The latch shifts with a small click.
Quinn does not move at first. The rain continues against the glass, steady and unbothered, and for barely even a moment he convinces himself the sound belongs to the storm and not to anything choosing to be heard.
The lower pane lifts.
Cold air spills inward, damp and carrying with it a scent that does not belong to rain. It is sweet in the way fruit becomes sweet when it splits open and collapses into itself, thick and overripe, and beneath that sweetness lies, the smell of decay.
A forelimb hooks over the sill and immediately presses down onto the desk beneath the window.
Claws drag across the wood as it pulls its weight forward, and the desk gives a strained creak under the sudden pressure. Another limb follows, joints bending too sharply before correcting themselves, and then the narrow line of a ribcage slides through the frame as the thing forces itself inside.
The impact shudders through the wood, ink bottles rattling softly in place. The lamp trembles but does not tip.
It crouches there, four limbs folded beneath it, weight centered and balanced as though the desk were simply another branch.
In shape it resembles a wolf only from a distance, and only if one does not look long. The hind legs are lean and corded, built for propulsion, ending in narrow clawed feet that grip the desk's surface. The front limbs are longer than proportion allows, capable of bearing weight but built with additional intent; the joints rotate inward when it shifts, wrists turning as if they could just as easily become hands.
Fur runs along its back in uneven patches, clumped and irregular, as though it began growing and then stopped. The rest of it is skin — grey in places, pale and stretched in others — pulled tight over bone at the ribs and hanging slightly loose beneath the throat. Veins branch faintly beneath the surface, visible where the flesh thins.
Around its neck hangs a thin string.
Dark with moisture.
From it dangles a small iron key.
It does not look at Quinn.
Its head is lowered, attention fixed entirely on the object resting against its own chest. One of its forelimbs shifts, claws scraping as the wrist rotates inward, digits lengthening, separating, becoming almost fingers.
It grips the string and pulls it off of its head, it stares at it for a moment, so infatuated with the key that it does not acknowledge Quinn.
Suddenly it drops the key, and it strikes the desk with a sharp metallic crack before skidding a short distance and settling near the edge.
To Quinn the sound is as loud as thunder, his panic causes him to hyper focus on the creature, so much so that he has stood without even realizing.
The chair legs scrape harshly across the floor behind him, the noise loud and abrupt, breaking Quinn out of his daze and panic for a mere moment.
The creature's head snaps up.
Its face is a ruin held loosely together. One side sags lower than the other, as though the bone beneath had once collapsed and been forced back into alignment without care. The skin across its cheeks is thin and broken in small seams that weep slowly, threads of pus mixing with diluted blood that trails along the curve of its jaw.
Its eyes do not blink.
The flesh around them tightens and releases in a steady pulse, visible beneath stretched skin. The pupils dilate and constrict once, twice, and then settle on him.
It had not seen him.
It had only seen the key.
Now it sees both.
Its mouth parts slightly, its jaw hinges wider than the structure of its skull should allow. The corners and center of its lips are split and poorly healed, reopening in thin lines as the skin strains. Teeth crowd together inside, layered and uneven, some blunt and worn, others narrow and needle-thin, all slick with cloudy saliva faintly threaded with red.
The smell thickens as it lifts its head.
Sweet rot, sour milk and old blood.
Quinn steps back, his vision slightly blurred as he focuses on the creature alone.
The creature shifts forward on the desk, claws digging into the wood for traction as it moves, and the additional weight bows the surface with an audible groan. One forelimb extends again, the joint rotating as it reaches toward the fallen key, but the motion places more strain on the already burdened desk.
The wood cracks.
A splintering fracture runs through the center as the creature's weight shifts fully forward and the desk gives way with a loud slam.
The key jolts from its place and slides off of the surface, striking the floor below with a sharp metallic clatter before spinning out of sight.
The creature drops with the collapsing wood, landing on all fours amid the fractured remains, claws punching into the floorboards as it stabilizes itself.
Quinn continues backward until the wall meets him.
He feels relief for a moment, his hand searches for a door handle as that is where he intended to go yet the bookshelf presses into his shoulder blades. He feels panic rush over him all at once, the room now feels all too small despite the distance he had made with the creature.
The creature's spine lengthens as it lowers its body, every limb aligning for forward movement. Thin lines of fluid slide from a split beneath its eye and drip soundlessly to the floor.
Quinn shifts his weight without thinking as he tries to push further back into the bookshelf in his panic, he feels a thump in his head as he gets ready to go for the door and as he turns.
His elbow catches the shelf, causing a few books to fall.
They fall hard, the thuds heavy and sudden in the ruined quiet.
The creature reacts instantly.
Its body compresses, muscles drawing tight beneath thin skin, claws biting deep grooves into the wood as it adjusts its angle toward him. It growls lowly as its jaws begin to open, its mouth splits into four as the corners of its mouth tears, and the center of its face spreads wide. Blood and saliva drip on the floor as it continues to stare at Quinn who is frozen in fear.
Quinn moves barely; his feet begin pointing to the door and his feet begin pushing off the ground.
Seeing the sudden movement the creature lunges.
The movement is explosive, hind legs driving, front limbs stretching forward as its jaws opens wider, causing its skin and flesh to tear even more. The smell of sweetness and rot flooding the space between them as the room, patient until now, finally breaks into motion.