13: A Baker’s Dozen of Suspense and Horror Tales by David Six

Author:David Six [Six, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Moan

At night, that’s when the moans start.

I lay in bed, thinking about the day, no money, worries, how to pay for the new house. Tiny though it may be.

At some point I drift off.

Then the moans start.

You’ll think this is stupid, or I’m a drunk, or hallucinating from something illicit. Fuck you—I’m not any of that shit. I dare you to spend a night in my house.

It’s the neighbors fucking with you, you say. They don’t like you because the first day there you sprayed their white and brown Shih Tzu with the hose when it was taking a crap on your new sod. No, they apologized and invited me for barbeque.

I live alone. My wife and I divorced six months ago. We’d already sold our home, and I was staying in a month-to-month studio apartment, thinking I’d never be able to afford a house again. Then my realtor called me with this one. I thought, Fuck, this is lucky—I get a house again. No crappy apartment with neighbors blasting music till three in the morning. I jumped on the deal.

I have to wonder now if my realtor knew about this, the moans. I have to wonder if she was ever in the house when the moans started. I have to wonder if she ran from the house and thought to herself, What rube can I sell this cracker-box to.

Me, I suppose—I’m the rube.

But now I can’t afford to go anywhere else. So I lay in bed, night after night, and just when I start catching some Zs, they start:

Ohh-uhh-unn-uh.

That’s what it sounds like. Not screams like in the movies, like someone getting stabbed or beaten. It’s a low, keening sound, like a sick animal that won’t ever get well. But the sound isn’t coming from any animal’s throat.

It’s human.

Or something like human.

Ohh-uhh-unn-uh.

Over and over, all night long. I fucking haven’t slept for two weeks now, not more than a couple minutes at a time. So pardon the fuck out of me if I’m goddam cranky.

I crashed at Bob’s place the other night, Bob that I work with down at the warehouse. But his wife said Uh-uh, no more than one night, ’cause there’s only enough room for us. So Bob said Sorry, but you can’t stay.

One of the nights was warm, so I dragged the patio chair onto the screen porch off the back of the house and tried sleeping on that. But you know what? About three a.m.:

Ohh-uhh-unn-uh.

Like it was right in my ear. Like I hadn’t gone outside at all.

The house is settling, you say. It’s the wind blowing through the soffit vents, you say. You got a dead rat stuck in a plumbing chimney.

No, no, and fuck you. It’s not any of those.

My house is haunted.

I know how fucking stupid that sounds, like I’m some baked teenager daring another baked teenager to run up and touch the abandoned house where the family was murdered. I know you think I’m the stoner.

I’m not going to waste my time trying to convince you.

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