Free The Object: Book One (Object Series) by Winston Emerson

Then she tiptoed to the window, careful to avoid a certain spot on the floor that squeaked if you stepped on it.  Many nights Lillia had snuck out to sit on the roof and be alone.  She'd think about Chase Kolton, or about graduating and going far away to college somewhere.  She'd count the days until Mr. Wilkins would be home.  But if she stepped on that one particular spot on the floor, the loud creak would always wake Drake, who would invariably ask if he could join her on the small slanted roof.
    Sometimes Lillia would step on that spot on purpose, but not tonight.  Tonight, something was glowing out there, and she knew whatever it was, it didn't belong.
    She tried to peek through the cracks in the paint, but the window was foggy.  She pulled it open and cool, humid air rushed in, rippling her nightgown.
    When she saw the little golden squid-like creature, she nearly screamed.
    Its head was no bigger than a quarter, and it had hundreds--maybe thousands--of tiny, thread-sized tentacles spread out like a skirt all around it.  Each one drifted and curled and floated independent of the others' movement.  It sat just outside the window, staring up at Lillia with round, beady black eyes, and when she bent to look closely, she realized she could see through it, even its head, to the grainy shingle upon which it sat.
    "Hi there little guy," she whispered.
    What happened next occurred so quickly she had little time to process it.  The creature raised two of its tiny little tentacles, no thicker than fishing line, distinct to her eyes only because of how brightly they glowed.  The tentacles began to twist and interlace and finally they stopped.  Lillia had to lean in very close--so close she felt the warmth of the little squid--to see what shape it had made for her:
    Hello Lillia .
    She gasped.
    In the same instant, she caught her first whiff of the smoke coming from downstairs and the little creature latched onto her hand with its tentacles and began to crawl up her arm.  A surge of adrenaline rushed through her body, and she felt at once exhilarated and frightened.
    Her back stiffened.  Then her whole body froze.  All she could feel was the squid's tentacles, like the tickle of a thousand feathers, as it crawled up her arm, her neck, and finally latched onto her head.
    In her last conscious moment, Lillia smelled the smoke again and somehow knew Ted had caught the house on fire.
    Then she collapsed.

Oops
     
    In the faint gray morning sky, military helicopters slowly orbited the object, waking the homeless with the distant chopping of their propellers.  An occasional spout of gunfire disturbed the otherwise still and unruffled streets, most of it from the outer perimeter of the city as frightened or deranged residents tried to sneak between the road blocks and barricades.  Lamp poles still moist from the night’s dew clicked off in sections as orange sunlight spilled over the littered streets.  The interstate had finally cleared, save for a handful of wrecked and abandoned vehicles.  Downtown saw no traffic, no movement at all—very little in the west end or southern metropolitan area.
    In the shade of the I-65 overpass on Broadway, a strange blind man with long white hair and glossy eyes sat holding a sign that read THE END IS NIGH.  He spoke to the echo of his own voice: "I can hear you scream.  I can sense your fear.  I can feel you running away.  I can't see the thing you're running from, but I can sense it gaining on you."
    At the man's feet sat a tin can.  He picked it up and shook it.  A few coins rattled inside.
    "I've spoken to it.  I know why it's come.  Spare a quarter and I'll tell you what it wants."
    Then he laughed maniacally and shook the can again before returning it to the sidewalk and repeating the process.
    In the breeze whispered a distant police siren, but otherwise the city was silent--so silent you could almost hear the lapping of the Ohio River, the gush of air from unknown