Read Online Night Terrors by Mark Lukens - Free Book Online Page A

trying to get out. He’d gotten out a few times before, but the neighbors always brought him back. All the neighbors around here knew that Bo was just a big ol’ pussycat.
    Still, something didn’t feel right to him. Greg had learned to trust his gut instincts over the years – they had kept him out of trouble from time to time. One time a few years back he had sudden urge to pull over on the side of the road, which he did, and then he watched an eighteen wheeler run a red light at the next intersection a few seconds later. He remembered that his hands had been shaking and he’d been sweating. True fear. He’d sat on the side of the road for a few moments until he was calm enough to drive again.
    And now that true fear was back. His hands trembled and he could feel a cold sweat on his back, dripping down his spine.
    He thought he should go check the large double gates on his chain link fence to make sure they were locked. He even took a few steps out into the darkness towards the gates, but then he stopped as the fear tingled along the nerve endings just under his skin. The gates were closed and the chain was locked, he was sure of that. It was a nightly ritual for him.
    Instead of checking the gates, he walked back to his doublewide and climbed the steps and went back inside. He closed the door and locked it. He didn’t usually worry about locking his front door because he always kept the gates locked and Bo was always roaming around, but for some reason he wanted the door locked tonight.
    The TV was blaring a cop show as Greg walked from the front door to the kitchen. He felt a little better now that he was back inside his house with the door locked. He tried to shrug off the feeling of fear as he walked into the kitchen. He didn’t feel like cooking so he poured himself a bowl of cereal, except he used a salad bowl instead of a cereal bowl. Not good for his waistline, he was sure, but he’d given up on dieting years ago. He was always going to have a pot belly. He’d even quit drinking beer a few years ago, but his belly refused to cooperate.
    He added milk and a spoon to the cereal and took it from the kitchen back to the living room. He planned on plopping down in his recliner in front of the TV and watch some Law and Order re-runs and munch on his cereal. Maybe fall asleep in his chair.
    And he would keep his cordless phone close by tonight. But then he thought that maybe getting his shotgun out of the hall closet would be a better idea.
    Greg stopped in his tracks about halfway to his lumpy recliner.
    Static blared from the TV.
    And static blared in his mind. It was the strongest feeling he’d ever had in his life – much stronger than when he’d pulled over onto the side of the road and watched the eighteen-wheeler run the intersection. A shockwave of fear ran through his mind. There was no denying it now, there was no shrugging it off as imagination, he was certain now that he was in grave danger.
    He didn’t know exactly what kind of danger, but he knew it was imminent.
    The cereal bowl slipped from his hands which seemed to have lost their strength for a moment. The plastic bowl crashed down to his laminate wood floor and then bounced up and finally settled upside down a few feet away from him after the milk and cereal had sprayed out across the floor.
    Like the spray your blood will make, a voice whispered in his mind. But the scariest thing was that it didn’t seem to be his own voice. It was like someone else had just whispered into his ear (and he even looked around to see if anyone else was right behind him), but the voice had been in his mind.
    Greg knew he didn’t have much time – there was only one thing he could do to save himself. He ran through the living room for the hallway. He was still wearing his work boots (still wearing his work clothes for that matter, grease stains and all), and his boots thundered across the floor.
    He reached the hall closet and tore the door