Chap­ter 38 begins with Kit­ty anx­ious­ly watch­ing the rearview mir­ror, her voice trem­bling as she won­ders if Patri­cia will be all right. They sit silent­ly in Maryellen’s parked mini­van, far from the bright lights and curi­ous eyes of town, wrapped in dark­ness and fear. Mrs. Greene affirms that they are all fine, but their silence betrays their shared doubt—especially regard­ing Patricia’s con­di­tion. As the clock strikes sev­en, they real­ize time is no longer on their side. There’s no more space for hes­i­ta­tion; action must replace fear. The deci­sion is made qui­et­ly, and the three women step out into the cold, armed not with cer­tain­ty, but with a sense of neces­si­ty.

Car­ry­ing a red-and-white Igloo cool­er and a Bi-Lo gro­cery bag, they move quick­ly and qui­et­ly down Mid­dle Street, choos­ing stealth over con­ve­nience. Their dark cloth­ing and delib­er­ate silence reflect the weight of their mis­sion. Kit­ty, always one to dis­tract with ner­vous chat­ter, begins talk­ing about Christ­mas gifts—her way of cop­ing with the mount­ing pres­sure. Maryellen’s sharp response snaps her back into the moment. Each woman car­ries a dif­fer­ent fear—Kitty’s is emo­tion­al, Maryellen’s is prac­ti­cal, and Mrs. Greene’s is hard­ened resolve. They reach James Harris’s home, a loom­ing struc­ture of shad­ow and silence, and remove their shoes before slip­ping onto the porch, choos­ing to trade com­fort for silence. Every detail, from hid­den lights to echo­ing cheers in the dis­tance, under­scores the dread press­ing down on them.

Inside the house, the chill deep­ens. The only sound is a radio play­ing clas­si­cal music—serene, yet deeply out of place. They climb the stairs as qui­et­ly as pos­si­ble, mov­ing with the unease of peo­ple walk­ing into a night­mare they wish they could wake from. A sound upstairs breaks their tension—a low, rhyth­mic noise draw­ing them toward the mas­ter bed­room. What they find stuns them into frozen dis­be­lief. Patri­cia, under some unnat­ur­al trance, lies exposed, and James Har­ris crouch­es between her legs, feed­ing with mon­strous hunger. His body puls­es like a machine dri­ven by pri­mal need, and for a long moment, none of them can move. The stench of blood and flesh fills the air, thick and offen­sive.

Kit­ty, regain­ing her sens­es first, swings her bat with all the strength she can muster. Her blow lands with a sick­en­ing metal­lic crack, but it hard­ly fazes Har­ris. Patri­cia moans in a mix of pain and plea­sure, lost to the hor­ror around her. A sec­ond swing con­nects hard­er, but still, he doesn’t stop feed­ing. When Har­ris final­ly turns, his face is smeared with blood and mad­ness. Kit­ty swings again, but this time he’s ready. He knocks the bat away, grabs her by the shoul­ders, and slams her back against the door­frame, then throws her across the room with ter­ri­fy­ing ease. Her body crash­es into an arm­chair, but she scram­bles back up, refus­ing to sur­ren­der.

Mrs. Greene swings her ham­mer, but it glances off Harris’s skull. He dis­arms her effort­less­ly, send­ing her stum­bling into the bath­room. Maryellen, par­a­lyzed by fear, drops both her weapon and her con­trol, the knife land­ing beside a pud­dle of her own urine. Har­ris advances on Mrs. Greene, drag­ging her back across the tile. Her attempt to resist is brave but futile—his strength is unnat­ur­al, over­whelm­ing. Just as he looms to strike, Kit­ty charges from behind and crash­es into him like a wreck­ing ball, forc­ing him into the bath­room. Their bod­ies slam against the porce­lain and tile, and they col­lapse in a tan­gle.

Kit­ty, though out­weighed and bruised, refus­es to let go. She press­es him into the ground, using every­thing she has to keep him pinned. Her screams for the knife go unan­swered until Mrs. Greene shouts for Maryellen to throw it. For once, Maryellen responds—not per­fect­ly, but enough. The knife lands near Mrs. Greene, who mirac­u­lous­ly catch­es it. Kit­ty holds on, her hands dig­ging into Harris’s skin as he bucks and thrash­es beneath her. She finds her moment, and with both hands grip­ping the han­dle, she dri­ves the blade down into his exposed spine.

Harris’s scream is more than sound—it’s vibra­tion, pain, rage, and fear all at once. Kit­ty grinds the blade upward, feel­ing it slice through tis­sue and bone. Har­ris jerks, flails, tries to lift her off, but she adjusts her weight and forces the knife deep­er. His pow­er begins to fade, his body weak­en­ing beneath her, his motions slow­ing. Final­ly, the force that once made him unstop­pable gives way. Kit­ty, breath­less, blood­ied, and exhaust­ed, remains on top, push­ing down with every­thing left in her body. What’s left of Har­ris gur­gles beneath her, the mon­ster final­ly break­ing into pieces. And still, she holds on—because any­thing less might not be enough.