B is for Bogeywoman (A-Z of Horror Book 2)

by Iain Rob Wright

  The light went on. This time it was the lamp on the bedside table. Wendell was leaning over the edge of his bed, looking down on Dean with a tired, irritated look on his face.

  “Dean, what are you doing?”

  Dean looked around himself. His sheets were crumpled and his pyjamas were sodden with sweat. His legs were underneath Wendell’s bed but there was no staring face or open jaws waiting for him, just dim shadows.

  The bedroom door opened and Mr Kurtz stood in the doorway. He didn’t seem angry, but nor did he seem particularly amused. “What is going on?” he demanded. “It is 3AM.”

  Dean shook his head. “3AM? It can’t be. We only just came to bed.”

  “You went to bed four hours ago, young man. Have you been dreaming once again? Do you have the nightmares often?”

  Dean climbed back onto his bed, looked around the room, looked at Wendell and his father, then burst out into floods of tears. It was humiliating, but he couldn’t help it. “I want my mum.”

  “You would like me to call your parents, ja?” Mr Kurtz said. “At three in the morning, ja? They may be very upset. Perhaps you should just go back to sleep.”

  “Yeah,” Wendell said, now sounding like he hated Dean. “Stop being such a baby. What’s wrong with you?”

  “There was a woman under your bed, Wendell! I want to go home. I want my mum.”

  Wendell rolled his eyes and got up out of bed. “Fine, go home. I’m never inviting you to stay again. You’re afraid of the dark like a little baby.”

  “No, I’m not.” Dean was feeling angry now, trapped and cornered. “Just call my fucking parents so I can get out of here.”

  Mr Kurtz screwed his face up in disgust. “You do not use such language in my home, young man. Wendell, come. We will call your friend’s parents to collect him. They will be most disappointed, I am sure.”

  Wendell kicked off his covers irritably and stomped after his father. They closed the door behind them and Dean was sure he heard it click. He jumped up to his feet and pulled on the handle. It was locked.

  “Hey,” he shouted, banging on the door with his palm. “Why have you locked the door?”

  The only reply was footsteps fading down the hallway.

  From inside the en suite came the sound of running water. Dean spun around to face the open doorway to the bathroom. The light was off inside and he could see only darkness inside, but steam escaped, perhaps coming from the scolding water of the shower.

  Old cottages had dodgy pipework, dean knew, but showers did not just switch themselves on. Dean moved away from the bedroom door and crept across the carpet towards the en suite. Steam continued tumbling out in humid clouds. He felt a sheen developing on his forehead. Besides the hissing of the water, he was sure he could hear something else. A scratching sound.

  His heart beat hard in his chest, but he was unable to ignore what was going on. He took the final two steps until he was right outside the door to the bathroom. He reached inside, fumbled for the light’s pull cord, but found something else instead. His fingers touched something slippery and cold. He stared into the darkness, trying to make out what he was touching.

  The old woman stared back at Dean from the shadows of the bathroom, sucking on his fingers as she did so. When he pulled his hand away in revulsion, the old lady began to cackle. The sound sent a chill down his spine. The woman’s cackles slowly turned into a growl and then, suddenly, she lunged at him.

  Dean screamed. His hand found the pull cord and he grabbed hold of it as he stumbled back on his heels.

  The light came on.

  The old woman vanished.

  Dean whimpered, almost letting out a scream again but took deep breaths and tried to remain calm. He raced over to the bedroom door and banged on it. “Let me out of here,” he shouted. “She’s here. I’m not dreaming and she’s in here.”

  There was no reply. Wherever Wendell and his father had gone, they could not hear him. Or they were ignoring him.

  Dean’s mind turned to his mobile phone, but he remembered he had left it in his coat pocket, which was hung in the cottage’s porch. There was no way to get to it. Nearing a full-blown panic – he felt it in his knees and chest – he went over to the window. Outside, the moon was full, but there was nothing else to see but darkness. Even in the light, Dean knew he would see nothing but fields. All the same, he wanted out of that room. He grabbed the window’s handle and twisted.

  It refused to move.

  Dean pushed hard enough to hurt his hand before giving up.

  The shower was still on and the entire bedroom was now full of steam. He hurried into the en suite, praying out loud that the old woman would be nowhere to be seen. The shower was spitting with venom, the water in its pipes too hot and coming out more gas than liquid. Dean had to be careful to avoid scolding himself as he reached in and turned the knob. The shower stopped spitting and the steam dissipated. He sighed, wiped his forearm over his glistening head, then noticed something on the mirror above the sink. He stepped cautiously towards it and then read the words scratched through the condensation.

  DON’T LOOK UNDER THE BED.

  Dean felt his bladder loosen and was just quick enough to pull out his penis and aim it into the toilet. As he stood, trapped by his need to urinate, the lights in the bathroom began to flicker.

  Then they went off.

  Dean pushed his bladder harder, got out the last droplets, then turned and leapt back out into the bedroom where it was still light. He span around to face back into the darkness of the en suite and saw the old woman looking back at him. She did not cackle this time, only stared at him hungrily. Her hair was matted and grey, like wool soaking in a muddy puddle. Her face was an intersection of deep grooves and furrows, wrinkles deeper than any he had ever seen. Her eyes were smouldering coals.

  Dean couldn’t look away. If he did, the old woman might just reach out and grab his neck and pull him into the shadows. He backed away slowly, keeping eye contact with the glaring old woman.

  As he walked backwards, his foot caught on something and got tangled up. He stumbled on his rolled-up bed sheets and tripped backwards onto his butt. It didn’t hurt, as he landed on the inflatable bed, but it caused him to take his eyes off the old woman, and when he looked up again she was gone from the bathroom.

  Dean heard the cackling right beside him and turned to face Wendell’s bed. Beneath it laid the old woman, staring out at him and grinning unnaturally wide. She reached out from the shadows and grabbed him by both ankles, then slowly started dragging him towards her open jaws – jaws that became wider than her entire head.

  Dean screamed.

  The bedroom door opened.

  Mr Kurtz and Wendell stood there, looking down at Dean. Dean reached out to them and pleaded. “Help me! Do you see her? Do you see her?”

  Mr Kurtz nodded. “Yes, young man, we see her.”

  Wendell reached over and switched off the bedroom light while his father pulled the door closed and enclosed the room in darkness. The last thing Dean heard was the sound of the bedroom door locking behind them, and the cackling of the old woman as she dragged him beneath the bed toward her jaws. The smell of oranges was replaced by the smell of his blood.

  ***

  Wendell awoke in his bed late, for he had gained little sleep during the night, thanks to the constant noise of his friend, Dean. He had whimpered and begged for hours, trapped and moaning beneath the bed, until Wendell could barely stand it any longer. It had been nearly dawn before he finally got some shuteye.

  He woke up now and dangled his legs over the side of his bed. His mother was already awake, stepping out of the en suite and drying her hair, while spraying her orange-scented perfume about her smooth, slender neck. She looked well, young and vibrant. She smiled at her son when she saw him. “Rise and shine, Wendy. I thought you were never going to wake up.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Sorry, if I kept you up.”

  “It’s oka
y, mum. You have to eat.”

  “Yes, it had been so long. I needed it very badly. I enjoyed your friend.”

  “Me, too. I’ll miss him.”

  “There will be plenty more friends to make, little Wendy.”

  Wendell hopped off the bed and went over to his mother, who immediately gave him a hug. “I know there will be more friends, mum. I just find it so hard having to make such an effort. Can’t we just take boys for you to eat?”

  His mother laughed, an effluent sound. “And have ourselves hounded and hunted like we were in Germany? No, Wendy, this is a new start for us. We have to be careful. One day you may need to feed, too, if you want to stay young.”

  “I can’t wait,” he said. “What is it like to feed?”

  “Glorious, but it is not for young boys, and we do not know yet that you will take after me and not your father. Now, what would you like to do today? The zoo, shopping? It has been months since I was well.”

  Wendell grinned. “Let’s go bowling. I’ll go ask dad. What’s he doing?”

  His mother sprayed another dash of perfume and smiled, her teeth gleaming, white and beautiful. “He is in the stables, disposing of young Dean’s parents. He called them in the night to collect their son, but of course they were never to know the truth. They have been dealt with. We will speak no more of Dean and his family.”

  Wendell smiled. “Okay. I’ll make a new friend on Monday.”

  “Yes,” said his mother, purring. “Do make sure you bring them around for dinner.”

  END.

  About The Author

  Iain Rob Wright is one of the UK's most successful horror and suspense writers, with novels including the critically acclaimed, THE FINAL WINTER; the disturbing bestseller, ASBO; and the wicked screamfest, THE HOUSEMATES.

  His work is currently being adapted for graphic novels, audio books, and foreign audiences. He is an active member of the Horror Writer Association and a massive animal lover.

  Check out Iain's official website or add him on Facebook where he would love to meet you.

  www.iainrobwright.com

  FEAR ON EVERY PAGE

  More Books by Iain Rob Wright

  THE FINAL WINTER: UK US

  Apocalyptic horror novel where it never stops snowing and something ancient stalks the earth.

  ASBO: UK US

  Innocent family man is targeted by a gang of sadistic youths.

  ANIMAL KINGDOM: UK US

  Animals turn on mankind and try to make humanity extinct.

  SEA SICK: UK US

  A deadly virus is unleashed on board a luxury cruise liner.

  SAM: UK US

  A young boy seems to be possessed. But is he?

  RAVAGE: UK US

  Apocalyptic horror that culminates in a fight for survival at a hilltop amusement park. Say goodbye to the world.

  SAVAGE: UK US

  Apocalyptic sequel to Ravage where the stakes are even higher at an abandoned pier. Sometimes being alone is better.

  THE HOUSEMATES: UK US

  Reality TV turns deadly. 12 competitors but only 1 winner.

  SOFT TARGET: UK US

  Nonstop Thriller where the future of the United Kingdom is at stake.

  HOLES IN THE GROUND: UK US

  Collaboration with J A Konrath. Some things should stay buried. And guarded forever.

  THE PICTURE FRAME: UK US

  A haunted picture frame that curses anybody whose photograph is placed inside it.

  Copyright

  * * *AN SG THRILLER RELEASE* * *

  Part of the SALGAD PUBLISHING GROUP

  Redditch

  UK, Worcestershire

  www.SALGADPUBLISHING.com

  B is for Bogeywoman copyright 2015 by Iain Rob Wright

  www.IAINROBWRIGHT.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the consent of the publisher, except where permitted by law.