Read Online Dark Screams: Volume Two by Robert R. McCammon, Graham Masterton, Richard Christian Matheson - Free Book Online Page B
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out.”
“For all that’s holy, bring back some fried chicken or burgers or something,” Brody begged. Gail turned around long enough to wink at him.
Patrick had been kind enough to serve them sub sandwiches, which apparently didn’t contain enough grease for Gail and Brody.
“Let’s get started on this wall,” Eleanor instructed. Using chalk, she marked out the sections of the wall to cut. Soon enough the crumbling plaster would be replaced with something far more suitable. She touched the cool surface, pressing into the indentation. A lingering scent of decayed wood drifted to her nostrils. Even furniture polish couldn’t take that away from an older home.
Using the utility blade, she scored the plaster, removing the pieces as they fell. An arduous task without patience. A crackle of thunder shook the house. A large piece of plaster fell with the resounding
thwack.
The crumpling plaster stuck in a few spots to the underlying narrow strips of wood, but progress was made. The chill from the outside stiffened her hands. There wasn’t any insulation between the narrow strips of wood and the outer brick.
Work quickly. Get it done.
A familiar feeling crept into Eleanor’s mind. One she couldn’t suppress. This was a living room, not a locked and lonely bedroom with a single mattress, she reminded herself. But the smell was the same—one of rotted wood. Of abandonment. She focused on her task at hand. The sooner she tore the plaster off, the sooner she could get the bonding agent on the narrow wood beams and apply the new mud and texture.
She jerked harder, catching and removing the plaster until she came to a crack in the underlying lath. A crack that widened with each movement.
Bits of hair, covered in cobwebs, poked out. Her hand froze in mid-thrust. She couldn’t look away as a large piece of plaster fell to the tarp on the floor. A limb, thin as bristly twig, extended out of the opening as a shrunken head rolled to the side. Vacant eye sockets stared blankly at the fireplace. A faded sapphire blue dress hung on the skeletal form.
Holy shit.
Eleanor fell backward. Her bottom hit the covered wood floor hard, forcing a breath from her lungs. She clutched the chisel tight enough for the metal to bite into her hand.
“Are you all right?” Brody bounded over, only to freeze with his hand on her shoulder.
“What is that?” he asked.
“It’s a body.” Her voice was hollow, like her insides had been scraped out.
“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.” Brody hesitated, then crept toward the wall. “The clothes look old, like that Prohibition series we filmed last year.” Grasping one of the chisels nearby, he tapped the end against the woman’s shoulder. The petrified flesh caved in and gray flakes littered the floor. The scent of decay intensified.
Somehow Eleanor pushed the words past a lump in her throat. “Go find Patrick. The homeowner needs to know about this so he can call the police.”
Who had put her corpse in the wall? Or—and Eleanor’s throat closed as she thought it—had she still been alive when the wall was sealed? Eleanor fought for breath, much as Mrs. Foster might have, all those years ago.
Brody returned with Patrick. His face went ashen and his mouth gaped.
“Oh, damn,” he breathed. “I wonder who it is.”
Eleanor fought to get to her feet. “I have a feeling it’s Mrs. Foster.”
They stared at her, no one moving, until Patrick checked the wall, glancing into the cavity where the woman lay. “The laths are old and weakened here.”
Just seeing the woman in blue recalled nightmares she’d buried so deep. Another form, thin and lying prone against a bedroom wall. Eyes open and cracked lips parted. The woman’s rib cage slowly moved up and down. Until it moved no more.
Mama? Mama, don’t leave me alone in here!
Eleanor cleared her throat, her stomach turning sour. A wave of loneliness tried to rise, but she pushed the feeling away. “We should call
“For all that’s holy, bring back some fried chicken or burgers or something,” Brody begged. Gail turned around long enough to wink at him.
Patrick had been kind enough to serve them sub sandwiches, which apparently didn’t contain enough grease for Gail and Brody.
“Let’s get started on this wall,” Eleanor instructed. Using chalk, she marked out the sections of the wall to cut. Soon enough the crumbling plaster would be replaced with something far more suitable. She touched the cool surface, pressing into the indentation. A lingering scent of decayed wood drifted to her nostrils. Even furniture polish couldn’t take that away from an older home.
Using the utility blade, she scored the plaster, removing the pieces as they fell. An arduous task without patience. A crackle of thunder shook the house. A large piece of plaster fell with the resounding
thwack.
The crumpling plaster stuck in a few spots to the underlying narrow strips of wood, but progress was made. The chill from the outside stiffened her hands. There wasn’t any insulation between the narrow strips of wood and the outer brick.
Work quickly. Get it done.
A familiar feeling crept into Eleanor’s mind. One she couldn’t suppress. This was a living room, not a locked and lonely bedroom with a single mattress, she reminded herself. But the smell was the same—one of rotted wood. Of abandonment. She focused on her task at hand. The sooner she tore the plaster off, the sooner she could get the bonding agent on the narrow wood beams and apply the new mud and texture.
She jerked harder, catching and removing the plaster until she came to a crack in the underlying lath. A crack that widened with each movement.
Bits of hair, covered in cobwebs, poked out. Her hand froze in mid-thrust. She couldn’t look away as a large piece of plaster fell to the tarp on the floor. A limb, thin as bristly twig, extended out of the opening as a shrunken head rolled to the side. Vacant eye sockets stared blankly at the fireplace. A faded sapphire blue dress hung on the skeletal form.
Holy shit.
Eleanor fell backward. Her bottom hit the covered wood floor hard, forcing a breath from her lungs. She clutched the chisel tight enough for the metal to bite into her hand.
“Are you all right?” Brody bounded over, only to freeze with his hand on her shoulder.
“What is that?” he asked.
“It’s a body.” Her voice was hollow, like her insides had been scraped out.
“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.” Brody hesitated, then crept toward the wall. “The clothes look old, like that Prohibition series we filmed last year.” Grasping one of the chisels nearby, he tapped the end against the woman’s shoulder. The petrified flesh caved in and gray flakes littered the floor. The scent of decay intensified.
Somehow Eleanor pushed the words past a lump in her throat. “Go find Patrick. The homeowner needs to know about this so he can call the police.”
Who had put her corpse in the wall? Or—and Eleanor’s throat closed as she thought it—had she still been alive when the wall was sealed? Eleanor fought for breath, much as Mrs. Foster might have, all those years ago.
Brody returned with Patrick. His face went ashen and his mouth gaped.
“Oh, damn,” he breathed. “I wonder who it is.”
Eleanor fought to get to her feet. “I have a feeling it’s Mrs. Foster.”
They stared at her, no one moving, until Patrick checked the wall, glancing into the cavity where the woman lay. “The laths are old and weakened here.”
Just seeing the woman in blue recalled nightmares she’d buried so deep. Another form, thin and lying prone against a bedroom wall. Eyes open and cracked lips parted. The woman’s rib cage slowly moved up and down. Until it moved no more.
Mama? Mama, don’t leave me alone in here!
Eleanor cleared her throat, her stomach turning sour. A wave of loneliness tried to rise, but she pushed the feeling away. “We should call
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