What can I say? I turned to run. Getting killed by a gang of insane burglars was not how I envisioned dying. The one who was screaming grabbed my arm and wrestled me to the ground with strength far out of proportion to his wizened frame. He glared at me, and something in his eyes compelled me to obey. "STAY DOWN, YOU MORON!" he shouted in my face, and turned to face his companions, who seemed to be swinging various implements through empty air. Each weapon was different: A tire iron, a book, a cane, even a fluffy feather pillow. The screaming man raised his kitchen knife, and charged back into the fray, his continued roaring seemingly giving his allies fresh heart as they swung ever harder at nothing.
Then something seemed to happen to the fellow with the book. He doubled over, as if he'd been punched in the stomach, and then fell to the ground. His friends immediately circled around him, swinging their odd assortment of tools with a desperate air, as if fending off an attack from empty air. In the confusion the fallen book was kicked into my head, and for a moment I saw... something. I don't know. It looked like something out of one of those nursery rhymes, the old, bad one with kids getting their thumbs chopped off for sucking them. I think it was called the Scissor Man. One of its razor arms was touching the fallen man, who had began to convulse.
It screeched at the men still standing, then the guy with the pillow slammed it into its head. It staggered back, and then I couldn't see it any longer as the remaining maniacs piled into it as one. After beating the floor for awhile with their makeshift weapons, they stopped. The screaming man stopped screaming. They turned to their fallen comrade and picked him and his book up, and began to file out my front door. The woman was the last out, and she turned to me as if to say something, but then shook her head and left.