Terror in the Shadows Vol 5 Read online

  Well, leastways, he thought, closing the door and locking it. They sure as hell can’t get in.

  Dan walked back to his chair, and nearly collapsed into it.

  He sighed and stretched out, resting the shotgun across his lap.

  Even if I don’t sleep, he thought, I’ll be able to drive in. Worst case, I’ll catch a train.

  The sound of glass breaking in the basement caused his eyes to widen.

  A dull thump followed, and Dan’s eyes naturally turned toward the basement door.

  Which was wide open.

  Below him, he heard the sound of claws scrambling across the concrete floor; the sound of one of the dogs racing for the stairs.

  Dan fell out of the recliner as he tried to stand up, the shotgun clattering to the floor. He struck the carpet hard, his teeth clacking together, causing his ears to ring. Fear propelled him forward, crawling and scrambling on his knees, racing for the basement door.

  He heard the clack and clatter of bones and claws on the basement stairs, and he screamed when he reached the door.

  One of the dogs, Rex if the old leather collar and brass tag were any sort of indicators, hurtled up the stairs.

  Dan screamed as he slammed the door shut and a moment later the dead dog smashed into it. The entire door rattled in its frame as the dog tried, again and again, to get through. Dan pressed his shoulder against it, his heart beating wildly as he fought to save himself.

  As quickly as it started, it stopped, and Dan was left alone at the door without anything trying to gain access.

  The backdoor thumped and groaned, and then the sound of wood breaking filled the air.

  Dan didn’t bother getting to his feet.

  Instead, he crawled back into the television room as quickly as he could, snatching up the shotgun when he reached it. He twisted around in time to see the dead dog enter the room. His mind processed the image, accepted it, and allowed him to raise the weapon. He let out a slow breath and pulled the trigger, shattering the bones of Elsa with buckshot. Her remains collapsed to the floor, rattling loudly and made him tremble with relief.

  As his body tried to calm itself down, his eyes registered something hideous.

  The bones were pulling themselves together, slowly but surely forming themselves once more into the shape of Elsa.

  Dan got to his feet and raced for the stairs. He was halfway up when the back and basement doors smashed open. A bare foot caught on a riser and sent him sprawling across the landing. He nearly lost his grip on the shotgun, but managed to keep his hands on it. As he bounced off the wall, Dan spun, faced the stairwell, and fired another round, scattering the bones of one of the dogs.

  The bones clattered and fell down the stairs, tumbling one after another.

  Dan got to his feet, and, holding onto the railing with one hand, raced up the stairs for the room he once shared with Doris.

  From the first floor, Dan heard the front door shatter, and he knew they were coming after him.

  Fear slammed into him, freezing him in place for a long, terrifying moment.

  But the fear passed as quickly as it had arrived.

  He reached his old bedroom, threw the door wide, and stumbled into the former sickroom. Dan kicked the door shot, tossed his shotgun onto the bed, grabbed the mattress and pushed it in front of the door. In the hall beyond, Dan heard the dogs, all three of them. Their whines and growls were as individual as a person’s voice, and he knew them all.

  “Leave me alone!” Dan screamed. He threw clothes and drawers and whatever he could get his hands on, onto the bed. The dogs continued to scratch at the door, slamming into it. Dan piled everything he could atop the mattress, and when he ran out of material, he sat down upon the edge.

  The dogs howled and snarled beyond the door, and part of Dan wondered how they could make any noise with their throats gone.

  With a shaking hand, he found his pack of cigarettes. He fumbled a cigarette out, put it between his lips, and managed to light it. He drew in a shuddering breath, held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, and then exhaled it into the stillness of the room.

  His throat was dry, and his heart continued to thump abnormally fast.

  What the hell am I going to do? he asked himself.

  He stood up and searched the room for some sort of weapon.

  Nothing met his eye. There wasn’t even a piece of furniture he could break to fashion a weapon.

  And how well would that work? A broken chair leg against a dead dog? he scoffed at his own foolishness and walked to the windows. He looked out at the backyard and saw how the moonlight caressed the branches of the oak tree and fell upon Annie’s new grave.

  Can I get out? Dan wondered, looking at the windows. What if I do that stupid stuff? Tie some sheets together and crawl down that way? Will they figure it out?

  A terrible image of the dogs running out of the house after him caused him to shudder.

  No, he thought, they wouldn’t. They’d think I was still in here. Right?

  Does that even matter? he wondered bitterly a moment later. This shouldn’t be happening. Doris died, and all Annie had to do was mind her damned business. If she had, none of this would be going down.

  Dan shook his head.

  But it is going on, he thought. And I need to deal with it. Tired or not. Don’t want to die up here. So, first things first, how do I get past them?

  He thought about it for a long time, then, shaking his head, he thought, I’ll have to destroy them. But will they stay that way?

  Dan doubted that they would. In fact, he doubted they would do anything of the sort.

  But if I can get to the truck, he reasoned, then I can get the hell out of here. Work it out from there. Got enough money in the bank so I can stay a few nights in Boston.

  As the last thought crossed his mind, a thunderous sound interrupted him, and he realized it came from the door. Not from one or two of the dead dogs striking it, but all three at once working in conjunction.

  They were trying to break in.

  Dan looked at the shotgun in his hands, and then he placed it beside him.

  I won’t need it, he told himself. I’ll get the sheets ready in time. Just like a breakout from a jail cell.

  He tore the sheets off the bed, swearing at the weight added by the various items he had thrown atop them. The door continued to shake and groan in its frame as he worked. As he tied the sheet to the frame of the bed, one of the door’s wooden panels cracked, then broke.

  In the dull light of the moon that streamed in through the open window, Dan saw the grim yellow of a dog’s skull. Claws and teeth scratched, scraped, and tore at the door. Splinters of wood flew into the room. Dan almost tripped over himself as he hurried to the window. He fumbled for the locks, found them, then threw the sash up. Without any finesse, he punched out the screen, then cast the tied sheets into the moonlit night.

  He turned back for the shotgun, but as he did, the first dog came through the door.

  Dan threw himself at the tied sheets, found them, and clambered out the window.

  As he pulled his last leg up and over the sash, Dan screamed as a dead tooth locked onto his calf.

  The pain was immediate, terrifying, and agonizing.

  Hanging two stories above the backyard, with his left leg still in the house, Dan screamed in fear. He shook his leg violently, hoping to shake the dog lose, but he slammed his leg against the wall, driving a tooth in even deeper.

  Suddenly, the tooth broke away from the unseen dog’s skull, and all Dan’s weight went backward. Halfway down the sheets, he lost his grip and plummeted to the ground.

  Darkness swarmed over him as pain flared up in every joint and muscle. He heard and felt his back crack, and his scream chased him into unconsciousness.

  When he regained consciousness, Dan was aware of the dull glow of the rising sun on the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, one promised to free him of the nightmares before.

  After a moment, Dan realiz
ed he was moving.

  The trees were moving on his right, and he knew it wasn’t possible.

  A chicken appeared in his line of sight, her head cocked inquisitively to one side. Dan turned his head to look at the hen and discovered he couldn’t.

  He tried to move his arms and legs, to wiggle his toes and fingers.

  Dan tried to scream, but nothing happened.

  He could see. He could hear.

  Dan could even smell.

  But he couldn’t move, and he didn’t feel the grass or the air. His breaths came in shallow gasps, and he suspected that soon enough, his lungs would stop working altogether.

  Who’s moving me? he thought. Is someone helping me?

  Hope sprang up within him, and he found himself wishing the helpful stranger would say something or lean over him and ask if he was okay.

  Instead, the good Samaritan continued to drag Dan along.

  I’ll see who it is soon, he thought. Of course, it’s slow going. I weigh almost three hundred. Got to be hard on anyone. Even I’d have had a hard time. I’m a big guy.

  The answer satisfied him, and Dan continued to struggle for breath, but he did so happily. Soon he would hear the sounds of an ambulance. Or, if he was as bad off as he felt, the Samaritan would bring Dan right to the hospital.

  Would they put me in the same room Doris was in? Dan wondered. Maybe even the bed she died in?

  His thoughts were interrupted by the smell of freshly turned earth and blood.

  Dan was dragged by the carcass of a chicken, the body mangled and torn apart. But nothing looked as though it had been eaten from it.

  What the hell type of animal kills a chicken and doesn’t eat it? he wondered. Even the barn cats had eaten what they had killed, and they were notoriously picky eaters.

  Dan started to ask himself who would have done it when he understood exactly who would, and who did.

  No! Dan thought, feeling panic rising within him. No, this can’t be!

  A heartbeat later, the first, long branches of the old oak tree came into view. The branches thickened and multiplied the closer he got, and on the edges of his vision, he saw the stone markers for the various pets.

  Near the stone for each dog, the earth was torn open, as if someone had hacked at the ground with an ax.

  But Dan wasn’t brought to them. Instead, he was dragged slightly to the right. The branches drew closer, and he understood he was being brought up a small incline. He was pushed and prodded, shaken and turned until his position had changed. Although, he didn’t know why.

  It was as he lay there, looking up at the boughs that he saw the first of the dogs.

  The animal’s yellow skull and glaring teeth appeared in Dan’s line of sight as if knowing he couldn’t move or talk.

  A second skull joined a heartbeat later, and then the third.

  Dan didn’t know who they were without their skin and flesh, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

  He couldn’t talk.

  They continued to stare at him for several minutes, and then backed out of his line of sight.

  Are they leaving me out here to die?! Dan wanted to scream, to force his unresponsive lungs to react.

  But he knew he couldn’t.

  He was paralyzed.

  The tree above him moved.

  Back and forth, back and forth.

  It’s like the tree’s trying to lull me to sleep, Dan thought, silently laughing. That’s beautiful.

  Then he was tumbling down, landing on his right side, staring into the bloody face of Annie. Her dead eyes stared up sightlessly.

  No! Dan screamed. No! Get me out!

  A scratching sound came from above the edge of the shallow grave.

  It was a gentle noise at first, then more aggressive.

  Dirt rained down on Dan’s face. Small particles and larger clumps.

  Above him, the dogs continued to work, filling the grave as slowly as the sun crested the horizon.

  * * *

  Tag; You’re It

  By Sara Clancy

  “Come on, Meg!” Blake cupped his hands around his mouth as he repeated the encouragement.

  Perched on the rim of the bathtub, he chuckled, clapped, and cheered as if his girlfriend was about to finish a marathon.

  “Hang on just a little longer, babe. You got this.”

  Meg didn’t share his enthusiasm. She gnawed restlessly on her bottom lip, her knuckles turning white as she clenched the rim of the sink. Every so often, she tried to glance at the others in the room, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off the mirror for long.

  Jena fought to catch her best friend’s eyes each time, not that it would be of any help. Having just had her own turn, Jena knew exactly what Meg was facing. What she was catching glimpses of in the mirror. There was nothing she could say to make any of that better.

  Ghosts had always been a concept for their small group of friends. Tim was the one most invested, not that he believed. He just liked to scare people. For Jena, Meg, and Blake, they had just been campfire tails. After years of talking about them, Jena had thought she was prepared to face one.

  She hadn’t been.

  Meg’s gaze flittered around the bathroom once more before latching on a singular point; the reflection of the open door and out into the hallway beyond. In sharp shakes, Meg checked the door, the mirror, the door, then back to the mirror.

  “Where is it?” Jena asked.

  “It’s almost in the room,” Meg replied breathlessly. “It’s staring at me.”

  “Don’t worry, baby. It always does that,” Blake dismissed.

  “She’s getting closer.”

  The ghost was slow but relentless. When it had been Jena’s turn, she hadn’t even seen it at first. It had barely been more than a speck on the horizon. She had almost dismissed it entirely until, about three days later, she had been walking through a mall and caught the spirit’s reflection in a storefront window. Still distant. But there. Undeniably there.

  She had seen it every day after that. Always a little bit closer than it had been before. There was nowhere it couldn’t follow. She had wanted it to move on right then. That wasn’t the game, though. A shudder ran down Jena’s spine as she recalled waking from deep sleep to find the grotesque figure crawling up the foot of her bed, its bloated damp body soaking the sheets.

  Meg’s eyes widened, her breathing quickened, and Jena found herself grateful that she couldn’t see what her friend was. While no one would say it out loud, Jena knew that the image of the ghost had scared them all. While they couldn’t see it anymore, Jena and the boys weren’t utterly oblivious to its presence.

  They could hear it now. A thick wet squelch of rotting flesh pressing against the ground, oozing and popping with every slow footstep. In the rare moments of silence, they could hear it approaching. The carpet amplified the slick, gurgling sound. All four of them looked at each other. Pale and sickened. Blake forced a smile and began to chat again, his voice louder than before, filling every little patch of silence. It was impossible to hear the footsteps over him.

  “You’re doing great, baby,” the words left his mouth, and soon enough he was grinning broadly once more. “Just a little while longer. Come on, you can’t let Tim win.”

  “She’s not going to get the top score,” Tim scoffed.

  Jena forced a laugh, but it came out tinged with fear. The boys continued to argue, the boasting breaking up the silence, keeping the footsteps from earshot. It made them feel better. Meg, however, had begun to shake.

  “I held out until it was only an inch away,” Tim gloated. “One inch. One measly little inch between her funky rotten fingers and my shoulder. No one’s going to beat that. You think Meg can beat that? Please.”

  “Yeah, this is all the honor system, bro,” Blake chuckled, a nervous twinge hovering around the edges of his words. “All we have is your word that you let it get that close.”

  Tim snorted and put on a dignified voice that proved he had never b
een dignified in his life. “I’m a man of my word.”

  “Bull,” Blake barked.

  Meg’s gasped squeal broke the good humor that the boys had brought into the room.

  “It’s at the door,” Meg whispered. “Oh, God. It’s looking at me.”

  “It’s okay, baby, you’re doing great,” Blake replied. “Just beat Tim’s score, okay?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yeah, you can. Just an inch. It’s nothing.”

  “I don’t want it anywhere near me, Blake,” Meg spoke on a breath.

  Her muscles locked tight, squeezing until she was barely able to breathe. Tears welled around the edges of her wide eyes. Gradually, like an encroaching tide, horror twisted up her features. Her eyes didn’t move anymore. They were locked on that one point in the mirror; the one that would show her the deformed figure creeping toward her. It tore Jena up to see her friend in such a state, but she couldn’t say anything to break the tension. The moment for mindless chatter had slipped away. In the silence, the first step against the tiled floor echoed around the room. A moist squelch.

  “It’s in the room,” Meg whimpered.

  “You can do it!” Blake bellowed abruptly before making a loud whooping noise.

  While the praise made Meg blush, it wasn’t enough to completely put her at ease. Fear took hold and squeezed her tight. She started to hyperventilate, her chest heaved, and her hands trembled. The boys increased their efforts to keep everything light and fun, to reduce what was happening around them to nothing more than a stupid game of ‘chicken’. Them versus the deformed spirit. A little contest to see who would blink first.

  It was a losing battle, though. They couldn’t keep the words and taunts flowing while puddles began to cover the floor. Every time they fell into silence or ended a sentence with a broken chuckle, the sound of the ghost’s footsteps ricocheted off the walls.

  Filthy water began to trickle in rivulets over the floor. There was never any visible source. It just welled from a central point until it beaded out along the grouting. Jena inched away from it. She barely got a foot of extra distance before her back struck the bathroom wall. The tiny streams of liquid muck continued to expand out, blindly seeking.