With no room for error now, Carson and Sophia retreated to the basement and shut themselves into the bathroom within. Fully aware that they were effectively backing themselves into a corner, they also knew it was the only place in the house where they could hope to trap the monsters. No access to the outside from the bathroom (or vice versa); only one way in, one way out. And Carson and Sophia would be waiting with the best weapon they had.

Fire.

The only foolproof method for killing melon heads in the movie.

Not long after they entered the bathroom, locked the door, and took their positions, the melon heads came back. Through the air vents, Carson and Sophia could hear more glass shattering—they were entering in different ways than the first time.

From there it sounded to them like the monsters were systematically searching the upstairs, forcing and breaking and pushing aside anything that stood in their way. The melon heads were leaving no stone unturned to find the prey they knew were hiding inside.

Several minutes passed as they destroyed the upstairs, but eventually the commotion descended, coming close. Almost time.

A sudden crash against the door ripped an involuntary yelp from Carson’s lips. He squeezed the grill lighter and hairspray can in each hand, checking his finger position on each button trigger.

The melon head rammed the door again, cracking the cheap manufactured wood in two.

Silence. From Carson thanks to considerable effort. From Sophia due to her incredible resolve. From the melon head because of what it saw at that moment. . .

Sophia, waiting.

It attacked. Two strides and a dive at Sophia.

The melon head collided head first with Sophia’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dazed, it mewled. Carson sprung forth out of the tub, igniting the lighter, holding it out in front of him toward the monster. He sprayed the can into the flame.

The monster lit up like a dead Christmas tree, the sudden greenish-orange blaze knocking Carson back.

It screamed. A thousand dying wails. Carson started to put his hands to his ears, block out that horrible noise, but before he could be heard, in succession: a thwap, a screech, and Sophia yelling his name.

Carson spun to find Sophia swinging at the second melon head, making contact, but fruitlessly. He knew what he had to do, but Sophia was too close to the monster. She’d get burned along with it.

Carson shouted at the monster, trying to get its attention. No luck. It was dead set on Sophia, clawing at her now. Sophia screamed. Blood spatter flew across the small room.

No time.

He jumped at the thing, wrapping his arm around it in a sort of headlock. He dug his heels in and yanked backward, away from Sophia.

The melon head chomped onto his forearm as they toppled over.

Carson yelled. A hundred miniature razor blades tearing at his flesh. The hairspray and lighter flew from his hands, skittering across the tile floor.

Panic. But the pain momentarily cleared his focus. He could feel the immense power rippling through the small monster’s body. This was not a fight he could win on strength alone.

He rolled, wrestling with the melon head. One second with his back on the floor, the next second on top of the monster. All the while it clamped down on his arm.

Sophia roared, her aggression and adrenaline palpable, and took a lumberjack swing. Carson felt more than saw the bat whoosh past his face and connect with the monster.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Carson ripped his arm free of the melon head’s clenched jaws—losing more flesh in the process—and was able to scramble away.

“Get the—” he started, but Sophia already had them. So instead he shouted, “Now! Do it now!”

She brandished the lighter, had the aerosol can at the ready.

Sophia clicked the ignitor.

And nothing happened.

The melon head hopped up onto its feet, swinging its head wildly between Sophia and Carson, debating which to attack.

Click, click, click. Sophia tried again and again. She looked to Carson, bewildered, pained. . . scared.

Time was being sluggish, but there was still not enough for Carson to speak. His eyes did the talking, though, protruding from his skull, imploring his cousin to try, try again.

She did.

Click. Hsst. Whoosh.

The melon head went up in flames, bright as the sun in the close quarters of the bathroom, and in seconds became a pile of ashes.

The threat was over.

Carson looked to Sophia. She, wide-eyed, looked back. They sighed so loud it echoed in the bathroom and then burst into hysterical laughter.

“We did it. Can you believe it?” Carson asked.

“No, I really can’t. Oww, damn. That second one got me pretty good.” She pointed at her cheek to a scratch and tilted her right shoulder forward where a gash had torn through her sleeve and into her skin.

“No kidding,” Carson said, lifting his shredded forearm for Sophia to see. “It ought to be fun explaining this to the hospital.”

They stepped over the remains of the door and made their way upstairs. Carson whistled. “To think I planned to move into this place. A tornado might have done less damage.”

The living room looked like ground zero. Not a single piece of furniture remained intact. Broken glass covered the floor. The TV smashed beyond recognition. Yet, miraculously, the front door was in place and whole, the lock still engaged. “Figures,” Carson muttered, then stepped into the kitchen to see the score there.

“You’re moving back?” Sophia asked.

But Carson didn’t answer. He was too distracted by what he found in the kitchen. “Oh, come on!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“My laptop—they destroyed it.” He pointed a hand to either side of the room, to the chunks of his busted computer that had been on the island counter and now strewn across the yellowed linoleum floor.

“You need that for your work, huh?”

“Unless you can think of another way to do web design.”

“Can’t you. . . I don’t know, just buy a new one?”

Carson groaned. “I mean, yeah. I can. But I’m not exactly flush with a couple grand in cash.”

“What, you don’t think you can explain what happened to it to your boss?” She laughed, then must have seen the discontent plastered on his weary face because she quickly added, “Well, you will be getting an inheritance from Gran, right? And if it takes a while to get the money, I can loan you some, no problem. What do you say?”

Carson didn’t say anything. A faint thud from somewhere at the back of the house caught his attention, although Sophia didn’t seem to hear. There is a third one.

She started to speak again. Carson quickly put his hand up over her mouth. She recoiled with annoyance and a measure of disgust, then her eyes widened.

Carson pulled his hand back. His mind racing for a plan, eyes scanning the room. He saw his keys on the counter nearby and decided to grasp at straws. He whispered to Sophia, “Where are your keys?”

She pointed at her bag on the table.

He grabbed his own and nodded. “We’re leaving.”

Carson waited until Sophia could sidle over to the table and shoulder her bag. Another, louder crash came. Carson hit the button on his fob.

His car, tucked inside the garage on the opposite side of the ranch home, erupted into the blaring horns of its car alarm.

They ran. Carson hit the front door first, snapping the lock back and wrenching the door open. Sophia took off. She raced down the walkway to her SUV parked on the street, her bag slapping lightly on her back as she ran. Carson trailed closely behind, leaving the door wide for fear of drawing the hopefully preoccupied monster’s attention with a slammed door.

Sophia had to skirt around the vehicle to get to the driver’s side. She reached it about the same time Carson reached the passenger side. She scrambled inside, too busy with the key at the ignition to immediately realize Carson was still locked outside.

He smacked his hand flat against the window several times, catching her attention. Wide-eyed, she saw the problem and frantically searched for—and struggled to find—the unlock button on the door. Carson shot a glance over his shoulder toward the racket of his squealing car, desperate to see a sign of his distraction working. To his brief delight, he witnessed the third melon head ramming into the garage door with cracking metallic bangs. The aluminum bent and crumpled with relative ease from the force of the melon head but appeared to be holding long enough to keep its attention.

From the corner of his eye, Carson saw movement. He wheeled farther, coming back to face the house and its wide-open front door. An opening suddenly occupied by another melon head, feet scraping and teeth gnashing.

“Jesus, how many are there.” He tried the door handle behind him, but it was still locked. “Come on Sophia. Come on.”

The melon head reared back and blatted that foghorn croak. The one at the garage stopped its assault, turning to notice Carson for the first time. A second passed, then they both charged.

Carson turned his back on them, knowing they’d cross the thirty or so feet of yard in no time. Sophia was reaching across the seat now, trying to push the door open as Carson took his last opportunity.

This time it opened. He pulled it back and leapt in, yanking the door closed behind him an instant before one of the melon heads slammed into it, rocking the SUV with the impact.

“Drive!” Carson yelled.

Sophia threw it in gear and stomped on the gas, the tires spinning and squealing on the dewy blacktop before finding purchase and launching them off down the road. In the side mirror, Carson could see there were three monsters now, giving chase. But Sophia drove fast, not slowing down. Once the gap widened, their pursuers slowed, then peeled off out of sight into the night.

Only then did Carson slouch back and exhale heavily.