You judge the distance from deck to yard, and make a run for it. Leaping over the railing, you land about six feet down, on spongy, wet grass. Your naked foot slides underneath you, shattering the ankle, and causing you to yelp in loud, unmistakable animal pain. You know you cannot run. They will be upon you in a matter of moments, so you slide underneath the deck as far as you can manage, concealing the bleeding skin under a layer of leaves and dirt.
Your eyes adjust to the moonless night, and you can vaguely make out more graveyard plots. Is the entire house on a cemetery yard? You wonder, pulling back further into the recess beneath the house. Suddenly, you feel a tight grasp on your broken ankle, and a superhuman strength pulls you under the house, under the deck, under the ground, and into the murky depths of hell. Your scream is swallowed up in one shudder of the house, explained away easily in the raging storm outside.
Your eyes adjust to the moonless night, and you can vaguely make out more graveyard plots. Is the entire house on a cemetery yard? You wonder, pulling back further into the recess beneath the house. Suddenly, you feel a tight grasp on your broken ankle, and a superhuman strength pulls you under the house, under the deck, under the ground, and into the murky depths of hell. Your scream is swallowed up in one shudder of the house, explained away easily in the raging storm outside.