The door...

The door to the house caved in shortly after Marshall entered the bathroom. It trembled for a few moments, resisting the forces that beat on it outside, but the walls supporting it were weaker. Blame it in cheap American pop up construction.

Dust from the plaster cast walls scattered into the kitchen. It veiled the entrance of a figure that skittered in. Cellulose nails scrapped the hard wood floors as the being walked around. A distinct sniffle could be heard as the creature attempted to sound anything living out.

A calm settled in the apartment. It was as if Marshall's whole predicament was a weird hallucination. The silence lasted for what seemed like a while. Marshall even began to relax.

His whitened knuckles on his brown hands spoke volumes about his stress levels. The strength he was gripping the ladle had caused it to bend slightly. Exhaling, he dropped his guard.

"Is this a prank," he asked himself with some degree of denial.

He placed the ladle down on the sink to turn the faucet on. His hands still trembling from the excitement. He looked at his face in the mirror wrought with distress.

"Keep it together," he chanted. It was a grasp at straws from a breaking man.

"Why me," he asked the air. The question lay in the air as a whimper. "Why?!"

Frustration set in as he struck the ceramic sink. A deep and dull thud was produced, but the apparent weakness in Marshall's body and mind did not allow him to muster much strength.

Things became eerily still. There was no noise. The only thing that rang in his ear was the metallic screech of fast flowing water. He splashed his face. The water dropped from the contours of his sharpened cheekbones, his smooth brow, and his rounded jawline.

"Fuck me," he said in a half whine.

He~e. He~ee. He~eee.

A whining noise replied.

There was something at the door. The sounds of water running drowned the low wails. It sounded as if a dog was sobbing ever so lightly in the distance. That's how Marshall would have liked it but his trembling hands still grew worse.

HEe!

The noise grew louder with clicks of steps. Strange gurgling continued. The water stopped. Marshall stood very still. There was water still dampening his hands, dripping into the sink, yet he made no moves to dry them.

HeRNgh!

A sad moaning sound came from outside the bathroom. It was much alike a dogs cry for attention. The oddity of the sound lay in the fact that Marshall owned no more pets. He especially stayed away from purchasing dogs after his childhood pet passed away.

'I'm not crazy,' he complained mentally. 'There's something out there.'

Shliick. Schliiick!

A scratch came from beyond the bathroom door, followed by the sound of whistling and distressed breathing, while blood pooled beneath the space between the floor tile and the bass of the door.

Marshall's face contorted with fear. He scrambled to grasp the ladle. With it in his hand, at least he'd have some comfort. His breathing quickened to the point where anything he tried to say to calm himself was stifled.

Beads of sweat dropped into his eyes, but the man didn't break his attention from the door. His legs seemed so feeble in the moment, looking as if they'd buckle and fail him at any time, yet he stood.

Paralyzing fear. In experiencing the unknown, it can sometimes leave a man broken.

On the opposite side of the door stood a dog that looked like an English Terrier. It had curly gray fur where it had fur and seemed to have ballooned to the preposterous size of large dog. On its body were several long lacerations to the back, dropping blood here and there, while it's neck was ripped open. Blood dropped from the upper jaw of the dog as the lower jaw hung weakly to the side.

Schlick!

It scratched outside the door as if to ask the man inside to let it in.

HeRNGH!

It's whine was more resounding.

Marshall, still paralyzed with fear, only knew one thing.

'The door... It ain't opening, you fucks!'

Generating strength from the core of his hips, Marshall propelled himself back to the wall between the sink and the toilet seat. He pressed himself into the wall as if to blend in. Every second seemed eternal as he counted the moments until the scratching would stop.

The question was, however, what would happen after the scratching stopped. The young mans mind churned at what felt like light speed. In a moment, he concluded he must be alone or one of the very few. Something large enough to knock his walls down, hitting a reinforced door, would have to have the strength of a rhinoceros.

In a worse case scenario, he would have to fight it. Coming to the conclusion where running from a rhinoceros didn't seem plausible only took about five seconds. That was enough time for Marshall to regain some composure. His body still had jitters from his lapse into despair. It was odd for him, though, how easily one can accept the possibility of death when faced with it.

'Ain't no way what's out there is friendly,' he thought. 'But I gotta do my best. It's all I've got.'

Skkrrrnch!

The scratching continued. The door wobbled as the force behind the scratches magnified. It was as if the creature wanted Marshall to know it was upside that he was making it waste its time.

Skkrrrrrnch!

Pow!

A deafening pop came from the distance. Then everything lay quiet. Not a whimper was heard. Not a noise outside. There only was the relieved exhalation of Marshall's stressed lungs and bladder. The only thing in Marshall's mind, 'Guns.'