"Is he coming?"

"Shut the fuck up, Kit."

"How long do we -"

"I said 'shut the fuck up', Kit."

"But where … holy shit."

And there it was - swaying drunkenly and huge in the suddenly small doorway, the reek of chewing tobacco and old sweat running off of it, grey and lumpy and gnarled and deformed and wheezing quietly, something that could only be a winking, erect penis stabbed violently forward before it.

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Ten yards away, the unlucky Ethan lay, breathing with the slow, shallow rhythm of morphine dreams, his pale body shining and coated thick with KY.

Jonestown turned bright-white eyes towards the frozen-still shape of the gape-mouthed Kit and hissed "You say one word or make one sound, and I'll kill you myself."

The massive, thick thing staggered forward, a terrible parody of stealth, the room creaking as his weight settled around them. Jonestown shot a look to Xun, her head shaved after her experiences of the horrible night before, who clutched her long straw like a dagger in both hands.

The beast stopped above the tight circle, huddled in sleeping bags on the floor. The thing bent down and licked the side of Xun's head, and she went stiff as a board, holding back a scream and possibly a torrent of tears.

Uncle straightened up, surveying the landscape. Within a minute, someone was going to be on their way Upstairs. As quietly as he could, Jonestown whispered to Kit, "Not. One. Peep."