All Dark, All the Time (The complete short fiction of Brian Keene, Vol. 02) [S.S. Col.] by Keene Brian

Author:Keene, Brian [Keene, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Horror, Short Stories
Publisher: CreateSpace
Published: 2016-01-01T02:00:00+00:00

• • •

Jeff led me back towards my house. He walked quickly, splashing heedlessly through the puddles, and I had to hurry to keep up with him. Sanchez ran ahead of us, apparently happy to be away from the creek. Despite my protests, Jeff didn’t speak until we were standing in my driveway, and then, he answered my questions with one of his own.

“You own a gun?”

“What?”

“Do you own a gun?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got a little .357, and my father’s old deer rifle. But what—”

“Get them.”

“Jeff, tell me what’s going on. What the hell was that thing? I mean, I know what it looked like, but it couldn’t have been.”

“It was. Get your guns. Try the phone. If it’s working, call 911.”

“And tell them ... what?”

“That Thena’s house is flooding and they need to do a water rescue. That the ghost of Osama bin Laden is shacked up there with the spirit of Saddam Hussein. I don’t know. Tell them anything that will get them here. Then meet me back here right away.”

Without another word, he ran for home. I’d never seen him move so fast. His arthritis usually bothered him after the most menial of tasks—taking the trash up to the road or trimming with his weed whacker. It was especially bad on rainy days. If it was troubling him now, Jeff gave no sign. I yelled after him but he didn’t answer.

Marlena opened the door and called to me. Dylan peered out from behind her.

“I want to go outside.”

“Not now, Dylan. Quiet.” She must have seen the expression on my face because her tone was concerned. “What’s wrong?”

I started to speak, but wasn’t sure how to verbalize what I’d just seen or how it made me feel. “Try calling 911,” I said. “Thena’s place is flooding. The water’s up to her front door and they can’t get out.”

“Oh my God. Are the kids okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want to see,” Dylan insisted. “Please, Mommy? Let me go see.”

Marlena and I both told him no at the same time. She shooed Dylan away from the door. Pouting, he plopped down in the living room and returned to his trains. Marlena ran off to try the phone, while I shrugged out of my wet coat and shoes and toweled Sanchez dry. He shook, spraying the kitchen with water, and then trotted off to check his food dish. Now that he was inside, he seemed no longer concerned with the thing we’d seen near the creek.

I wished that I could shrug it off just as easily.

I hurried into the bedroom and felt around on the top shelf of the closet until I found the handgun. I kept it locked in a box, and I had the only key. You can’t be too sure these days. It wouldn’t do for Dylan to get his hands on it. The only other items in the lockbox were the owner’s manual, a cleaning cloth, and a small container of bullets. The Taurus held five shots. I loaded it with trembling fingers and clicked the cylinder back into place.

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