Read Online Friday Night in Beast House by Richard Laymon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Richard Laymon
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candle. Glued in place with dried wax, it held firm for a moment before coming off… and mark felt the door swing toward him.
His heart gave a rough lurch.
He took hold of an upright bar, gently pulled, and felt the door swing closer to him.
Chapter Fourteen
Mark groaned.
He eased the gate shut, leaned his forehead against a couple of the bars and looked down between them. The lock hasp on the other side was open. The padlock, always there in the past, was gone.
Oh, boy.
In his mind, he whirled around and raced up the cellar stairs and ran through the house. He made it out safely and shut the front door behind him.
In the next version of his escape, he got halfway up the cellar stairs before a beast leaped on his back and dragged him down.
Take it easy, he hold himself. If one of those things is down here, it hasn’t done anything yet. Maybe it isn’t interested in nailing me. Maybe it wants me to leave.
Hell, there isn’t any beast down here. Who ever heard of an animal taking a padlock off a door?
Maybe Agnes Kutch took it off.
Someone sure did, that was for certain.
I could go through and take a peek at the Kutch house.
No way, he thought. No way, no way.
Leaving the gate shut, he slowly backed away. Then he turned toward the stairs.
Just take it easy, he told himself. Pretend nothing’s wrong. Whistle a happy tune.
Man, I’m not gonna whistle.
On his way to the stairs, he listened. His own shoes made soft brushing sounds against the hard dirt floor. No sounds came from behind him. No growls. No huffing breath. No rushing footfalls. Nothing.
He put his foot on the first stair and started up. The wooden plank creaked.
Please please please.
Second stair.
Just let me get out of here. Please.
Third.
No sound except a squeak of wood under his weight.
He wanted to rush up the rest of the stairs, but feared that such sudden quick movements might bring on an attack.
He climbed another stair, another.
So far, so good.
Now he was high enough for the glow of his candle to reach the uppermost stair.
Almost there.
I’ll never make it.
Please let me make it! I’m sorry I scared the girl. I’m sorry I pissed through the bars.
He climbed another stair and imagined a beast down in the cellar suddenly springing out from behind some crates and coming for him.
Silently.
I’m sorry! Please! Don’t let it get me! Let me get out of here and I’ll go home and never pull another dumbass stunt in my life.
Almost to the top. And maybe the beast was almost upon him even though he couldn’t hear it and didn’t dare look back, so he took the next step slowly. And the next. And then he was in the pantry.
Go!
He broke into a run. The gust of quick air snuffed his candle.
Shit!
But the way ahead had a gray hint of light and he ran toward it. Suddenly in the kitchen, he skidded to a halt and whirled around and found the pantry door and swung it shut.
It slammed.
Mark cringed.
He leaned back against the door. Heart thudding hard and fast, he huffed for air.
Made it! I made it! Thank you thank you thank you!
But he suddenly imagined being hurled across the kitchen as the beast crashed through the door.
Gotta get outa here!
He lurched forward, turned and hurried through the kitchen. By the vague light coming in through its windows, he made his way to the back door. He twisted its knob and pulled, but the door wouldn’t budge.
Come on!
He found its latch.
The door swung open. He rushed out onto the back porch.
About to pull the door shut, he stopped.
What If I get locked out?
Doesn’t matter! I’m going home!
He let go of the door. Leaving it ajar, he backed away from it. He watched it closely.
The porch, enclosed by screens, was gray with moonlight, black with shadows. It smelled slightly of stale cigarette smoke. It had some furniture along the sides: a couch, a couple of chairs and small tables. In the corner near the kitchen was something that looked like a
His heart gave a rough lurch.
He took hold of an upright bar, gently pulled, and felt the door swing closer to him.
Chapter Fourteen
Mark groaned.
He eased the gate shut, leaned his forehead against a couple of the bars and looked down between them. The lock hasp on the other side was open. The padlock, always there in the past, was gone.
Oh, boy.
In his mind, he whirled around and raced up the cellar stairs and ran through the house. He made it out safely and shut the front door behind him.
In the next version of his escape, he got halfway up the cellar stairs before a beast leaped on his back and dragged him down.
Take it easy, he hold himself. If one of those things is down here, it hasn’t done anything yet. Maybe it isn’t interested in nailing me. Maybe it wants me to leave.
Hell, there isn’t any beast down here. Who ever heard of an animal taking a padlock off a door?
Maybe Agnes Kutch took it off.
Someone sure did, that was for certain.
I could go through and take a peek at the Kutch house.
No way, he thought. No way, no way.
Leaving the gate shut, he slowly backed away. Then he turned toward the stairs.
Just take it easy, he told himself. Pretend nothing’s wrong. Whistle a happy tune.
Man, I’m not gonna whistle.
On his way to the stairs, he listened. His own shoes made soft brushing sounds against the hard dirt floor. No sounds came from behind him. No growls. No huffing breath. No rushing footfalls. Nothing.
He put his foot on the first stair and started up. The wooden plank creaked.
Please please please.
Second stair.
Just let me get out of here. Please.
Third.
No sound except a squeak of wood under his weight.
He wanted to rush up the rest of the stairs, but feared that such sudden quick movements might bring on an attack.
He climbed another stair, another.
So far, so good.
Now he was high enough for the glow of his candle to reach the uppermost stair.
Almost there.
I’ll never make it.
Please let me make it! I’m sorry I scared the girl. I’m sorry I pissed through the bars.
He climbed another stair and imagined a beast down in the cellar suddenly springing out from behind some crates and coming for him.
Silently.
I’m sorry! Please! Don’t let it get me! Let me get out of here and I’ll go home and never pull another dumbass stunt in my life.
Almost to the top. And maybe the beast was almost upon him even though he couldn’t hear it and didn’t dare look back, so he took the next step slowly. And the next. And then he was in the pantry.
Go!
He broke into a run. The gust of quick air snuffed his candle.
Shit!
But the way ahead had a gray hint of light and he ran toward it. Suddenly in the kitchen, he skidded to a halt and whirled around and found the pantry door and swung it shut.
It slammed.
Mark cringed.
He leaned back against the door. Heart thudding hard and fast, he huffed for air.
Made it! I made it! Thank you thank you thank you!
But he suddenly imagined being hurled across the kitchen as the beast crashed through the door.
Gotta get outa here!
He lurched forward, turned and hurried through the kitchen. By the vague light coming in through its windows, he made his way to the back door. He twisted its knob and pulled, but the door wouldn’t budge.
Come on!
He found its latch.
The door swung open. He rushed out onto the back porch.
About to pull the door shut, he stopped.
What If I get locked out?
Doesn’t matter! I’m going home!
He let go of the door. Leaving it ajar, he backed away from it. He watched it closely.
The porch, enclosed by screens, was gray with moonlight, black with shadows. It smelled slightly of stale cigarette smoke. It had some furniture along the sides: a couch, a couple of chairs and small tables. In the corner near the kitchen was something that looked like a
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