The kitchen was filled with tension as Danny and George returned with the alcohol. Billy had organized the workspace - empty beer bottles lined up on one side, strips of old dish towels on the other. As Danny placed the quarter drum of alcohol on the table, Billy's eyes scanned over their haul.

"Is that all of it?" Billy asked gruffly.

"It's a quarter drum, and yes it is," Danny replied with an edge of annoyance in his voice.

Billy nodded curtly and got to work. "It will have to suffice." He began methodically pouring the liquids from the drum and bottle into the empty bottles, wetting the towels to use as wicks. The three men worked in focused silence, each contemplating what they were about to face.

George's forehead creased with worry as he tied a sopping strip of terrycloth around the neck of a bottle. "Do you think the Molotovs will do anything to that thing?"

"They'll do the job," Billy stated as he finished constructing another firebomb. He was confident in his plan, even if the others weren't. "Grab your gear."

Danny hesitated, his eyes filled with doubt. "Hey wait, can't we go back? Or try another way?" He was clearly scared of confronting the monster again.

Billy shook his head, his jaw set firmly. "To turn back is to commit suicide, to try another way is to play the lottery with time we may not have." He tied one of the Molotovs to his belt and clutched the other tightly.

"You'd really rather face that thing?" Danny challenged in disbelief.

Billy's dark eyes glinted with determination. "Not at all, I just want to save Sam, don't you?" His voice held a hint of accusation.

Danny bristled at the insinuation. "Shove your sarcasm up your ass," he spat bitterly.

George shot Danny a warning look as he got into position by the door. "Daniel..." he cautioned in a low voice.

Danny reluctantly complied, his features sullen. Billy casually tossed a box of matches to the two men and gripped his lighter, flicking it alive with his thumb. The tiny flame danced, casting flickering shadows across his rugged face.

"I'm going to burn the entrance so we can get through. If that thing reacts to the cobwebs like before, it'll give us time." Billy's voice was steady and sure.

George frowned skeptically. "The cobwebs are going to start a fire, and you know it. You want to let the monster burn in there, don't you?" he accused.

"And while we're at it let Sam die in there," Danny added bitterly.

Billy's dark brows furrowed in frustration. "Do they have a better idea?" he challenged gruffly.

Danny and George exchanged uneasy looks but said nothing, conceding Billy's point.

"I'll get the switch, you guys find the door and wait for me," Billy directed decisively.

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George hesitated, voicing the question they were all wondering. "How do we know the light bulbs are working?"

"We don't," was Billy's blunt reply.

With expert hands, Billy cracked the Molotov against the side of the table, leaving hairline fractures in the glass. George took a deep breath and gripped the door handle tightly, glancing at Danny who gave a silent nod of readiness. Billy cracked the bottle again, widening the cracks. George turned the handle, the hinges grinding and squealing with rust. He looked to Billy, who gave one more firm crack to the bottle and nodded firmly.

George pulled the door open. It swung heavily on its rusted hinges, revealing only inky darkness beyond. Billy quickly sparked his lighter, holding the dancing flame aloft for a few seconds before touching it to the Molotov's soaked wick. The flame eagerly crawled up the fabric. Gripping the explosive, Billy strode towards the open doorway and hurled it with practiced aim into the void.

The bottle shattered, igniting the webs and illuminating the warehouse in a sudden blaze of light. For a brief moment, the space was revealed - metal shelves stacked high, cobwebs billowing as they burned. Then the fiery light began to dim, leaving only hulking shadows visible once more.

"Looks like it worked," Billy said, flicking on his lighter to see by as he ventured into the warehouse. He could just make out the shapes of George and Danny peeking tentatively through the doorway before following him inside, knives gripped tightly in one hand and packs of matches in the other - their only defense against the oppressive darkness.

George took the lead while Danny covered the rear, moving slowly with weapons at the ready. Up ahead, Billy smacked into a wall before finding stacks of non-perishable food and indistinct shapes of boxes and bottles. Its cover thick with cobwebs.

Billy's foot collided with something on the floor. He crouched, discovering a flashlight caked in dried blood that refused to wipe away. The beam it emitted was dim and red, but it was better than fumbling blindly in the dark. Knife and flashlight in hand, he pressed onward, ready for anything.

Elsewhere, George and Danny crept through the aisles at a snail's pace, knives at the ready. George held his steady while Danny repeatedly lit matches that did little to pierce the darkness.

"Can you smell that?" Danny whispered, nose crinkling at the faint odor of charred meat wafting through the air.

George nodded, his face serious. "Like burnt pork."

A sudden sound behind them made Danny whip around, his freshly lit match extinguishing from the draft and enveloping them in pitch blackness. He fumbled with trembling hands to light another, and when the small flame finally bloomed, it revealed nothing but empty space.

"Let's keep moving," George muttered, already continuing down the aisle. Danny's flame exposed a trail of blood, its source unseen, staining the floor ahead. They exchanged uneasy looks but pressed on.

Soon the door loomed out of the darkness. "The door!" George rasped. "Give me some light. Let's get the fuck out of here." Danny angled the match at the lock, hands quivering. George fumbled for the right key among the bunch he'd lifted, eager to escape this nightmare.

"What about Billy?" Danny asked hesitantly.

"Fuck Billy," George growled, still struggling with the keys.

A viscous drop splatted onto Danny's nose. He recoiled in disgust, raising the match to see the source. The tiny flame illuminated a horror above their heads that made Danny's blood turn to ice.

"Danny, the fucking light..." George started impatiently before following Danny's petrified gaze upward. Both men froze in abject terror, the match flame trembling violently in Danny's grip. Illuminated above the door was a pair of enormous hairy legs, shifting slightly as if preparing to pounce. More legs followed, accompanied by the sinister scuttle of countless limbs against the ceiling.

Billy was alerted by a panicked scream, his heartbeat thudding as he sprinted down the corridor towards the sound. Bursting into a larger space, the neglected light switch he slapped barely sputtered to life, revealing a gruesome display: bodies wrapped in thick webbing dangling from the ceiling, swaying lightly as if suspended in liquid. Horrified, he glimpsed Danny fleeing through a door that slammed shut behind him.

"Hey no-!" he started, but it was too late. Danny slammed the door shut behind him, the lock clicking into place. "Son of a bitch" Billy muttered under his breath.