[Excerpt from a work of fiction by P.J. Stokeworth]
As Gregory and Aliya crouched in the dark of the upper hall, they could hear the thing drawing close. It had followed them from the forest, through the garden, and into the house. Now as they leaned against the wall, exhausted and terrified, they could hear it coming up the stair. Moving slowly, it scraped along, exposed bone dragging across wood and carpet. A ragged panting foretold its passage as dead air was pushed through a throat eaten away with rot.
Reaching a grim conclusion, Aliya swallowed. Her face went slack and she gave Gregory a final glance before plunging through the window glass, into the moonlight and night air. At the sound of her delicate body smashing against the cobblestone below, Gregory let out a keening moan. As he did, his voice was matched by an unearthly howl from the stairwell, and the rapid scratching of clawed feet, rushing up toward him.