Read Online 13 Tales To Give You Night Terrors by Elliot Arthur Cross - Free Book Online
Authors: Elliot Arthur Cross
Tags: Paranormal, supernatural, Young Adult, new adult, Ghosts, Anthology, free, urban horror, short collection, lgbt horror
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kitchen table flickers.
Who’s there?
Death.
Death who?
I leave the safety of the kitchen wall
and approach the front door. Through the peephole, I see him
clearly waiting on the other side. He’s perfectly still. Hands at
his side, head tilted just so. The knife is heavy in my hand. I
consider throwing open the door and launching myself at
him.
I back away from the door. Maybe he’ll
go away.
How’d he even find me?
It’s cold in my apartment but sweat
drips down my forehead. I can’t take my eyes off the front door.
He’s unarmed. He can’t hurt me. I’m safe.
I’ll huff and I’ll puff
and I’ll blow your house down.
I fall back to the kitchen table.
Shaking, I finish my beer. Do I dare crack open another? The lights
are on; he already knows I’m home. Maybe he’ll go away.
I sit again. Nothing happens. A car
horn blares outside. There are sirens in the distance. I risk
opening another beer by momentarily setting down the knife. My
right hand is sore. I flex it and then crack open the can under the
table, muffling it as best as I can.
The bitter taste doesn’t help any. I
only take one sip before setting it down on the table and holding
the knife again.
The city sounds blur together. All I
can distinctly hear is my own breathing and the muffled TV next
door.
“ You’ll lose yourself in
New York,” Dad said.
“ What’s there to lose? Any
sense that cows are worthwhile conversationalists?” I’d joke back.
But he was right. The city does swallow you whole. You come in
thinking one thing and the next minute, you’re a New Yorker and
anything goes.
The stillness is nearly as bad as
chaos.
Maybe he’s gone. Maybe he gave
up.
I leave the table and shuffle toward
the front door to peer through the peephole. The Wolf hasn’t moved
an inch. If they could, I’m sure the edges of his costumed lips
would twist upward.
I step away from the door. The Wolf
will never tire. He’ll never leave his station.
I remember my phone. The cops. Help. I
silently creep away from the door. Where’s my phone?
The bedroom.
My feet carry me through the narrow
hallway and into my bedroom. I find the phone on my bed and dial
911. I make my way back to the kitchen table as the operator
answers.
“ 911, what is the nature of
your emergency?”
“ Uh, yes, there’s someone
outside my apartment. I think he’s dangerous.”
I glance back at the door. The
deadbolt has moved; the door’s no longer locked. He must be inside.
The phone fumbles through my fingers and clatters on the
floor.
I run toward the door. I have to get
out before he leaps out at me. I throw the door wide
open.
The Wolf never moved from the
spot.
Before I can slam the door shut, he
barges forward. I step back and ram the knife into his stomach. It
slices through the shirt and furry costume.
He backhands me and I stumble back
through my living room. My vision blurs. I shake it
away.
The Wolf approaches. The knife is
still stuck in his gut. The costume stinks of piss and stale beer.
I launch myself at him and yank out the knife. I pull back and
slash horizontally at his neck. I feel the blade cut through fur
and something thick, like molasses.
The Wolf head falls to the floor and
rolls several feet.
My senses feel like they’re on fire.
My entire body tingles. The Wolf drops to his knees and collapses
at my feet.
Shaking, I bend down and pick up the
Wolf’s head. It’s empty.
The furry hands grab my ankles and
yank my feet out from under me. I fall on top of the costume. The
headless thing crawls over me. It’s heavier than it should be. It
weighs me down. I try to scream, but the hands are over my mouth.
It’s stronger than I am.
There’s a zipping sound. The costume
rolls over, practically crushing me into the floor. But then the
furry back envelops me. It wraps around my chest, crushing the air
out of my lungs. I feel the legs stretching out across my own like
warm glue. The hands reach the Wolf’s head and pull it over
Who’s there?
Death.
Death who?
I leave the safety of the kitchen wall
and approach the front door. Through the peephole, I see him
clearly waiting on the other side. He’s perfectly still. Hands at
his side, head tilted just so. The knife is heavy in my hand. I
consider throwing open the door and launching myself at
him.
I back away from the door. Maybe he’ll
go away.
How’d he even find me?
It’s cold in my apartment but sweat
drips down my forehead. I can’t take my eyes off the front door.
He’s unarmed. He can’t hurt me. I’m safe.
I’ll huff and I’ll puff
and I’ll blow your house down.
I fall back to the kitchen table.
Shaking, I finish my beer. Do I dare crack open another? The lights
are on; he already knows I’m home. Maybe he’ll go away.
I sit again. Nothing happens. A car
horn blares outside. There are sirens in the distance. I risk
opening another beer by momentarily setting down the knife. My
right hand is sore. I flex it and then crack open the can under the
table, muffling it as best as I can.
The bitter taste doesn’t help any. I
only take one sip before setting it down on the table and holding
the knife again.
The city sounds blur together. All I
can distinctly hear is my own breathing and the muffled TV next
door.
“ You’ll lose yourself in
New York,” Dad said.
“ What’s there to lose? Any
sense that cows are worthwhile conversationalists?” I’d joke back.
But he was right. The city does swallow you whole. You come in
thinking one thing and the next minute, you’re a New Yorker and
anything goes.
The stillness is nearly as bad as
chaos.
Maybe he’s gone. Maybe he gave
up.
I leave the table and shuffle toward
the front door to peer through the peephole. The Wolf hasn’t moved
an inch. If they could, I’m sure the edges of his costumed lips
would twist upward.
I step away from the door. The Wolf
will never tire. He’ll never leave his station.
I remember my phone. The cops. Help. I
silently creep away from the door. Where’s my phone?
The bedroom.
My feet carry me through the narrow
hallway and into my bedroom. I find the phone on my bed and dial
911. I make my way back to the kitchen table as the operator
answers.
“ 911, what is the nature of
your emergency?”
“ Uh, yes, there’s someone
outside my apartment. I think he’s dangerous.”
I glance back at the door. The
deadbolt has moved; the door’s no longer locked. He must be inside.
The phone fumbles through my fingers and clatters on the
floor.
I run toward the door. I have to get
out before he leaps out at me. I throw the door wide
open.
The Wolf never moved from the
spot.
Before I can slam the door shut, he
barges forward. I step back and ram the knife into his stomach. It
slices through the shirt and furry costume.
He backhands me and I stumble back
through my living room. My vision blurs. I shake it
away.
The Wolf approaches. The knife is
still stuck in his gut. The costume stinks of piss and stale beer.
I launch myself at him and yank out the knife. I pull back and
slash horizontally at his neck. I feel the blade cut through fur
and something thick, like molasses.
The Wolf head falls to the floor and
rolls several feet.
My senses feel like they’re on fire.
My entire body tingles. The Wolf drops to his knees and collapses
at my feet.
Shaking, I bend down and pick up the
Wolf’s head. It’s empty.
The furry hands grab my ankles and
yank my feet out from under me. I fall on top of the costume. The
headless thing crawls over me. It’s heavier than it should be. It
weighs me down. I try to scream, but the hands are over my mouth.
It’s stronger than I am.
There’s a zipping sound. The costume
rolls over, practically crushing me into the floor. But then the
furry back envelops me. It wraps around my chest, crushing the air
out of my lungs. I feel the legs stretching out across my own like
warm glue. The hands reach the Wolf’s head and pull it over
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