Matthew Everett snapped awake.
He rolled over onto his side, and checked the time. Dimly glowing red numbers told him that it was 3:05 in the morning. An atrocious time, he thought. Matt flopped back against the pillows.
Seconds later, a growl perked up his senses. Sitting up, he listened carefully. Silence. He lay down again.
Something solid rammed into his bedroom door. A spasm of fear jerked Matt's body. Barely containing a shriek, he rolled to his right and fell on the floor. Grabbing the multitool by his bed, he ran next to the door and flipped through various tools. Screwdriver, bottle opener, screwdriver again, pliers-come on Matt come on Matt come on Matt-the first screwdriver again, scissors-BAM at the door again-back, to the bottle opener again, knife. Oh, glorious knife.
The hinges busted with a last bash. Matt blindly stabbed the knife and hoped he hit the assailant. He punctured air.
Something hissed from below him. Matt emitted a high-pitched eep-ish noise. Another hiss. Blindly, Matt took a step and leaped into the pitch-black hallway.
The thing seemed to have had the same idea too. Something had jumped-or pounced-, but Matt must have leaped over it.
Matthew landed, and quickly looked behind him. Moonlight shone on a patch of his carpet. The thing had landed in it, giving him a clear view.
It was his cat, Homer.
Homer turned around.
A chunk of his torso was flopping out on the poor cat's right side. Black fur was missing in various places, and Matt could only see one eye.
Another hiss.
Tears beginning to swell up in his eyes, Matt dove into his mother's room, adjacent to his. Slamming the door with his foot, he heard his cat ram into his mother's door too. He lay on the carpet for a moment, trying to figure out what turned out to be the most popular question in Raccoon City that night.
He uttered six words- what the fuck is going on?
Getting to his feet, he flipped the light switch. What a bad move that was.
Mathew saw the most hideous sight of his life.
His mother, in a tank top and shorts, was hunched over what must have been his other cat, Sadie. Blood ran down her face as she tore off chunks of cat flesh.
Matt blew chunks.
At this, his mother looked at him. Mouth dripping with blood and catgut, her eyes barely seemed to notice him.
She made a noise somewhere between a sigh, a moan, and a throaty growl.
Poetically, a single tear dripped down Matt's right eye.
Mother turned towards son, and shuffled closer.
No. he thought, not realizing he had spoken the same word too.
Matt jumped onto the bed, put one foot on the dresser by the window, crouched, and dived headfirst through the cheap glass.
He was out of the apartment.
Directly into what he would soon be calling Hell.