Abode by Sylvia Morgan

Abode by Sylvia Morgan

Author:Sylvia, Morgan [Sylvia, Morgan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodshot Books
Published: 2017-07-10T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter Twenty-four

My next meeting with Jeremiah remains, of everything that happened before and since, one of the most terrifying things I ever experienced. The memory still, to this day, raises the hair on my neck. I am shaking now, writing this, because I cannot shake the feeling that he is standing behind me, staring over my shoulder, and that if I turn, I will see him.

And I will go mad.

I have already recounted the scratching sounds I often heard coming from the space under the stairs, and the fact that we had heard footsteps several times. I often heard them at night, and they generally seemed to be coming from the attic, which was right above me. I would wake up at the sound of a strange, heavy tread, and fear would clutch me in an icy cold hand. I’d hold my breath, hoping that the noises would stop. Sometimes, they would. Other times, the steps continued.

By this time, it was happening almost every night. I slept with a radio on to try and drown out the noise. It worked, for a while.

And then, apparently, it angered him.

This is what I recall of that occurrence:

It was late, and we were all in bed. I was almost asleep when I heard the distinct sound of footsteps walking up the stairs to the attic. Because of the setup in my room, I heard not just the sound but the movement of the sound as it ascended. The wood creaked.

I froze. My heart pounded in my flesh. Terror traced a chilly finger over my skin, raising goosebumps .

There was a door at the top of the attic stairs, and one on the bottom. Dad had put a bolt on the top one after the first incident of mystery steps. That bolt never opened. The door remained shut. But I heard the steps cross the threshold, going through the closed door and continuing up into the attic. They moved, slowly, deliberately, from one end of the house to another. And then I heard them returning. I lay there, frozen in fear, as they drew closer and closer.

The steps stopped directly above my bed.

Slowly, so slowly, the shadows in the corners of my room moved, shifting, morphing, and melding into one another. Blackness rose and pooled in the center of the ceiling, as though night itself was gathering there. I saw the darkness swirling above me, turbulent and roiling, and had a sense that that inky nothingness was hungry.

Slowly, a shape took form in the shadows. And then I saw a face come through the ceiling, staring down at me. Jeremiah passed through the barrier of the ceiling/floor as though it were water. He did not push his body through, just his head. He wore a dark, wide-brimmed hat, rather like those the Amish wear. He had a mustache, and the vaguest outline of a dark suit was visible. His skin was so white he glowed almost blue in the dark.

He stared at me. He wasn’t looking just at me, but into me, into my thoughts.



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