it be dangerous? Why should he throw away his life? Would anyone have risked themselves for him? If no one cared or respected him, why should he do it for them? What about Jaimie? She had no one else.

Sophia might not even be alive.

Gwynn shook his head. No, that couldn't be true. Not because he still nursed a nine-year-old crush, but because she protected him. No matter how this started, she stepped in to take his place. Even if this was foolish, even dangerous, he had to see it through. He refused to live every day seeing a coward in the mirror.

And as much as he tried, he couldn't deny something up there wanted him.

Taking a hesitant step at a time, Gwynn ascended the steps and let his head breach the attic. The musty gloom made it almost impossible to see. He inched the rest of the way until he put his feet on the floor. He reached up, testing the height of the ceiling. To his left, the thing tugging him called. One hesitant footstep after another took him deeper. The smell of rot assaulted him. His nose recoiled, and he swallowed down a ball of sick. But he couldn't stop. The presence in the far corner of the room beckoned.

Approaching the source, he noticed a faint glow. He faced a tall, floor length mirror. The glass showed not his reflection, but instead a swirling maelstrom thrashing beneath the surface of the glass. Gwynn reached out to touch it.

Something smashed into his midsection, sending him sprawling 20 feet in the opposite direction. Gwynn hit the ground hard and gasped as something snapped in his chest. Every inhalation stabbed his chest, and the ragged breaths filled with sloppy wet. Something stood in front of the mirror, obscuring the hazy glow.

The thing reached the height of a man and had a similar build. Its eyes revealed the creature's inhuman nature; yellow eyes, glowing, feline and starved. The thing growled low and then stuttered in what seemed a laugh.

"More...fresh...good," the voice rasped; like bones being ground together.

Death stood before him. He stretched out his right arm, reaching for anything he might grab hold of to defend himself. He couldn't tear his eyes from the monster that seemed to enjoy letting its prey panic. His hand pressed up against something. In the dim light, he couldn't make out the details, but a deeper instinct sensed a familiarity in it. He pushed harder. It tore.

Like an electrocution, a jolt of fiery white rushed through his veins and flooded his senses. Something old and primal rose within him and took control. No longer hesitant, he twisted his arm, so it tore and then pushed into whatever he held.

Gwynn howled in sudden agony with the sensation of a thousand knives carving the flesh of his arm. Even as pain consumed him, a surge of strength poured from his heart to his extremities. His muscles flexed and expanded, his vision adjusted to the darkness, making the attic bright as a midday afternoon.

Now the details of the thing across the room were clear. While it had a body shaped like a man, its face was disfigured. Its elongated jaw accommodated a mouth full of long razor teeth. Gray, rotting flesh hung limply from its bones. Gwynn understood he should feel terrified. Here was all the monsters he had been told didn't exist come to life. Instead, adrenaline pumped a joyful high through his system. He laughed. He wanted to fight. He wanted to sink a blade deep into this monster's heart. He just had to wrest his arm free of whatever still pinned it.

The creature's face contorted with intense anger, and maybe an element of fear. When the beast spoke, it said one word. "Anunnaki."

The beast charged.

Gwynn pulled at his arm, demanded it free. Whatever held it tried to draw him deeper, like fighting the pull of quicksand. The creature was on him, swinging its arm to take off his head. With a final heave, Gwynn freed his arm and rolled under the monster's swing.

Too slow. The beast's foot landed on his back. Something popped inside Gwynn and stole his breath. The swirling mass in the mirror lay within his reach. It called to him. Tugged at him. Taunted him. Anger rose from his guts like black sick. He opened his mouth and screamed, slamming his right fist into the mirror.

The mirror exploded outward. Shards of glass bit into Gwynn's skin. A gale wind ripped through the attic. Some of the older wood gave way and smashed outward into the night. A white–hot light popped like a flash bulb. Gwynn lifted into the air and flew at an opposing wall. He slammed into it and fell to the floor in a messy heap.

The night air rushed in through the gashes in the attic roof. The breeze felt comforting, sobering, against his flushed skin. He took a painful look at the remains of the attic. He couldn't see the creature. In the corner across from him, he saw a form crumpled on the floor. Sophia.

He tried to crawl toward her. Pain hit him like a fist in his stomach.

"Sophia," he croaked. She didn't move. His vision blurred and dimmed. Gwynn collapsed to the floor. Bright flashes of red and blue from outside shone through the holes in the roof. "Help's here Sophia. Everything...going to be— "

The darkness claimed him.