Night Terrors Vol. 10: Short Horror Stories Anthology

7 hours and 11 minutes

211 pages

121 Ash Street
by John Gallant

“What is it, John? What’s wrong?”

How could I explain it to him? To the most pragmatic man in the world, someone who put little stock in “feelings”?

“David, listen to me now and trust what I’m telling you.” He looked at me quizzically, impatiently, then started to interject. But I put my hand up to stop him. “No, you must listen to me. There is something in this house and it’s malevolent. I’ve known it since I started walking up those stairs. It’s distracting us with the doors, and it wants to separate us. For what reason, God only knows. But we must stay together. You must listen to me about this!”

I was breathless, shaking. I’m sure I looked the perfect fool. I waited for David to launch into me for my cowardice. But he was clearly confused. He had never seen me so earnest. Finally, David opened his mouth to speak, but before he uttered a single word, the sound of heavy footsteps began to pound above our heads. We heard the solid tread cross the floor and race off. We could hear the footsteps echoing as whatever caused them ran past the second-floor landing.

The noise paralyzed me, but it spurred David to action. “It’s time we stopped this nonsense and got hold of this interloper. I’ll run after him and flush him down the back stairway, over there.” He pointed to a narrow doorway and a dark flight of stairs that led up from the kitchen, to what were once servants’ rooms, most likely. “Wait here.”

He turned to leave, and I snapped out of my fear-induced stupor. “No, David! Don’t go. We have to leave this house at once!” I grabbed hold of his sleeve, but he yanked it away with a look of disgust and darted off. “Stay here, John. You’ll see our ghost very soon!”

With a look of relish, he was gone.

I heard his footsteps, louder at first than the other steps, which continued to pound throughout the house. I could sense the first runner moving higher up into the house, the sound of steps on stairs, and then a more distant echoing. David was now on the second floor and, as he ran, he shouted out to me, breathless. “Steady John! I’ll drive him down to you in no time!”

It was at that moment I noticed that I could hear only one set of footsteps—David’s. He pounded up the staircase to the third floor, his tread getting lighter as he rose. Then, for what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing. In the silence of 121 Ash, I could make out the twittering of birds outside, an incongruous sound.

I began to look around me for a weapon, to confront whoever was in the house when a scream—David’s high-pitched, frantic scream—tore the air. The scream was followed by the harsh, chaotic sounds of desperate combat, David grunting and gasping and then yelling, “No! No!” before, finally, a long wail culminated in a staggering thud that shook the house.

I was immobilized by fear. I hoarsely shouted, “David! David!” but my voice carried a little way beyond the kitchen. I tried to summon my body to move, to get to David, who surely needed my aid. But I was frozen… until I heard the footsteps again. Two sets. One running after the other. And they were coming down toward me. I heard the pounding getting closer and closer, and, finally, from the doorway at the bottom of the stairs, David came flying out, a look of mortal terror on his face. He raced to me and grabbed me roughly, shouting, “No!”

Instinctively, I swung him around behind me to protect him. As I did, the second set of steps pounded to the bottom of the stairs, and as I stared in dread at the doorway, the footsteps hit the kitchen floor and stopped. I knew that whatever I had encountered in the foyer at the outset of our exploration was with me again. A wave of black enmity passed over me and I felt heartsick. David cringed behind me, cowering at my back. “No,” he whimpered.

Strangely enough, I believe that saved me. I knew that, for once, I was stronger and that David needed me. Mustering what little authority I could, I spoke to this other thing that waited before me. “Get away from us, goddam you,” I said in a voice husky with fear. “We’ll leave now.”

We endured a long pause under the invisible, baleful gaze and then I heard, or rather, felt at my core, an evil chuckle, a laugh of pure hatred that still resonates in my memory. And then, it moved on. No footsteps, no sound. But I knew we were alone again.

David collapsed to the floor, softly sobbing, and I knelt beside him. This once-fearless man had been reduced to a near-incoherent state of terror. I pulled him to his knees and turned his head to face me. “What happened, David? My God, what happened?”

He shook his head and began to babble. “Him… him. I saw him… and her. He killed her. Chased her. So beautiful… She fell. Oh God, God!”

Seeing him like this frightened me to my soul. But I knew we had only a little time left. The sun had very nearly faded, and it was imperative that we leave 121 Ash at once. I could not imagine being in the house after dark. I forced David to rise and we began to head toward the front of the house, moving through the drawing room toward the foyer. But as we approached the foyer, which had grown much darker and populated with more shadows, David began to sob and pull away.

“For God’s sake, David, we have to leave now!” I yelled as I pulled him toward the foyer.

He gibbered and cowered. “No, no,” he moaned, “I can’t go. I can’t look. I can’t bear to.”

“You must go—we must go, David. Now!”

I succeeded in hauling him to the foyer where I caught sight of a dark shape on the marbled floor. At first, I thought it was our equipment until I recognized the outline of a body. “Sweet Jesus,” I whispered as I leaned closer to examine the form. “David, what is this?”

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