Night Terrors Vol. 15: Short Horror Stories Anthology

DO NOT OPEN

BY JUSTIN BOOTE

“By law, I am obliged to inform you of anything untoward that may have happened in the last three years,” said the real estate agent. The potential buyers, Mike and Sarah, glanced at each other in surprise then also at their son, Kevin. He seemed far more interested in the video game he was playing on his console, so they let her continue.

“There was an... umm... incident with the previous owners, about a year ago. Their son disappeared one day—he was six, about the same age as yours, I assume—and the police suspected the parents may have been involved. His body was—has—never been found.”

A hand went instinctively to Sarah’s mouth as she gasped. Mike put an arm around her shoulder. “So... what are you saying?” he asked. “What’s that got to do with this house?”

It had taken them almost two months to find it. Mike’s transferal from one bank to another required a certain haste, so as soon as he had seen the unbelievably cheap price for this one, he had almost wept with relief. If it hadn’t been available, he might have lost the promotion he’d sought for the last five years.

“Well, during the police investigation, they spoke to neighbors who said they’d heard chanting and singing coming from inside late at night and strangers coming and going, too. Apparently, they were very nice and polite neighbors but never allowed them into their home. They were quite secretive, it seemed. So, when the police came with a search warrant, they found all kinds of... weird stuff in the basement.”

“What kind of weird stuff?” asked Mike, but he thought he could already see where this was going.

“Books. Horrible books with depictions of creatures of some kind, doing things to people. The walls were decorated in strange shapes. Writing in some funny language. But the Kennedys said it had been their son doodling on the walls and the books were already there when they’d moved in. Just threw them in the basement and forgot about them. They found no evidence they’d done anything to their son, so they couldn’t charge them. But the neighbors never believed their story. The Kennedys moved out soon afterwards.”

Mike looked at Sarah, who had lost a little color to her face. He’d already had to promise her that he would make a thorough search of the house as soon as they moved in, for any unwanted guests—spiders, bugs, mice, or rats. Sarah was not the type who could sit through a horror movie without screaming or cowering behind a cushion. She refused to watch the midday news because of the barrage of real-life horror stories and, in Mike’s private opinion, was far too protective of Kevin. Mike had wanted to get a puppy so that Kevin could learn responsibility. What if it attacked him when it was older, Sarah had asked. Sarah saw potential horror and disaster everywhere.

Well aware of what she was now thinking, Mike knew he’d have to choose his words carefully. “So, the police never actually found evidence in the house of any wrongdoing? The boy might have been kidnapped by a stranger?”

“That’s the hypothesis the police are working on now,” said the real estate agent.

“Well, that’s it, honey. Nothing to worry about,” he said and kissed his wife. “We’ll take it!”

The look on Sarah’s face suggested she might cry at any moment.