The Prompt
The clattering of the tea cup against its saucer rang through the formal living room. Its hand-painted periwinkles and gold leaf rim were normally safe in the hands of the Countess, but today the cup chattered in unsettling clinks. The noise disturbed the Countess’ attempts at composure, so she placed the china safely on the glass table before her. As she did so, the door opened suddenly, making her jump farther back on the silk settee.
“George, must you enter so frighteningly quickly?” She accosted the man, who remained by the doorway.
“My apologies, your ladyship. I will do my best to be less…frightening, in the future.” The butler gave a small smile, to which the Countess responded with a relieved chuckle. Taking her laughter as forgiveness, he walked into the well-decorated space.
“I suppose it’s just this storm that has me on edge,” she confessed, with a brief glimpse to the ever-darkening scene beyond the window’s delicate frame. From their place on the hill, they could ordinarily see a small town in the distance, with vibrant green mountains beyond that. But today all charm was washed out in the sea of deepening purples, grays, and blacks descending into the valley. The Countess had watched as it grew closer, as the rumbles became roars, until it was too much for her to take.
“I thought your ladyship might wish to know that there has been a letter from town,” George ventured. The Countess perked up at the news, and eagerly took the envelope from his gloved hands. He continued, “Your brother has decided to wait out the storm at his office. He feels, and I must agree, that it would be too dangerous to ride back in such weather.”
“At least he’s indoors,” she sighed, “though I do feel he’d be safer here.”
“I understand your fears,” he comforted, “but all storms must—” A flash of light burst into the room, accompanied by a thunderous boom. The china rattled on the table, and the pair felt the very floor beneath them shake. It was enough to crack George’s professionalism into a primal fear, a fear reflected in the Countess’ eyes.
My continuation
Even the countesses' two dobermans, normally unfazed during the dreaded storms, were unsettled. Boffo stood and started for the door as if he had heard something there. Tipper remained at the countess' feet, alert and at the ready to protect her if need be. They had been trained well, and for good reason. The countess was a woman with a grave secret many thought would be best left untold.
That's when they all heard the scratching. Some creature was dragging itself up the front steps.
George opened the gun cabinet and handed the countess her ever loaded revolver. He knew she wouldn't have to use it, but it seemed to comfort her to have it in hand at times like these. For himself, he chose the Yellow Boy Winchester, a weapon that had saved the countess more than once before. The countess took her position behind her wingback chair, Tipper silently sitting at her side. George headed for the door where Boffo quietly waited for instructions.
A crack of thunder shook the house once more, but this time the shaking of the house caused them no concern at all.
It was what they saw on the porch at the same moment that stopped their hearts.
This is my entry to 
My continuation needs a continuation! I'll buy 1 sbi for the first 5 people who both enter @Zeldacroft 's contest AND write a continuation of my continuation. Hopefully someone has read this far.
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