Both of you knew now, if you didn’t before, that the ghost was in the room.

You didn’t need to worry about what it would do next.

It was already throwing Donovan off the stool and into the floor.

You finally released your finger from the shutter. You had to set the camera down.

Donovan fought for his life on the floor. He was reaching up and grabbing for something that you could not see. The blankets that already swamped the floor were starting to coil around his feet, grabbing, shifting as if alive.

You shoved the camera off your lap and onto a stool. You didn’t care what happened after that, even as the camera fell off balance.

Donovan was shouting obscenities, but the comforters and sheets swarmed over his face. He was muted in a blink, but he was still putting up a blind fight.

You tripped getting out of your chair, hand colliding with the bottom end of the crucifix sitting over the side of the bed. It jostled from its place, slipping from your grip and onto the floor.

You heard a shriek as the blankets ripped and parted to avoid even touching the cross from its fall. Your stumble cost you momentum.Your hands went deep in the covered floor, and trying to wrench them free was futile. All of the cotton and fabric held your hands down in something impossibly comparable to stone. There was some give, but the trap was pulling back at you. You were trying not to think about what would happen when your knuckles hit the floorboards.

Donovan was still yelling his heart out. You could make out colorful language through the layers keeping him quiet. You were only going to be worried about him if he exhausted all his air. At this rate though, you started worrying anyway.

“Some demon you are,” you grunted, a half-yell while you tried to wrench your arms free of the floor.

Donovan, somehow in response as if he could hear you beneath those blankets, ceremoniously raised his arm, which was being fought back down with the sheets snaking up to his elbow.

You didn’t intend to watch him past the unceremonious flip of his middle finger, but you couldn’t seem to look away when a dark smoke started billowing from under the pile of blankets, enveloping his arm.

You either thought Donovan chose now of all times to be spiteful, or the specter was now taking the time to harm him. You didn’t care for either option.

Your feet were still free for the time being, and time was wasting away with the blankets and loose cotton slithering its way toward your ankles. The crucifix was just a foot away from your arms. You needed it closer. You needed to wield it.

You shifted your weight onto your arms and lifted yourself.

Immediately, you start sinking, and all the blood rushes to your head. Your pulse pounds behind your ears.

Thump-thump.

You kick off the floor.

Thump-thump.

You lean and fall forward.

Thump-thump.

You swivel to your left, and your foot lands square beside the crucifix.

Thump-thump.

You push on your arms again and kick the crucifix back with your heel.

The sheets once again ripped themselves apart to avoid it. It slid close enough for your fingers to barely lower through the new tears and grab it.

Hundreds of threads then shred at that moment. A hiss broke throughout the room, and whatever sheets had their grip on your arms fell slack. You were on your feet after finally stumbling your full weight forward, crucifix in hand.

You flashed the cross at the growing mass of sheets, cotton, and Donovan. More shrieking tore through the threads and parted the fabric. The smoke here too parted like the sea. You were thankfully exposing the detective from his captor, but what you found was unsavory, unnatural.

There wasn’t much left of the detective. That is to say, you didn’t recognize the detective any longer. With the mass of blankets now slack, whatever it was underneath was pushing its way up, scratching, tearing the blankets away. You were suddenly aware that it was large, much larger than Donovan. Bestial arms and legs emerged, and what escape plan you had was now very crowded. It was no exaggeration to say that a horned demon emerged from the pile of blankets, but it was better to describe it like a ram-horned, bipedal wolf, mouth riddled with green fangs.

You went slack, lowering your guard as the demon gained its bearings. You didn’t know what else to do. You had the crucifix on hand, but this was Donovan after all. You assumed anyway.

The creature blinked as if awakening, then stared for a long time.

“‘Some demon,’ huh?” the demon spoke. It was using your own voice against you, an all-too-familiar trait already. You sighed.

“Are you… all right?”

“Fine. Thought I’d have to do the saving around here.”

“More capable than I seem, thank you.” Donovan slumped slightly, a furrow in his brow.

“Whatever. Now what?”