Three True Tales of Terror: A True Hauntings' Collection
Page 20
Taryn was not a religious person, and wasn’t even sure she believed in God, or one powerful entity at all, but she did believe in energy and nature and if there was something bigger than herself in the universe, she always felt it outside when she was alone. She never found it inside the walls of a church or listening to someone preach. Sometimes, while she was painting, she’d get so lost in thought and deep into her picture that she even thought she might becoming a part of it, or with the world around her. It was the closest thing she’d ever had to a religious experience and the feeling of euphoria it gave her was similar to the one she’d gotten off some pain pills when she’d had her wisdom teeth removed.
All of a sudden, a loud crash from inside the house sang out and caused her to jump off the hood and drop her sandwich to the ground. “So much for the five-second rule,” she cursed as she watched it immediately get covered with mud and ants. She was hungry, but not that hungry.
Still, she was curious about the noise. She didn’t think anyone was in the house and it had been a couple of days since she’d been inside. “Eh, why not?” she mumbled, and made her way to the front door. “What’s it going to do?”
Always taken a little aback by the amount of darkness that existed even with the windows uncovered, it took her a moment to adjust her eyes when she stepped inside. The living room was cleared of any items and was stark and empty. Taryn thought this made it feel less intimidating than before, as though the boxes had made it feel more lived in, as though someone was coming back. Even the curtains were gone. The peeling wallpaper was still on the walls, though, and it gently flapped as she walked by, stirred by her movements, the only testament to the fact she was actually there.
The hardwood floors were still rock-solid, despite Reagan’s concerns, and didn’t make a sound as she moved through the rooms. Not a squeak was made. She was surprised by the lack of dust and smiled at the fact that Mrs. Jones had dusted them; that effort was made to sweep the house before it was demolished. It must be a southern thing to clean something before killing it; to fix something before destroying it. She marveled at the beautiful fireplace mantle, so detailed and ornate and yet at the staircase banister, so simple and plain. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to why money was spent on some fixtures and not on others. Clearly, the original owners had possessed money, yet had been selective about how it was spent.
The dining room and kitchen were also bare of belongings, as were the downstairs closets. There obviously wasn’t anything on the downstairs level that could have made such a loud noise that she would have heard it from the outside. At any rate, it was as quiet as a church now, or a library. It was hard to imagine this place ever filled with the sounds of a family: laughter, singing, dancing, chattering…Yet the house must have possessed such things and been host to such activities at one time, right? Someone lived in the house and loved it once. Yet there were no echoes of this former life in it now. She could barely even hear her own breathing.
Without the boards on the windows and door, it was easier to see. She thought (hoped) the extra light might make the house feel more gracious, yet the welcoming feeling she’d experienced outside disappeared as soon as she stepped through the front door.
Once she circled through the downstairs, she made her way to the first set of stairs in the living room and put her foot on the first step. All at once, a roar so loud, she felt as though her ear drums would pop from the deafening sound filled the room to a raucous level. Staggering, she fell backward and scraped her lower back against the wooden stairs behind her. As she clutched at her chest, she pushed against an invisible force that seemed to thrust against her. The rumble continued all around her, filling the air at an incredible volume, the sound neither man nor animal.
An astonishing wind swept through the room and up the staircase, whipping her hair around her and sending hot air down her throat, making her unable to talk or scream. Gasping for breath, she struggled to talk or breathe and began choking, gagging, wheezing. The front door, which she’d left open, closed with a bang. In horror, she watched small cracks appear in the living room windows and then watched as the glass shattered and flew out into the yard in hundreds of pieces. Using her hands and sheer strength, Taryn managed to grab onto the banister and pull her way up, inch by inch. Finally, by wrapping her legs around the banister, straddling it, and turning her back to the door and wind, she caught her breath. Using what breath she had left, she screamed with everything she had, “WHAT DO YOU WANT!?”
As quickly as it started, everything stopped.
Taryn was left on the banister, like a little kid who had simply been caught sliding down from the top of the stairs. There was utter stillness again with no sign that anything had happened, other than the fact that the windows were broken and the door was closed.
Shaken, she unwound herself from the banister and ran out the front door, not bothering to close it behind her. She’d let the ghost deal with that.
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Copyrights
Four Months of Terror
Copyright © 2014 by Rebecca Patrick-Howard
www.rebeccaphoward.net
Published by Mistletoe Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
First Edition: June 2014
Printed in the United States of America
A Summer of Fear
Copyright © 2014 by Rebecca Patrick-Howard
Published by Mistletoe Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
First Edition: September 2014
Printed in the United States of America
The Maple House
Copyright © 2014 by Jeanie Dyer
Published by Mistletoe Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
First Edition: August 2014
Printed in the United States of America