Read Online Feral by Brian Knight - Free Book Online Page A

off!” she shouted.   “It’s too late for this shit.”   Grinning smugly, bitterly, at the silence from the other side of the door, she stalked back toward the bedroom.
    Where Jared stood guard over the sleeping girl, there came a scream.   It rang through the small house like a siren.   It was a wet sound, half terror and half pain.   Shannon froze, listening helplessly as it tapered off into a gurgling grunt.   Then the meaty thud of a body hitting the floor.
    Jared !
    Whatever it was had happened quickly; Jared hadn’t fired a single shot.
    Shannon ran the last few feet to the open door of the bedroom, and found her brother sprawled out on the floor, in the corner by the bed.   His mouth was wide open, his eyes staring at the ceiling.   The gun lay beside him unused.   He was cut open from crotch to chin, blood slicked ropes of intestine slid slowly from his open stomach, covering his waist.
    Charity sat upright in the bed, her face a mask of perfect fright, her hair tousled and dripping with sweat.   She stared past Shannon into the hallway.   Her chest rose and fell rapidly; each labored breath was followed by weak grunt, as if she were trying to scream.
    Shannon ran to the edge of the bed, grabbed Charity by the shoulders and gave her a quick, rough shake.   “Where is he?”
    Nothing, just quick breathes and grunts.   Charity pointed past Shannon.
    The bedroom door slammed shut, throwing them into darkness, and when she turned Shannon saw him.   A dark man-shaped outline with bright eyes and a shark’s grin.
    â€œRemember me, Shannon?”   Soft laughter filled the space around them, made her skin itch like a thousand spiders’ legs.   “I remember you.”
    Shannon dropped down, squatting in a pile of her brother’s insides, and searched for the gun.
    The Bogey Man stepped closer.   “Your girl was a peach,” he said.   “As long as I live I will never forget her.   She brought me such pleasure.”
    â€œ You son of a bitch !” she screamed, then found the gun and brought it up. She couldn’t pull the trigger.   Suddenly her hand didn’t belong to her.   Against her will, she stood up and put the muzzle of Jared’s revolver to her temple.   A burning hand, insubstantial but very real, seemed to have entered hers, wearing it like a glove.
    â€œShould I make you pull the trigger?” he said with mild amusement, still advancing, now only a few feet away.   Charity shrunk away from him to the far end of the bed, her back pressed to the wall.   “Or should I do it myself?”   He raised his hand above Shannon’s head.   His scissors were open, a wide razor jaw dripping with blood.
    Charity finally found her breath.
    Â 
    G ordon and Charles heard the first scream, and exchanged horrified glances.
    â€œWhat the hell?” Gordon said.
    â€œI don’t know,” Charles said.   He crouched down and pulled the gun from his holster.   He pounded on the door with the heel of his other hand.   “Shannon!” he shouted.   “ Open the door or I’ll bust the fucker down !”
    They heard her yell something, but couldn’t make it out through the closed door.   Charles drew his hand back for another round of pounding, then they heard the second scream, high and terrified, a girl’s scream.
    â€œCharity,” Gordon whispered.   He paled, looked about to faint.   “That was Charity.”
    â€œShit,” Charles said, and pushed Gordon aside.   He backed a few steps away from the door, as far as the small landing would allow, and rammed it with his shoulder.   It shook in its frame, but the hinges and locks held.   He backed up for another hit, and stopped himself.   Gordon rushed to the door, pounding with one fist, working the knob futilely with the other.   “Charity, baby.