In the Dark
In the Dark
Jennifer Reynolds
Copyright © 2014
All Rights Reserved
Author’s Note:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
In the Dark
Jennifer Reynolds
I dedicate this short story to my little sister, Annah Woeher, the only other person I know who loves vampire stories as much as I do.
Also by Jennifer Reynolds
Novels:
ALONE
SHIFTER
Short Stories:
Charles Wallace’s Favorite Toy
Coming in January 2015
HIM
In the Dark
Alisa sits alone on her small porch watching the world from her small New England home. A light creak comes from her black, wicker rocking chair as she slowly rocks back and forth. Watching the evening sky change colors as the day draws to a close, she feels a chill run down her spine. The sky rumbles, telling her that a storm is brewing.
The pending storm is going to be an absolute perfect ending to this Halloween night, she thinks, looking up at the darkening clouds.
The DeVany twins were at her door trick-or-treating about an hour after school had let out. Their persistent knocking had been a welcome relief from her blank stare at the computer screen. Alisa had not been ready for them that early in the afternoon. The candy she had bought that morning sat sealed in its bag, and not in the ridiculously large orange bowl she had bought to hold it.
After giving the twins a handful of mini Reese Cups, she poured the rest of the bag into the bowl along with a bag of bite-size Kit Kats and a bag of fun-size 3 Musketeers. Deciding that going back to the computer would be a waste of time, she took the bowl and went outside to meet the trick-or-treaters as they came.
Now, two hours later, she is still outside steadily rocking, waiting for the next Dora or Spiderman to come up her walkway. The amount of children out trick-or-treating has been surprisingly few, she decides. Her candy bucket is nearly as full as when she first came out to the porch. The lack of children may be because the air holds horrid secrets that everyone seems to feel. Thunder whispers softly across the sky as a fine mist of rain moistens the air.
Gradually, the rain falls harder, and she can see the children hurrying off to their homes to escape the oncoming downpour. Their soft cries and stifled laughter carry far into the wind before quickly fading into the night. The thunder cracks louder with every passing moment. The drops of rain grow heavier.
The last of the sunlight fades, letting shadows creep into every corner of the world. As the sound of the last child dies, Alisa chances a quick look out over the field that lies across the street from her house. She sees something staring up at her from the brush that lines the field. The something’s red-yellow eyes seem to be studying her, watching her every move. It does not flinch or even try to hide from her when she looks directly into its gaze.
There have been whispers in town these last couple of weeks, whispers of missing people, mysterious deaths, and feelings of danger lingering in the air. People are terrified to journey outside at night or to be alone anywhere. An unofficial curfew has been set for eight in the evening, and nearly every person in Woodsville is following it. This is odd behavior in a town where people know each other by name, leave the doors to their homes and vehicles unlocked, and let their children roam around town unsupervised for hours.
Alisa had tried not to listen to the whispers, but in this town, a person could not avoid hearing what others say, especially, when the whispers are as loud as the blasts of thunder currently shaking her tiny home’s foundation. Folks in this small town have a tendency to over-exaggerate things they do not understand, which is why she had not paid too much attention to the rumors floating around among the townspeople.
Alisa had been the topic of every secret conversation for months when she first moved here because she just showed up one day and bought a house. She was a single woman with no children and no reason for settling in their town, and they did not like her sudden appearance. Even the realtor was hesitant about selling her the house she now owns. Alisa is convinced that the woman ran every possible background check she could on Alisa, trying to find an excuse not to sell her the house before letting her sign the papers.
During her first trip down Main Street, she noticed the residents watching her. She tried not to care that every time she entered a shop the inhabitants grew silent. She even tried not to mind that no one talked to her or initiated personal contact with her, but she did notice these things and many others. Alisa did not mind, though. In fact, she liked being the woman of mystery. Alisa slowly bends over and picks up the bowl of candy from its spot beside her rocking chair. Looking across the field a second time, she sees it still sitting there looking at her. Her body trembles lightly in fear at the sight of it. A vicious smile spreads across its face, as if it can smell her fear, and is taking great pleasure in it. She turns and goes back inside her tiny one-bedroom stone cottage, her skin still crawling with little bumps of fear. She prays that what she saw out in the brush is just a large animal of some sort, maybe a wolf or a big dog.
The house is dark and empty, but it is always dark and empty, almost uninviting even to its owner. The only sounds are the normal noises an old house like this makes. Locking the door behind her, Alisa carries her bowl of candy to the kitchen. Before going into the living room, she goes back to the front door for one last look out over the field. She cannot see the creature anymore, but she can still feel it watching her.
Reading or watching a little television while resting in her brown, micro-suede recliner is one of her many nightly relaxing techniques. The crazy nightlife that most single people her age enjoy has never been what she considers a good time—another thing that the small town folks in this town do not like about her. They did not “think it right” for a single woman pushing thirty to lock herself up day and night in a dark, tiny house on a nearly deserted little lane. Since she is a writer, her home is her life. Even if she was a very social person, there is no bar or club in the town that would welcome her, if they knew her.
Setting down her steaming cup of green tea and picking up one of many remotes lying on the coffee table, Alisa turns on the television. The picture is nothing but a snowy screen. The cable must be out. She flips the channel over to input one and turns on the DVD player. The “root menu screen” to season two of Lost comes up, but just as she pushes in the “select” button to view the episodes individually, the TV and DVD player click off. The power is off.
“If a person breathes the wrong way in a small country town like this one, the power goes out,” she mutters.
Tossing the remote away, she gets up to light the two oil lanterns stationed on top of the fireplace. Power outages area near weekly occurrence here; therefore, she has gotten into the habit of keeping the lamps out in plain sight and keeping them full of oil. As a side thought, she pokes the fire that is smoldering in the fireplace, and then adds another log to it before carrying one of the lanterns over to the end table beside her recliner. She picks up her copy of Lisey’s Story, one of her favorite Stephen King novels and opens it up to where she left off yesterday afternoon.
She had just finished the scene where Dooley is attacking Lisey. He had cut up her breast with a can opener. After reading that, Alisa had to put the book down and gone to do something else. She has written some very dramatic, true-to-life stuff that critics had had a field day over, but she would have never thought
to cut off a woman’s nipple with a can opener. It was stuff like that made her read his work.
Settling deep into her chair to read how Lisey survives the attack, she glances up as a flash of lightning lights up the living room window. As the flash fades, she sees the dark figure of what might be a man take shape in the window. Alisa sits staring motionless, breathless at the menacing figure. Her mind is unable to process what she is seeing.
The shadow gradually moves on past the living room toward the back of the house. Setting down the book, without marking her place, she slowly rises from her recliner to follow the direction the shadow went. Upon rising, she nearly knocks the lantern off the end table when a clap of thunder jerks her out of the daze into which she has fallen. She snatches up the lantern before it falls, settles it on the table, and moves out of the living room.
Standing in the entryway to the laundry room, Alisa watches as the figure takes form in the window of the backdoor. She looks down to see the door handle shake. Another burst of thunder blares into the silence. Alisa, covering her mouth to stifle a scream, jumps back knocking the cordless phone out of its cradle on the wall. Luckily, she catches the receiver before it hits the floor. Bringing the phone up to her ear, she clicks the talk button and listens for a dial tone, but there is none.
Lightning strikes across the sky, again, lighting up the night and making it easier for her to see the towering figure standing outside her back door. She swears to herself that what she sees is not a human but something monstrous. Alisa uses everything in her power to keep down another scream.
After what feels like forever, the door’s handle stops shaking. The only sound throughout the entire house is the sound of the storm getting stronger. She remains leaning against the frame of the door, waiting, for what, she does not know.
When the lightning comes again, Alisa is no longer able to see the creature’s shadow in the window. This sudden sight of nothing jerks her into an upright position. Her fear consumes her, making her whole body tremble.
Getting control over herself, she runs from room to room, looking for the shadow, but the creature, whatever it is, has simply disappeared. The adrenalin from the search settles her fears, causing her brain to begin functioning logically again. Stopping in her bedroom, between her sleigh-bed and cherry dresser, she decides that she does not want to know where it is. She only cares that it is obviously gone.
As she walks back to the living room, her hands start to shake uncontrollably, not really out of fear but out of relief. She sits back down in her recliner, legs tucked up under her, biting her nails, listening to the rain and waiting for it to reappear. Alisa desperately wants to leave the house, but she cannot bring herself to go out into the dark.
A soft tapping sound startles her out of her concentrated gaze at her cream-colored carpet. The tapping is coming from the front door, and it is getting louder with every second. Alisa gets up, walks over to the fireplace, grabs the poker, and slowly walks over to the door. Her sanity screams for her to run, to hide and to not do what it knows she is about to do, but she does not listen.
A part of her is hoping, praying that a neighbor has come to check on her. Another part of her reminds her that she does not know any of her neighbors well enough for them to come to check on her. She does not truly think that anyone in this town cares enough about her to come to check on her. No one misses the invisible even in a small country hole-in-the-wall like this one. This is what makes them easy prey.
Slightly she pulls back the curtains of the sidelight windows, for the second time today, to peer outside—though this time she is not looking for a wolf-like creature but a man. She peeks through the small opening, trying to get a good look at whomever it is doing the tapping. What she sees is a humanoid beast with dark, sunken, yellow eyes, hard, raised cheekbones, a rough brow, and razor sharp teeth. Her breath stops in her lungs. Her heart even stops beating for a second.
The tapping ceases. Alisa watches as the beast’s features quickly smooth out, and transform into a very handsome looking man, a man with long, blonde hair, soft, smooth skin and a dimpled chin. No matter how good-looking her eyes find him, her tingling spine feels the predatory vibe his body gives off. In one quick, shocking move, he reaches out and pushes open the front door. Alisa falls back into the hall closet that is located to the right of the door. She is shaking from head to toe, her breathing coming in noisy sharp gasps. She watches the creature as he steps into her doorway.
For a moment, Alisa prays that he does not see her, but just as the thought enters her mind, he turns his head to the side and looks directly at her. His mesmerizing, inhuman eyes are as clear as water. Locked in his gaze, she lets him reach down, grab her by the back of her neck, and lift her off the ground.
Every muscle in her body is immobile. She feels as if she has no strength left in her. She just hangs in the air like a little girl’s rag doll. He gives her a wide grin, revealing a mouth full of fangs. Opening his mouth wider, the monster lets out the most disgusting laugh. Then just as quickly as the laugh begins, it stops. Slowly, he lowers his mouth to her neck. She tries to scream as she feels her flesh break away, and pain, blindingly sharp, freezes her voice in her throat as his teeth slide through tissue and find the artery he needs. She becomes faint as the blood quickly leaves her body and drains into his.
In one last attempt to save her life, she forces herself to raise the fire poker up behind him. Pulling it as far back as her arm would allow, giving herself momentum, she shoves it deep into his back, right where his heart should be. He pulls out of her neck so fast his fangs rip open the tiny holes they had originally created. She screams as her skin tears. He howls in anger and pain. His cold blood splatters her chest as her warm blood runs down her neck.
Alisa falls to the floor with a thud as he lets go of her. He begins to pull at the poker, trying to get it out of his back. The world goes white, then black, as she slowly slides in and out of consciousness. She gives herself five seconds to let the fear consume her, and her body to adjust to the shock, before regaining control of the situation. The monster looks as if he is doing some kind of strange tribal dance, twisting, and turning, trying to pull the poker out from his back. He is unaware that part of the poker is sticking out of his chest.
She can see three or four inches of metal sticking out of his shirt. The shard is dripping blood and tissue onto the floor. She thinks to herself that it is sticking out far enough for her to get a hold of, so she reaches up and grabs it behind the hook in order to pull it out of his chest. He howls louder. Blood gushes out at her. The monster crumples to his knees in pain.
Using the poker to prop herself up she gets to a standing position. A small glint of fear flashes across his face when he sees her on her feet. Her expression quickly changes to anger as he leaps at her, but she is faster. Holding her neck with her left hand to slow the bleeding, she raises the poker up like a trident and begins to stab him repeatedly. Blood shoots into the air, covering every inch of the short foyer.
Out of energy and anger, sure that he is dead, she walks over to the kitchen to wrap her neck. Alisa is barely able to stand. She tries walking over to the sofa to lie down, but she does not make it.
Days will pass before anyone notices that she is missing.
Please turn the page for an exciting peek at Jennifer Reynolds’ supernatural romance novel, Shifter, available in both eBook and paperback.
To find out more about Shifter, visit the novel’s Facebook and Goodreads’ page at:
https://www.facebook.com/Shifter.Jennifer.Reynolds
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22459303-shifter
SHIFTER
Chapter 1
~~~Abby~~~
In the Dark Page 1
