Sherman headed to the main bedroom. The scratching was in the next room over, towards the living room. He could get to all of the windows in the main bedroom except for the one behind the desk. He couldn’t see a latch on it as the others had. He leaned over the desk but didn’t have enough leverage to tell if he could move the window. If it didn’t have a lock, he’d have to find something to make sure it couldn’t be opened.

There might be a stick in the basement.

The scratching was still in the next room but seemed to be trying a different window now.

He went down into the basement and checked the windows while looking for a stick. A broom handle could do as well. It was dark, and what little light came in from outside was just enough to avoid stumbling over stuff near the walls. He shuffled forward towards the darkest windows, making sure he didn’t run into anything.

Looking off-center made things hidden in shadow easier to see. Most of the splotches melded into formless shapes.

The cage was still open. Of course, it would be. No one was here to close it.

The washer and dryer were there against the wall. A plastic pipe came up from the floor behind the washer. He jiggled it around a bit. It was loose. The washer hose hung down into it but wasn’t connected. The pipe might work if it wasn’t too long.

He pulled it out of the elbow near the floor. It wasn’t even glued in. Probably put there as a convenience to hold the hose. He hefted it. Its weight was reassuring. Not too heavy, but strong enough.

He finished checking the windows. The rest were locked.

Near the scratching, he saw two bare feet half buried in the mud. Hairless legs stood there looking old, not as an elder might, but as a mummy left out in the rain for a week.

A single strand of hair was pasted against the leg. A few splats of dirt clung on above the ankles.

The scratching.

He needed to get upstairs to make sure the window behind the desk couldn’t be opened. Before that thing got tired of trying this window and moved on.

He turned and almost tripped over a roll of rug that he hadn’t noticed before.

He caught himself without dropping the pipe. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out the scratching.

That would have been a disaster. Just a few more minutes and he wouldn’t have to worry as much about that thing knowing he was here.

Back upstairs, he could still hear the scratching.

It stopped as he passed the room. The thing out there wasn’t too bright. It spent too much time trying to open a window before realizing it wouldn’t open.

Sherman went to the master bedroom with the pipe.

The thing stood at the window staring in at him. It smiled and its eyes opened wider.

Sherman had to make himself move past the door. The window still stood between them, as in the living room, but he wasn’t sure this one would stay in place. He didn’t want to get any closer than he had to. He imagined how it might smell.

A shiver went down his back.

The thought of those wet hands on him if he didn’t get the pipe in place.

He didn’t know what they would do. Strangle him. Beat him. Drag him around like a doll. Perhaps eat his gooey brains inside his crunchy skull. He didn’t know what these things did when they hadn’t transformed properly. He didn’t want to find out.

More of these things would be coming up from the river bottom if they survived the flood.

The thing started clawing at the window.

The movement broke Sherman out of his thoughts. He ran across the room and climbed onto the desk.

Too late.

It had already pushed the window up enough to get its fingers underneath for better leverage. Water dripped onto the window sill from its fingers.

Sherman brought the pipe around and hit its fingers, hoping to make it pull back.

It did.

A look of surprise passed across its face as it stuck the fingers of one hand in its mouth. It looked up at Sherman with eyes that asked why.

Sherman didn’t waste any time. He slammed the window down.

The thing took its hand out of its mouth and started pulling the window up again. It was quicker than he expected. It seemed to know that he could hurt it, and instead of leaving, it was going to try to get to him faster so he couldn’t do that again.

He brought the pipe up to the top of the window, but it managed to open it enough for its fingers again.

He slammed the window down on the fingers again. He couldn’t get the pipe up there if the window was open.

Sherman tried to place the pipe between the window pane and the top of the casement. It didn’t quite fit, even at an angle. He could make it fit; just a half-inch off would do it.

No time.

He tried to hold the window down with his weight. The thing was strong! He had surprised it before, and he would not do that again.

He couldn’t stand here all night. It might tire of trying to lift it and instead find a rock to break in. If that happened, the pipe wouldn’t do much good at keeping the window closed anyway.