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There was something prowling around the house, something cold and greasy and hungry. Mack could feel it. He hastily got his Glock out, slapped the magazine into place, and chambered a round. The weight of the weapon made him feel better, less naked, but it didn't make him feel safe. He stood back five feet from the window and sidled over until he could see the back yard. Whatever it was that had decided to visit him was invisible in moonlight, but he could see the grass being crushed under its feet as it circled the house, moving widdershins. It came to the back door. The door thumped against its frame, and Mack heard something scraping it, as if something with long claws was trying to dig through. He found himself praying. His eyes lit on the white knife and he picked it up with his left hand. It felt clean and light. He stood up straighter. The door rattled and then stopped. Mack felt the thing begin prowling again; it was angry and frustrated. He looked at the bedside clock, where the red LED numerals showed 4:12am. Dawn in about two hours. The creature would probably go away—unless it had an ally that could ignore the wards.  

Home invasion part 2

(Yes, I know part 1 had a Glock)

Downstairs the floor squeaked as something man-sized moved across it. I checked the safety. I thought about kneeling to be steadier, but I didn't want to risk making a noise. As long as I stayed still, I'd be silent. If I was silent, whoever it was wouldn't know where I was. When he came up the stairs, he'd find a shotgun pointing at his head. He'd surrender. Or if he didn't, he'd have to rush up the rest of the stairs and around the railing to get at me. If he had a gun, he'd still have to get his hands up and turn before I could pull the trigger. No way. I'd yell "Freeze!", he'd see I had the drop on him., he'd surrender. As long as he came upstairs, that is.
If he really wanted to screw with my head, he'd stay downstairs. I thought he was looking for Gwen but if he was actually hunting for something else, money or a magic ring or documents, hell, a secret cookie recipe, he could sneak back out and I'd be standing here all night, holding the shotgun.There was no way I was going downstairs. If he was still there, waiting, I'd be an easy target. He was in the den now, coming step by step to the foot of the stairs. I could still hear him moving, along with distant traffic and the sounds every house makes when it's dead quiet. But he might be able to move silently, if he paid attention. The breath moving through my nostrils sounded loud to me. I opened my mouth to breathe silently. My hands were trembling. Adrenaline or fatigue? I could have been standing here for two minutes, or ten. Maybe more, I couldn't tell. Standing here, unmoving, felt like combat. Time dilated.
I checked the safety. There was a light on downstairs, and a streetlight shining through the guest bedroom window. That meant my shadow was behind me. He wouldn't see it as he came upstairs. I felt an urge to check behind me to see that my shadow was where I thought it was. I didn't dare turn my head. If I did, he'd race up the stairs while I was distracted. But what if there was someone else, silent, coming up behind me? I remembered that movie, where the guy is at the top of the stairs, blazing away at the sicarios downstairs, and someone quietly walks up behind him and shoots him in the back. I glanced over my shoulder, fast, and back to the stairs. No one was behind me. I hadn't seen my shadow in that half second look. That bothered me. But I wasn't going to turn my head again.
Movement on the stairs. Suddenly I was totally calm, focused, steady. I inhaled and closed my mouth, teeth on lower lip, ready to yell "Freeze!". Step, step. Step. Its head came in view and I fired without thinking.  Pump, clack clack, shoot again. The thing fell backwards, claws scrabbling at the drywall.
It was a troll.