Read Online Eerie by Blake Crouch Jordan Crouch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Blake Crouch Jordan Crouch
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down, palmed the doorknob.
Waited for their voices to start up again, then turned it slowly.
When the latch had cleared the housing, he nudged the door open half an inch.
He couldn’t see them directly with the door blocking his view, but he could watch their reflection in the big mirror that hung over the fireplace—his sister cuddled into the embrace of a handsome man twenty years her senior. Even sitting, Grant could see that he was tall and endowed with the kind of longish, wavy-gray locks that were made to be windblown behind the wheel of a topless 911.
Grant listened to a conversation that could’ve unfolded in a confession box—Jude’s failing marriage, his suffocating mortgage, his ungrateful children—and all the while Paige gently prodded him along with a sincerity so genuine it made Grant simmer with jealousy. This man was closer to his sister than he was. Eric had been right. She was in a different league. Blue label all the way.
At last, Paige stood and took Jude’s hand.
“Come with me,” she said.
Jude smiled and rose. “Sure you’re up for this tonight? You really look tired,” he said.
Paige took a few sultry steps back and waved him on with a finger.
Chapter 12
Grant finally heard the floor upstairs strain under Paige’s and Jude’s footsteps.
He opened the closet door and headed to the foot of the stairs.
Climbed.
Paige had righted the table in the second-floor hallway and returned the lamp to its original place.
He stopped beside it.
Your friend is dead in a room right around the corner. You should at least put a blanket over him. Something.
Already, he could hear a collection of sounds coming from behind the closed door to Paige’s bedroom.
A wooden headboard slapping against the wall.
The low, breathless mumblings of Dr. Jude and his sister.
He involuntarily turned his head.
Despair.
Nausea.
Anguish.
How did you sink this far, baby sis?
He backed away, his eyes locking on the first door he saw, the floor groaning under his weight as he moved toward it.
Get out of sight.
The glass doorknob was freezing to the touch, and while it turned without a problem, the hinges screeched bloody murder. He stared into a linen closet—bare shelves coated with dust and just roomy enough, he hoped, for him to squeeze inside.
Grant stepped in and ducked down, his back flush against the shelves. He reached up and tugged the door shut, but his body blocked it from closing all the way.
The darkness seemed to magnify the labored breathing and muffled friction of the bed frame emanating from Paige’s room.
Paige was getting loud and so was Jude.
Grant had just brought his fingers up to plug his ears, when out in the hall, the desk lamp flickered three times.
For a microsecond, it burned as bright as a new star.
Bright enough to blind him and scald the walls with radiance.
It exploded.
The hall went dark.
The acrid stench of ozone and scorched glass filling the air.
Grant strained to listen.
Dead stillness.
His retinas slowly recovering from the overload of light.
He started to push the door open but stopped himself when the bedsprings in Paige’s room exhaled a slow groan.
No footsteps followed.
No voices.
The brownstone held its breath, and the longer Grant stood in the closet with the door pulled against his chest, the harder it became for him to move. Fear swept over him, its mass doubling with every pregnant second. He wanted desperately to call out to Paige. His legs began to tremble. A cramp shot through his quads. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down into his eyes with a salty sting.
The door to Paige’s room swung open.
A figure stood in the doorframe, backlit by candlelight—Jude.
Grant felt the change in his eyes, his chest, his ears—a subtle pulling from the doorway, like a vacuum seal had broken and the room itself was gasping for breath.
He squinted, searching for detail, but Jude was only a profile.
The doctor stepped out into the hall and
Waited for their voices to start up again, then turned it slowly.
When the latch had cleared the housing, he nudged the door open half an inch.
He couldn’t see them directly with the door blocking his view, but he could watch their reflection in the big mirror that hung over the fireplace—his sister cuddled into the embrace of a handsome man twenty years her senior. Even sitting, Grant could see that he was tall and endowed with the kind of longish, wavy-gray locks that were made to be windblown behind the wheel of a topless 911.
Grant listened to a conversation that could’ve unfolded in a confession box—Jude’s failing marriage, his suffocating mortgage, his ungrateful children—and all the while Paige gently prodded him along with a sincerity so genuine it made Grant simmer with jealousy. This man was closer to his sister than he was. Eric had been right. She was in a different league. Blue label all the way.
At last, Paige stood and took Jude’s hand.
“Come with me,” she said.
Jude smiled and rose. “Sure you’re up for this tonight? You really look tired,” he said.
Paige took a few sultry steps back and waved him on with a finger.
Chapter 12
Grant finally heard the floor upstairs strain under Paige’s and Jude’s footsteps.
He opened the closet door and headed to the foot of the stairs.
Climbed.
Paige had righted the table in the second-floor hallway and returned the lamp to its original place.
He stopped beside it.
Your friend is dead in a room right around the corner. You should at least put a blanket over him. Something.
Already, he could hear a collection of sounds coming from behind the closed door to Paige’s bedroom.
A wooden headboard slapping against the wall.
The low, breathless mumblings of Dr. Jude and his sister.
He involuntarily turned his head.
Despair.
Nausea.
Anguish.
How did you sink this far, baby sis?
He backed away, his eyes locking on the first door he saw, the floor groaning under his weight as he moved toward it.
Get out of sight.
The glass doorknob was freezing to the touch, and while it turned without a problem, the hinges screeched bloody murder. He stared into a linen closet—bare shelves coated with dust and just roomy enough, he hoped, for him to squeeze inside.
Grant stepped in and ducked down, his back flush against the shelves. He reached up and tugged the door shut, but his body blocked it from closing all the way.
The darkness seemed to magnify the labored breathing and muffled friction of the bed frame emanating from Paige’s room.
Paige was getting loud and so was Jude.
Grant had just brought his fingers up to plug his ears, when out in the hall, the desk lamp flickered three times.
For a microsecond, it burned as bright as a new star.
Bright enough to blind him and scald the walls with radiance.
It exploded.
The hall went dark.
The acrid stench of ozone and scorched glass filling the air.
Grant strained to listen.
Dead stillness.
His retinas slowly recovering from the overload of light.
He started to push the door open but stopped himself when the bedsprings in Paige’s room exhaled a slow groan.
No footsteps followed.
No voices.
The brownstone held its breath, and the longer Grant stood in the closet with the door pulled against his chest, the harder it became for him to move. Fear swept over him, its mass doubling with every pregnant second. He wanted desperately to call out to Paige. His legs began to tremble. A cramp shot through his quads. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down into his eyes with a salty sting.
The door to Paige’s room swung open.
A figure stood in the doorframe, backlit by candlelight—Jude.
Grant felt the change in his eyes, his chest, his ears—a subtle pulling from the doorway, like a vacuum seal had broken and the room itself was gasping for breath.
He squinted, searching for detail, but Jude was only a profile.
The doctor stepped out into the hall and
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