I backed away into the far corner, my mouth working in terror. I tried to call for help, but couldn't get a word out. And the beast squirmed and changed like a vast amoeba, writhing and twisting from one grey oily shape to another.
I sank to the floor, numb with horror—and then realized that the monster wasn't approaching.
It was just staying there, making faces at me.
Making faces. Like a bogeyman.
It was trying to scare me to death. That was how Max Feld had died, that was how Leo Mickens had died.
But I wasn't going to die that way.
I rose and confronted the thing. It just remained in the middle of the cabin, blotting everything out behind it, stretching from wall to wall and floor to ceiling, changing from one hell-shape to another and hoping I'd curl up and die.
I stepped forward.
Cautiously I touched the monster's writhing surface. It was like touching a cloud. I sank right in.
The monster changed, took the dragon form again—much smaller, of course, to fit the cabin. Teeth gnashed the air before my nose—but didn't bite into my throat as they promised to do. Nervelessly I stood my ground.