Sullivan waited for the man with the car coat and expensive gloves to leave.
This would stop now.
The hallway was still and dark; from upstairs the murmur of television sifted through the closed bedroom door.
He smiled, then climbed. The noise would mask the sound of the claw hammer he was going to put in her cheating skull.
Sullivan reached the top, gently pushing the door open.
The hammer dropped from his fingers.
He had the impression of writhing, whipping limbs. Something hit him in the chest; a blur of short, wet, wiry fur.
He tumbled back, and in the street light's slanting glow saw the gleam of teeth.
A rasping snarl from above. More creatures appeared now, pouring toward him. Sullivan raised his arms.
A gloved finger carefully dropped the letter plate, malevolent laughter masking the crunching sounds.
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