Read Online F Paul Wilson - Novel 10 by Midnight Mass (v2.1) - Free Book Online Page A

there. I live here—or at least I did. And I'm not sharing you,
Carole."
                 She
turned again and raked a clawlike hand at the window. "Go aWAY! She's
MINE!"
                 Carole
glanced to her left. The bed was only a few feet away. And above it—the
blanket-shrouded crucifix. If she could reach it...
                 She
didn't hesitate. With the mad tapping tattoo from the window echoing around
her, Carole gathered her feet beneath her and sprang for the bed. She scrambled
across the sheets, one hand outstretched, reaching for the blanket—
                 A
manacle of icy flesh closed around her calf and roughly dragged her back.
                 "Oh,
no, bitch," said the hoarse, unaccented voice of the Bernadette-thing.
"Don't even think about it!"
                 It
grabbed two fistfuls of fabric at the back of Carole's blouse and hurled her
across the room as if she weighed no more than a pillow. The wind whooshed out
of Carole as she slammed against the far wall. She heard ribs crack. She fell
among the splintered ruins of the chair, pain lancing through her right flank.
The room wavered and blurred. But through the roaring in her ears she still
heard that insistent tapping on the window.
                 As
her vision cleared she saw the Bernadette-thing's naked form gesturing again to
the creatures at the window, now a mass of salivating mouths and tapping
fingers.
                 "Watch!"
she hissed. "Watch me!"
                 With
that, she loosed a long, howling scream and lunged, arms curved before her,
body arcing toward Carole in a flying leap. The scream, the tapping, the faces
at the window, the dear friend who now wanted only to slaughter her—it all was
suddenly too much for Carole. She wanted to roll away but couldn't get her body
to move. Her hand found the broken seat of the chair by her hip. Instinctively
she pulled it closer. She closed her eyes as she raised it between herself and
the horror hurtling toward her.
                 The
impact drove the wood of the seat against Carole's chest; she groaned as new
stabs of pain shot through her ribs. But the Bernadette-thing's triumphant
feeding cry cut off abruptly and devolved into a coughing gurgle.
                 Suddenly
the weight was released from Carole's chest, and the chair seat with it.
                 And
the tapping at the window ceased.
                 Carole
opened her eyes to see the naked Bernadette-thing standing above her,
straddling her, holding the chair seat before her, choking and gagging as she
struggled with it.
                 At
first Carole didn't understand. She drew her legs back and inched away along
the wall. And then she saw what had happened.
                 Three
splintered spindles had remained fixed in that half of the broken seat, and
those spindles were now firmly and deeply embedded in the center of the
Bernadette-thing's chest. She wrenched wildly at the chair seat, trying to
dislodge the oak daggers but succeeded only in breaking them off at skin level.
She dropped the remnant of the seat and swayed like a tree in a storm, her
mouth working spasmodically as her hands fluttered ineffectually over the
bloodless wounds between her ribs and the slim wooden stakes out of reach
within them.
                 Abruptly
she dropped to her knees with a dull thud. Then, only inches from Carole, she
slumped into a splay-legged squat. The agony faded from her face and she closed
her eyes. She fell forward against Carole.
                 Carole
threw her arms around her friend and gathered her close.
                 "Oh Bern , oh Bern , oh Bern ," she moaned. "I'm so sorry. If only
I'd got there sooner!"
                 Bernadette's
eyes fluttered open and the darkness was gone. Only her own spring-sky blue
remained, clear, grateful. Her lips began