Blessedly, Deacon's attack turned the thing's attention away from Scott. He saw the golf club strike the glistening, pus-like mass, snapping off due to the sheer impact of the blow.  The monster staggered, and gibbered, but did not fall.  Desperately, Scott scuttled back on his hands, crab-like, while he sought for a weapon--any weapon--to use against the monstrosity.<br/><br/>There, underneath the table, was against all probability a kitchen knife.  Scott shot out his hand and grabbed it.  It appeared to be a bit rusty, but still maintained an edge and a sharp point.  Pulling himself to his feet with the aid of the table, he dodged a lumbering, flailing arm, and stabbed the creature in the ...back.  Well, what he assumed was its back, anyway.  He stabbed again and again, driven by sheer mindless terror and adrenaline.