"I am here," I called back. "There is someone at the door. He seems to know you."
She came around the corner, looked at me, and then turned her gaze to the door. She did not yet see the man directly, only how he was just crossing the threshold. He wore a hat, his head bowed low so that his face remained hidden in shadow, completely concealed.
As he entered, he nodded politely yet his face stayed unseen. Then he spoke again, quiet and clear:
"Thank you, Gabriel."
In that moment, I felt my heart skip a beat. I had not told him my name it was as if he had plucked it straight from my thoughts.
Only now did my mother seem to realize who truly stood there. Her face changed already at his voice; as if she had heard an echo from a long buried memory. Her eyes widened in horror. She turned pale. I had never seen her like this before.
"Gabriel, come to me. At once."
She sounded determined, but I heard a tremor in her voice.
She pulled me slightly aside. She looked at the man, then briefly at the old, hidden chest in the hallway that chest we children had always been forbidden to touch and then at Father, who at that moment came down the stairs.
"Get the weapons!" she said, clear and sharp, leaving no room for objection.
"They are here."
The man said nothing to this. His silence filled the room heavier than words, as if he had only come to watch. He merely looked at me kindly.
Then his gaze fell on my chest, on the dark stone I wore.
His hand twitched briefly in the air, as if unconsciously recoiling.
"It still protects you," he said softly to me.
"But not forever."
Then two other beings entered the house.
The first crawled across the floor, with twisted limbs and joints that cracked grotesquely with every movement, while its skin was stretched too tightly over the bones.
The second crept along the ceiling, grotesquely upside down, its head slightly twisted as if gasping for air. Its eyes were pale, empty holes. Both creatures let out a faint, disturbing wheeze, as if they could never quite get enough oxygen.
My stomach turned. I could not scream fear choked my throat. Everything about them was wrong. Like puppets that had been broken and pieced back together. My knees shook so violently I could barely stand. I pressed my hands against my chest, as if I could hold down my heart that was pounding wildly.
I grew cold. I could not breathe. The smell of rot and iron crawled into my nose; I wanted to retch.
By now my father had reached the bottom of the stairs, had opened the old chest, and drawn the weapons. The air vibrated strangely as he lifted them out.
I stared at him at the man I knew as Father, who usually read books and held our hands and suddenly he stood there with a blade in his fist, as if he had waited his whole life for precisely this moment.
Then the noise began.
Father struck the first attacker to the ground. The creature burst apart with a ghastly sound wet, unnatural, revolting. Something splattered across the floor, and at last I screamed shrill, breathless. I could not believe this was truly happening.
The second creature leapt from the ceiling. Mother intercepted it, fought with all her strength, but was struck on the arm by the razor-sharp claws, staggered briefly, and attacked again.
I stumbled back against the wall, hands over my ears, but the sounds still came through splintering, crashing, bodies colliding. I wanted to look away, but I could not.
The fight was brutal, brief, loud. Furniture shattered, walls cracked. Every strike sounded heavy, violent, final.