[While he gropes in relative silence the beast outside stops its caterwauling and fusses, talons clicking and screeching on the rock. Shifting from assault and presses its ugly, spongy-wet face close. Only then does Richie think to switch off the flashlight.

It doesn't make a sound. Doesn't have to, it has them corned and all three know it.

The kid comes up with nada. Figures. When he retracts his arm the monster is back at playing battering ram and Richie's balls try to hitch back up behind the bone. Even so, he catches the rip. Richie shoots J.J. a dirty look that can no longer be seen, only sensed.]

One whole inch smaller, my god, what a world of difference.

[Their pursuer sounds off in delight. The scrabbling resumes. Richie flinches and presses closer, shoulders bunched and rising.] What's the point if we can't both leave? We have to think of something else.