PART 2 — THE THING THAT CAME THROUGH THE CEILING

The ceiling groaned.

A thin shower of dust fell across the wooden table.

The woman couldn’t move.

Something black was pushing through the narrow opening above the fireplace. At first, she saw only a curved, glossy surface. Then a second shape appeared beside it.

It was not a branch.

It was not an animal she recognized.

“Get away from the table!” the stranger shouted.

She stumbled backward.

The wounded man grabbed a heavy iron poker and positioned himself between her and the ceiling.

“Tell me what that is!” she demanded.

“Not now.”

“Not now? Something is coming through my roof!”

“I can see that!”

A sharp crack split the room.

One of the ceiling boards broke loose.

A long black appendage dropped into the cabin, swaying above the fireplace.

The woman covered her mouth.

The creature in the glᴀss jar began striking the sides of its container.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The stranger looked at it.

“Don’t let them touch.”

“Them?”

He turned toward her.

“Listen carefully. Whatever happens, don’t open that jar.”

Before she could respond, the ceiling gave way.

A large, dark shape dropped onto the floor.

The woman screamed.

The stranger swung the iron poker, knocking the creature away from the fireplace. It disappeared beneath the wooden table with a sound like dry leaves scraping across the floor.

He staggered.

His wounded leg nearly gave out.

“Sit down!” she ordered.

“I’m not sitting down.”

“You’re bleeding again!”

“I said stay back!”

The creature suddenly emerged from beneath the table.

It was roughly the size of a large cat, with a flattened body covered in overlapping black plates. Its numerous legs moved in a strange, synchronized rhythm.

But its head was the worst part.

It had no visible eyes.

Only a narrow opening that expanded and contracted as it moved.

The woman reached for the nearest wooden stool.

The stranger stopped her.

“Don’t strike it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t hunting you.”

She stared at him.

“Then what is it doing?”

He looked at the glᴀss jar.

“Trying to get back to its own.”

The woman slowly turned toward the creature.

Its head had lifted.

It was facing the jar.

Then she noticed something that made her stomach тιԍнтen.

The creature had a small silver marking along its back.

The same marking appeared on the specimen inside the jar.

“What are these things?”

The stranger finally answered.

“They’re called Hollowbacks.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“They live beneath the northern mountains. Most people believe they’re a legend.”

“Most people haven’t had one crawl through their ceiling.”

Despite everything, he almost smiled.

Then his expression changed.

He looked toward the roof.

“There’s more.”

The woman followed his gaze.

A second shadow moved behind the broken boards.

Then a third.

She backed away.

“How many?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why are they here?”

The stranger looked at the wound on his head.

“Because I carried something they want.”

He reached inside his fur vest and removed a small leather pouch.

It was covered in mud and dark stains.

He opened it.

Inside lay a strange metallic object about the size of a walnut.

It resembled a polished black stone, except for the thin silver lines running across its surface.

The woman stared.

“What is that?”

“A key.”

“To what?”

He hesitated.

“Something that should have stayed buried.”

Before she could ask more, the creature beneath the table made a clicking sound.

The specimen in the jar answered.

For several seconds, the cabin filled with the strange, hollow rhythm.

Then the creature outside stopped moving.

Its body lowered against the floor.

The stranger’s expression changed.

“That’s not good.”

“What now?”

“They’ve found the signal.”

He moved toward the door, but the woman stepped in front of him.

“You are not leaving my cabin until you explain what you’ve brought into it.”

He stared at her.

For the first time, he seemed uncertain what to say.

“My name is Elias Blackwood.”

“I’m Martha Bell.”

“I know.”

She frowned.

“How?”

He looked toward the wooden shelf above the stove.

There was an old pH๏τograph there.

It showed Martha as a little girl, standing beside a woman with dark hair.

Elias pointed toward it.

“Your mother.”

Martha’s face changed.

“My mother died when I was eleven.”

“No.”

He swallowed.

“She disappeared.”

Martha shook her head.

“My father told me she died during the winter.”

“Your father lied.”

The words landed harder than the sound of the ceiling collapsing.

Martha stepped away.

“Get out.”

“Martha—”

“Get out of my house!”

The creature suddenly clicked again.

This time, the sound came from the jar.

The stranger looked down.

The black stone inside his pouch had begun to glow faintly.

He whispered something under his breath.

Then he looked at Martha.

“Your mother wasn’t the only person who disappeared.”

He pointed toward the floorboards.

“Your father found something beneath this cabin twenty years ago.”

Martha went still.

“My father built this cabin himself.”

“I know.”

“Then how could you possibly—”

“Because I was here when he did it.”

She stared at him.

The stranger slowly removed his fur vest.

Beneath it, hanging from a leather cord around his neck, was a small pH๏τograph.

It showed three people standing outside a wooden building.

A young man.

A woman.

And a little girl.

Martha recognized the woman immediately.

Her mother.

The little girl was herself.

But the man standing beside them wasn’t her father.

It was Elias.

Martha looked up.

“How old are you?”

“Forty-three.”

“That pH๏τograph was taken twenty years ago.”

“I know.”

“You look exactly the same.”

Elias didn’t answer.

Above them, the ceiling began moving again.

And then, from somewhere beneath the cabin, came three slow knocks.

Not from the roof.

Not from the door.

From underneath the floor.

Elias closed his eyes.

“Too late.”

Martha gripped the edge of the table.

“What is too late?”

He looked at her.

“The first one wasn’t following me.”

He pointed toward the floor.

“It was leading me here.”