Read Online Night of the Living Dead by Christopher Andrews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Andrews
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wall and bannister, she ascended the stairs at a very slow, very timid pace. Halfway up, she could finally see what waited for her ... and yet her mind couldn’t accept what she was seeing. She knew what it looked like, but no ... surely it wasn’t ...
But it was. It was a body. A corpse. But that wasn’t what finally ripped a scream from her reluctant lips.
The person — a man? a woman? she couldn’t tell — had been mutilated. The face had been ripped to shreds as though eaten by some savage animal. The teeth were exposed where an upper lip should have been, drawn into a sickening rictus like a perverted smile. Drying, nearly black blood had congealed in the hair, hiding whatever natural color it had once been and leaving an apparent gap through the left temple and down into the brain cavity itself. The right eye was missing, but the left eye gaped its wild view upon the world, the eyelid torn, ripped, chewed away, leaving it staring into space. Staring at Barbra.
Something had eaten its face, and it was staring at her.
Too much. She was no longer sliding out of control. Control was gone, evaporated, her mind snapped.
Down the stairs, folding over the bannister to empty her belly, unable to find even that relief, running, running, the knife staying in her hand only by chance, through the hallway, through the dining room, to the foyer, to the front door, clawing at it, unlocking it, no thoughts of the creature or creatures outside, no thoughts at all save one faint echo, the mere glimmering of a true thought: Johnny’s the lucky one.
The front door finally opening for her, she shoved the screen door aside as she burst into the night ...
... and into blinding light.
Bedazzled, Barbra collided with the porch post, which was all that kept her from taking a face-dive into the front yard. She heard a metallic slam from beyond the twins beams which struck a familiar chord, but she was beyond making sense of things. She reeled back, throwing her arms before her eyes to block the glare that threatened to excecate her.
Was she in Hell? Was that why she couldn’t get away from horror after horror?
Then a shape stepped forward to block the headlights—
(Headlights! That’s what they were — headlights!)
—and she could see again. But would this prove any better?
She and the man in the sweater stared at each other, appraising. Barbra took another step back, but just as she had instinctively withdrawn from the previous two newcomers, something told her that this man was not a threat. For one thing, he was studying her with a leery-but-thoughtful expression in his eyes — not at all like the empty hunger of the thing that had chased her from the cemetery.
Speaking of ...
The creature had found its way around to this side of the house, and the man heard it. He looked over his shoulder, tensing. Barbra noticed, in a distant manner, that he carried a tire iron, and was poised to use it. Then he looked at Barbra again, hesitated, and instead of facing off with the creature, he pushed her back into the house. She resisted a little — hadn’t there been something in the house from which she had been desperate to escape? She couldn’t remember anymore. She ... she couldn’t think anymore.
Johnny ...
Ben slammed the door shut and locked it, relaxing — just a little — for the first time since his flight from Beekman’s Diner. He didn’t know who this young blonde woman was, but all he cared about was that she was normal . A little stunned, maybe, but he could live with that — he would take whatever help he could get tonight.
"It’s all right," he told the whimpering girl.
She just stared at him, as though waiting for him to do something.
Turning his back to the door, Ben looked around the dark house. He gripped the tire iron he had so thankfully found in the bed of the truck.
"Don’t worry about him," he assured her as
But it was. It was a body. A corpse. But that wasn’t what finally ripped a scream from her reluctant lips.
The person — a man? a woman? she couldn’t tell — had been mutilated. The face had been ripped to shreds as though eaten by some savage animal. The teeth were exposed where an upper lip should have been, drawn into a sickening rictus like a perverted smile. Drying, nearly black blood had congealed in the hair, hiding whatever natural color it had once been and leaving an apparent gap through the left temple and down into the brain cavity itself. The right eye was missing, but the left eye gaped its wild view upon the world, the eyelid torn, ripped, chewed away, leaving it staring into space. Staring at Barbra.
Something had eaten its face, and it was staring at her.
Too much. She was no longer sliding out of control. Control was gone, evaporated, her mind snapped.
Down the stairs, folding over the bannister to empty her belly, unable to find even that relief, running, running, the knife staying in her hand only by chance, through the hallway, through the dining room, to the foyer, to the front door, clawing at it, unlocking it, no thoughts of the creature or creatures outside, no thoughts at all save one faint echo, the mere glimmering of a true thought: Johnny’s the lucky one.
The front door finally opening for her, she shoved the screen door aside as she burst into the night ...
... and into blinding light.
Bedazzled, Barbra collided with the porch post, which was all that kept her from taking a face-dive into the front yard. She heard a metallic slam from beyond the twins beams which struck a familiar chord, but she was beyond making sense of things. She reeled back, throwing her arms before her eyes to block the glare that threatened to excecate her.
Was she in Hell? Was that why she couldn’t get away from horror after horror?
Then a shape stepped forward to block the headlights—
(Headlights! That’s what they were — headlights!)
—and she could see again. But would this prove any better?
She and the man in the sweater stared at each other, appraising. Barbra took another step back, but just as she had instinctively withdrawn from the previous two newcomers, something told her that this man was not a threat. For one thing, he was studying her with a leery-but-thoughtful expression in his eyes — not at all like the empty hunger of the thing that had chased her from the cemetery.
Speaking of ...
The creature had found its way around to this side of the house, and the man heard it. He looked over his shoulder, tensing. Barbra noticed, in a distant manner, that he carried a tire iron, and was poised to use it. Then he looked at Barbra again, hesitated, and instead of facing off with the creature, he pushed her back into the house. She resisted a little — hadn’t there been something in the house from which she had been desperate to escape? She couldn’t remember anymore. She ... she couldn’t think anymore.
Johnny ...
Ben slammed the door shut and locked it, relaxing — just a little — for the first time since his flight from Beekman’s Diner. He didn’t know who this young blonde woman was, but all he cared about was that she was normal . A little stunned, maybe, but he could live with that — he would take whatever help he could get tonight.
"It’s all right," he told the whimpering girl.
She just stared at him, as though waiting for him to do something.
Turning his back to the door, Ben looked around the dark house. He gripped the tire iron he had so thankfully found in the bed of the truck.
"Don’t worry about him," he assured her as
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