Doug fancies himself the next Edgar Allan, with his short horror fiction. He contributes to the first edition of “The 100 Voices Anthology
The house smelled of rotten eggs. Footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. Jeremy took a sip of coffee. The lines in his face suggested that he had had his share of stress in his life. His brother Leon, was cradling his coffee mug. “It’s so cold in this house,” Leon said. “By the way, who else is here?” Jeremy smiled.
“Nobody,” replied Jeremy. “I live alone.” Leon’s eyebrow lifted.
“Where are those footsteps coming from?”
“I told you this place is haunted,” Jeremy replied.
“Prove it,” Leon said.
“Go upstairs. Enter the third room on the left, and sit on the bed, with the door closed and wait,” Jeremy instructed. “You won’t want to stay in that room for five minutes.” Leon rolled his eyes and climbed the stairs. He found the third bedroom on the left and entered. A dresser was to Leon’s immediate left. A piggy bank sat in an open dresser drawer. Leon closed the door behind him. This part of the house was warm and smelled of lilacs. Then he sat on the bed and waited for something to happen.
The closet had a sliding door. As it slid open he felt a weight that bore down on his legs. Then it forced him down on the bed and pinned his hands and legs. He struggled to even raise his head, as a temporary paralysis took over. His breathing grew shallow. Suddenly something screamed directly in his ear, “Get out or die!” When he could move, Leon leaped out of bed and ran to the door, which flung itself open. As soon as he was out of the bedroom, the door slammed shut behind him. He ran downstairs; he practically flew outside. Then he got in his car and tore out of the driveway.
A skinless man appeared in the doorway and walked across the kitchen, leaving a bloody trail along the floor. It sat down at the kitchen table and took a sip of Leon’s coffee.
“You don’t scare me, Charlie,” said Jeremy calmly. “You never do.”