Chris opened his eyes, but felt as though he still had them clenched shut. He was engulfed in pitch black. He sat up and stared around, waiting for his eyes to adjust. After several minutes, his night vision had not improved much, so he raised his arms in front of him and started to move forward. The last thing he remembered was entering his home, and then, nothing. He awoke in the dark, in a crumpled heap. He was not even sure if he was still at his house. Pain suddenly wracked his leg as he smashed into something on the left of him. Reaching out, his fingers brushed against plastic. He wrapped them tightly around the object and realized it was a phone. He raised it to his ear and was not a bit surprised when he heard no dialtone.

   Finding the phone encouraged him a bit, though. He knew he was still in his home and he had navigated the house enough times stone cold drunk that he felt there would be no problem doing so in the dark. Moving forward slowly, Chris made his way to where the hall closet was. His hands slid along the wall searching for the doorknob that should have been there, but never found it. In fact, his fingers never even found the doorjamb or casing. The door wasn't there. Maybe he went into the wrong house afterall. Suddenly, the room illuminated in a blinding flood of light.

   Chris fell over from the bright intensity. He started to backpedal away from the light, and ended up crashing into the buffet stand in the hall. The buffet crashed over onto its face. The sound of splintering wood was deafening as the floor beneath gave way and the buffet and Chris both went crashing into the basement. Chris crashed hard onto the concrete floor beneath him, smashing his head hard and knocking him nearly senseless. 

   Chris picked his battered body up from the floor and limped to the foot of the stairs. The all-too-familiar snarling raised from the darkness to his left, only, the sound had changed. It seemed to Chris as if the sound had gotten softer, more feminine. It was almost inviting. A familiar odor arose from the shadows, covering the damp, dank smell of the musty basement. Instead of the foul, putrid stench of rot, a sweet, flowery perfume smell drifted to Chris' nostrils. Poison. That was what it was called. Hell, at sixty dollars an ounce, he'd better remember what the **** was called. A five ounce bottle of the **** had caused one of the biggest fights he and Stasia had gotten into. At Christmas, no less. She was upset that he had spent so much money on perfume, even though it was her favorite. He was just being thoughtful, at least, that's how he saw it.

   Reaching for a shovel hanging on a rusty hook that was mouted into one of the overhead cross-beams, Chris turned to face the beast. He saw that the front legs had gotten shorter, almost like arms, and the beast looked more like it was hunching over than walking on all fours. The face had changed more as well. There was no longer a snout. A human mouth and nose had replaced it. The face was still covered in fur, but the features were human nonetheless.

    The shovel came free of the hook and Chris did something that even surprised himself. He started growling at the creature. A deep, low, gutteral growl. The creature recoiled for but a second, but it was enough to give Chris his opening. He swung the shovel full force at the beast's head. It connected with a sickening metallic thud. The beast screamed in agony. It didn't howl or yelp. It screamed. A remarkably human scream. Chris spun on his heels and bolted up the stairs.

   The screaming continued to get louder as Chris spilled through the door at the top of the stairs, only, it was no longer coming from the basement. It was coming from everywhere and it wasn't just getting louder. It was rising in octave. Chris could hear glass shattering all around him. Intense pain shot through his head and then his entire body as his eardrums exploded. He crumpled weakly to his knees and silently screamed, the sound forever lost among the siren song that filled the world. Once again, the world went black.

   When his eyes finally opened again, Chris was staring into a bright light. It reminded him of the scenes in movies when someone had a near death experience and awoke in an ER, staring into an examination light. The glare hurt his eyes. Though he felt numb, he was aware of the pain in his right arm and his head pounded like a million beating drums. Chris tried to sit up, but found it impossible. He struggled and struggled but could not sit up or move his arms or legs. Squinting his eyes, Chris was able to see that he was strapped down to something with his arms straight out to the sides in a crucifixion type manner.

    Though he could not hear anything, Chris was aware of movement in the room with him. The bright light hovering inches above his head made it difficult to see anything clearly, but he was definitely not alone. Someone, or something, had him trapped and was not going to be letting him free anytime soon. Panic started to overtake him and Chris started screaming. He knew he was screaming because he could feel the sounds escaping his throat, though he couldn't hear a single thing.