It was cold. The wind blew in from the broken window. Shattered glass covered the kitchen floor, reflecting the full moon's glare. Water dripped from a faucet upstairs.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.


She shivered in the closet, afraid.


Where is he? Its been forever.


The house was silent. Except for the faucet.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.


She opened the door quietly. The room looked the same; files containing research about cicatrization, scar formation of a wound, covered the bed. She slowly stepped out of the closet. It watched her.


She made her way out of the bedroom and stood in the hallway.


“John?” she whispered desperately.


Maybe he left to go get help. Maybe, It killed him...


She frantically tip-toed down the hall until she reached the landing. The lab door was closed. She scanned for any signs of life. Looking for John. Looking for It.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.


The house was still and for a moment it seemed like nothing was out of place. But something was out of place; where was John? She made her way down the stairs, making sure to skip the step that always squeaked. As she reached the foyer, her foot touched something sticky. She took another step. Both of her feet were stuck in some sort of syrup. The house was too dark for her to see clearly what she was standing in, but she could see that it contrasted with the yellowed wood floor.

Splat.


Something warm and liquid hit her shoulder. She touched it with her fingers and speculated over what it was.


“What the –” she started, but didn't finish because she belted out a blood curdling scream. She looked up and saw a horrendous sight.


There was John. He hung from the chandelier all mangled and ripped apart. His clothes were shredded and his intestines peeked out of his abdomen. His limbs were pulled back and around into unnatural positions. The once beautiful man she had been married to was now hideous.

Splat.


Another drop of blood fell from his frozen face. His eyes were open, staring.


“Oh God! Why?! Oh God! No!” she screamed as she collapsed onto the ground, covering herself in her husband's blood. Her eyes were closed, her back was to the stairs.

Squeak.


She froze. Her sobs stopped and her eyes snapped open. It watched her.


Oh God. Stay calm, Jennifer. You are not going to die. Remember, you made It.


She stood up and spun around as fast as she could. Nothing. It wasn't on the stairs. She nervously looked all around her and began to make her way towards the kitchen. Her crazy eyes were red with tears and wide open with fear.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.


She carefully stepped over and around the glass. The knife block sat on the counter. She picked out the largest knife; it gleamed in the moonlight. She knew what she had to do. She had to kill It.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.


Sharp nails tapped the floor as It approached. It slunk in the shadows. It bared its teeth and saliva dripped from its fangs. It rose onto its hind legs and stepped into the kitchen doorway. Still hidden by the shadows, not yet within the moon's spotlight. It watched her.


She heard the low breathing. She saw the gleam of two stars watching her.


You can do it. Kill It. Kill.


Suddenly, It roared and came down onto its four legs. She realized she was cornered in the small room. Fear flooded her veins.


It charged at her and she dodged It's claws. The Monster flew into the cabinets with the force of a freight train, causing the granite countertop to crumble and the cabinets to explode, launching pots and pans that struck the tile floor and created a crashing symphony. She scrambled back onto her feet grasping tightly to the knife's handle. It struggled to regain its balance as it swayed from side to side. She took her opportunity to attack.


Screaming, she gripped the handle with both hands and raised her weapon. With all the force she could conjure up, she brought the knife down and drove it into the Monster's neck. It screeched.


It's over.


But it wasn't over. It reached out with its claws and grabbed her legs, ripping them. She cried out in pain as she hit the ground. Her head landed on the shattered glass from the window and pieces of the sharp material lodged into the back of her head and neck. She screamed in agony as pools of blood formed under her torn legs and head. It began to pull her in close. She tried reaching for something to grab onto, but she was too weak. It was now on top of her.


“Why? What did I ever do to you?” she managed to get out between ragged breaths.


“You used me. You made me a monster,” It said, disgusted.


“No. You were supposed to be different,” she breathed.


“Different? How am I any different from Creature, or Thing?” It snarled.


“Please. Please don't,” she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek.


It slashed her throat with its claws and watched the life in her eyes fade away until she was just as dead as her other experiments.


It reached behind its head and pulled out the still embedded knife with a grunt. It shed no blood. The wound began to heal instantly. Slowly It stood and moved away from the mess in the kitchen. It went around the red pond in the foyer and ascended the stairs.

He died. She died. It lived.