Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  Her body was still shaking, and she fought to contain her panic. Somehow she'd avoided its attention…somehow she'd gone unnoticed…

  Somehow she'd get away…

  The back door shook. She heard the rattle of the doorknob and the scratch of claws, then the squeak of wood in the doorframe.

  This time Abby didn't wait. She bolted in the opposite direction, heading for the front end of the house. The hallway was only ten feet long, and in less than a second, she'd reached the foyer. Ahead of her was the front door. To her right was a set of stairs.

  Which way? Whichway?

  The door would lead her back outside. But upstairs, she might be able to hide. She'd already tried running, and she hadn't gotten far…

  She grappled with the decision. The back door shook. At any second, it would topple inward and admit the creature.

  She grabbed the front door and felt wildly for the locks. Then she undid the deadbolt, turned the handle, and flung open the door. Cold air and snow spat from the outside.

  The back door exploded from behind her.

  Abby turned tail and raced up the staircase.

  She ran on the balls of her feet, praying the stairs wouldn't squeak underfoot. One excess noise would alert the thing to her plan, if it hadn't smelled her already. Her hope was to throw it off long enough to hide.

  The image of Rob paraded through her head. He'd been powerless against the thing, and so had the body in the kitchen. She didn't even know who the body belonged to. Whether it was Leon or Adeline, she could only guess.

  Even with the lights on, she doubted she'd recognize the body, if it was as mangled as Rob's had been.

  She skimmed up the steps, listening to the crash of objects below her. The thing was in the kitchen. Ripping up fabric. Tearing at the walls.

  Making its way through the house in a rage.

  All stealth had been cast aside. Its mission now was to find and destroy her.

  She tripped on something unidentifiable, sending her sprawling on all fours, and she used her hands and feet to scramble up the remaining steps. Once on the landing, her eyes darted left and right, trying to make sense of the darkness. The pale wash of the outdoors filtered through several uncovered windows, and she strained to absorb the light. She could see doorways on either side of her. On a whim, she veered right. A dark doorframe beckoned, and she headed straight for it.

  At the last second, she caught a glimpse of the beast in the foyer.

  The thing was standing next to the front door. It reared up on its haunches, head swiveling beneath a low-hung chandelier. It was seven feet tall. Maybe more.

  She pitched herself into the dark room, her body surging with adrenaline. The room was black and impenetrable. She waved her hands in front of her, catching hold of nothing but empty air. She got the sense it was a bedroom or an office. Something large.

  Wherever she was, the shades were drawn.

  She maneuvered deeper inside, her hands outstretched, hoping to detect any obstacles before she bumped into them. Her fingers encountered a bed, and she grabbed frantically at the bedspread, looking for a way underneath.

  The thing was still in the house. She could hear its breath and the clack of its jowls. At any moment it would ascend the stairs and come after her. She grappled with the sheets, lost in the folds.

  Dammit! Come on!

  Suddenly she'd created an opening, and she wriggled her way underneath. The bed was about a foot off the ground—barely high enough to wedge herself under. As she slid under it, she couldn't help but feel she'd be trapped, claustrophobic. If the thing found her, there'd be no getting out easily.

  She was buried underneath the mattress.

  The house had fallen silent again. There was no longer any noise from downstairs—the breathing and sniffing had stopped. She held still. Her heart hammered against the floorboards. Had the beast left? Had it taken the bait? She waited a full minute, certain she'd hear a scrape or a scuff, but the quiet prevailed.

  Abby swallowed a breath.

  She inched out from beneath the bed. The house remained silent.

  Even if it had gone, she knew it would be back. Once it didn't find her outside, it would return. She needed to get out of the house.

  In her head, she formulated an escape plan: out the back door, into the woods. Help might be waiting on the other side of the forest—a house with a working phone, a neighbor who could provide refuge. She knew her chances were slim, but at the same time, she couldn't afford to stay.

  She slid back into the open, careful not to drag her knife on the floor. Once upright, she glanced around the room. Her eyes were still adjusting, and she could see shapes around her, objects lurking in the dark. Every one of them looked like the beast.

  What if it was in here with her?

  She swallowed back the thought and got to her feet, wincing at the soft rustle of her jacket. Across the room, she could see the faint outline of a window. She crept toward it, intending to look outside. She needed confirmation that the creature had left. Some proof that she was alone in the house.

  Her boots creaked; her socks pressed against her toes. Her limbs were raw and cold. When she reached the window, she found the corner of the shade and lifted it up. The glow of the outdoors crept past her, illuminating the room. She kept a safe distance from the glass to avoid detection.

  The neighborhood was emblazoned in white. From her position on the second floor, she had a bird's-eye view of the road, and she inspected the area with fear-soaked eyes. To her left was the faint outline of her raised ranch; on the road was her snow-covered Honda.

  The creature was nowhere in sight.

  All she could make out was a red trail in the middle of the street. It looked like the last pieces of Rob had been dragged out and consumed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Abby covered her mouth with her hand. The only thing worse than knowing her husband was dead was the knowledge that the creature had eaten him. She clenched her eyes shut, trying to dispel the image.

  Rob was dead. She'd known it before, but now it was final.

  There'd be no burial, no saying goodbye. The tears began to flow again, and her eyes flicked to the house next door—hers and Rob's. She could make out a hint of vinyl siding, bits and pieces of the snow-covered roof. It had been Rob's idea to move here, and she'd followed him. If they'd stayed in Georgia, this never would've happened.

  She remembered her mother's words when she'd left for Connecticut. The change will be good for you, sweetheart. It's good to have new experiences in life. Six months ago, Georgia had been the only home she'd ever known, and Abby had been reluctant to leave. But her mother had instilled confidence in her, assuring Abby that she was making the right move.

  And so Abby had taken the plunge. Now she was starting to regret it.

  But she needed to trust her instincts now. She needed to get out of here.

  The life she'd had with Rob was over.

  She glanced behind her, using the brief light of the window to determine her path. It was then that she noticed the body in the room. In the darkness, she hadn't detected it before.

  She seized up.

  A woman was lying on the bed. She could just make out Adeline's portly frame on the bed, her wiry hair. Her head was tilted too far back, and one of her slippers was missing. On her lap was a pistol. Abby let go of the shade and darted to the woman's side.

  She whispered the woman's name, but there was no response.

  Abby checked the woman for a pulse. The body was lifeless and still. She swallowed and reached for the gun, taking it in her hands. The barrel was cold. Metallic. Was it even loaded? She didn't know. She could only assume Adeline hadn't gotten the chance to fire it.

  If she had, Abby would've heard it.

  The creature must've gotten to her first.

  Abby reeled back from the bed, suddenly positive that she was alone. The Pierces and the Morgans had left. The Hamiltons were dead.

  The only perso
n left was the man at the end of the cul-de-sac, and the beast—and she suspected the two were one and the same.

  Getting to another neighborhood was her only bet.

  Abby put one foot in front of the other, clutching the knife and the gun, and treaded across the room. Before long, she'd cleared the bedroom and re-entered the hallway.

  She peered over the railing. The front door was still open. Beads of snow drifted in from outside, covering the foyer like an icy welcome mat. The world outside was white and silent, betraying nothing about the events that had transpired. Abby kept her eyes glued to the doorway. With each step, she could see more of the neighborhood—snow and gray sky and houses with their shapes twisted and deformed.

  When she reached the top landing, she took a breath. The stairs seemed to unfold before her. For a moment, she convinced herself that the carpeted steps were the only things separating her from the monster, that when she started down them, she'd give up her only advantage. But she had to move. Had to continue.

  Staying would mean death.

  She stared down the steps and out the front door, ready to take the first step.

  She was about to move when she saw a mass of fur barreling toward the house.

  Abby stepped back. Her heart leapt in her chest. The thing glided across the terrain, soundless except for the crunch of paws on powder. She spun and grabbed for the nearest door handle, then ducked into a small bathroom.

  Although her instinct was to slam the door shut and barricade herself inside, she closed it to a crack instead. Through the opening, over the top of the railing, she could see the foyer, the open door, and the advancing beast.

  She'd waited too long. She should've left sooner.

  She felt around in the dark, locating a counter and a sink, and placed the knife on top of it. Then she placed both hands on the gun and held it at chest level.

  She'd never fired one before. She knew where the trigger was and how to hold it, but nothing more. She prayed the thing had bullets, that it was ready to fire.

  The creature had reached the front step. She watched it switch from four limbs to two, standing upright and huffing the air. Her breath caught in her throat, and she backed away from the bathroom door, taking aim through the crack. Once it climbed the stairs and came into view, she'd shoot.

  She hoped it wouldn't. She hoped it would leave. But the fact of the matter was that it had already come and gone once. If it was back, it was back for good.

  The beast stepped through the front door. It extended its nose into the air, wagged its mane. She could make out its eyes in the semi-darkness—red and piercing, and they seemed to swallow the room with each pass, as if willing her to emerge. Its body darkened the doorway, and she saw the outlines of bristled fur. Claws. Teeth.

  She could smell it, too. The musk of the outdoors, the odor of a fresh kill. Abby said a silent prayer, her lips moving soundlessly. The beast took one plodding step, then another, establishing the house as its own.

  She aimed her weapon through the crack, wondering if she'd have the chance to use it. Adeline had meant to. And now she was dead.

  The creature hit the first stair.

  Abby heard the muffled thump of a foot, the hiss of hot breath gliding through teeth. She stared through the crack in the door, afraid to blink. Because the opening was small, the creature had slipped from view; the only clue she had to its whereabouts was the sound of it ascending the steps.

  She could only guess at its location.

  The footsteps continued.

  Thump. Thump.

  Abby strained to recall how many steps there were. Ten? Twelve? How many until the creature was right in front of her?

  The open front door seemed to beckon her. For a moment, she considered darting out into the hallway and throwing herself over the railing. Would it be worth the risk of injury? Would she survive long enough to escape?

  She swallowed, but held her position. The gun was heavy in her hands.

  What if there were no bullets? What if she missed? What if—

  Abby paused, noticing a break in the noise. The beast had either reached the landing, or it had heard her swallow. Did it know where she was? Could it sense her?

  Her hands trembled.

  The beast snorted.

  Abby jumped, barely keeping hold of the gun. Nothing appeared. The sliver of hallway in front of her was vacant. But she could sense the thing's presence.

  It was right behind the door.

  It chuffed again. The stench of blood and beast was overwhelming, drowning out her other senses. She repressed the urge to be sick.

  The thing's head appeared. At first, all she could see was the tip of its nose, but then she saw an eye, the matted fold of an ear. The thing was only a few feet away—close enough to reach out and grab her.

  In the time she'd been running, this was the closest she'd been to it. The closest she'd come to death.

  She held the gun and prepared to squeeze the trigger.

  The thing continued down the hallway.

  Abby exhaled. Her body felt like it was stretched taut, and her mind spit rapid-fire. She heard the faint creak of a floorboard from down the hall. The thing had gone into the bedroom.

  Move.

  The word popped into her brain as if it had been planted there, and suddenly Abby was pulling open the door and slipping into the hallway. There was no time to question what she was doing.

  There was only time to act.

  She glanced left, glimpsing the creature's shadow. Although she couldn't be certain, it looked like it was facing the other direction. Without hesitation, she crept down the hallway, heading for the stairs. The carpet kept her cover, and soon she was departing the landing and making her way down the stairs.

  Her body moved as if it were on autopilot; she couldn't feel her legs. It was as if some outside force were propelling her down the stairs, guiding her to safety. She fixed her eyes on the open door, fighting the urge to look behind her. Only five more steps. She was going to make it. The beast was still occupied. It hadn't gotten a look at her. She'd survive, even though all the others had died.

  She'd get help and then—

  Something struck her from behind, and Abby toppled down the remaining stairs. The gun and the knife flew from her grasp, skittering into unseen corners. She hit the foyer hard, deprived of air, and cried out as blood sprayed inside her mouth.

  Claws grabbed her head and slammed her into the ground.

  PART THREE: THE KILL

  Chapter Twelve

  Abby awoke with a start. She wasn't sure how long she'd been out, but it couldn't have been long, judging by the fact that she was still alive. But something was on top of her. The creature had her pinned.

  She struggled and writhed under the weight of its body, and its breath threatened to smother her. If it didn't rip her open, she'd die from being crushed.

  From what she could tell, she was still in the foyer, lying on her stomach. In the corner of her eye she could see the open door; behind her were flashes of movement. Her vision was still bleary from passing out. She pushed with all her strength, but the thing had her immobilized.

  Was this how Rob had felt?

  Tears savaged her eyes, and before she knew it she was crying and fighting, spitting and lashing out. The thing behind her snarled, as if hoping to subdue her, but she ignored it and began to scream.

  "Stop! Get off me!"

  She knew the words were useless, but her mind was ramped up on adrenaline, her synapses firing at breakneck speed. Abby's instincts had taken over, and she'd do anything she could to stay alive.

  She had the sudden realization that she was cold, and she ceased screaming.

  I'm cut. He's torn me open.

  She waited for the unbearable pain to overtake her, but it never came. It took her a second to realize that only her coat had been ripped.

  Abby wriggled back and forth, sloughing off her jacket. The beast tore at the fabric, and she could feel the tip
s of its nails digging into her skin. Suddenly she was free, and she ignored the pain and pushed herself off the carpet.

  She began to crawl.

  She tried to forget the creature behind her, concentrating instead on gaining distance from it. At any moment it would pounce on her, but right now, at this second, she was free. If she could maneuver her way to the door, maybe she could escape. Even though the logistics were against her, Abby's brain kept her moving.

  Before long, wet snowflakes kissed her skin. She was outside.

  The cold around her intensified, but she pressed on. Blood trickled down her cheeks. Her head must've been cut open when the thing slammed her head against the ground. But that didn't matter. She might be injured, but she was alive. If she could just keep moving—

  The beast took hold of her legs and ripped her backward, as if she were little more than its plaything. She slid over the threshold of the house and back inside, her stomach scraping against the snow and carpet.

  "No!" she shrieked.

  But her words were weak and unheeded. Her leg exploded in pain as something tore into it.

  Abby had been foolish to think she could escape the beast. It was faster. Stronger. Inhuman. Any advantage she'd had had been given up when she'd been spotted. Without weapons, she was as good as dead.

  The thing tugged her again, and Abby slid sideways like a wet mop, her bloodied leg sliding across the floor. The room was starting to spin. The beast had her in its grasp, and she was powerless to stop it. She speared the floor with her fingernails, but they scraped uselessly against the hardwood, and she was unable to find traction.

  Her eyes flitted from corner to corner. Searching for something—anything—that could help her.

  Then she spotted the gun.

  It was little more than a glint in the darkness, but she could make it out across the foyer. The creature shook her back and forth, trying to shake the fight out of her, but she kept her eyes focused on it.

  The gun was ten feet away. Butted against the far wall. If she could reach it…