Hungry Ghosts 01 Hungry Ghosts by Ron Ripley & Emma Salam & Scare Street

Author:Ron Ripley & Emma Salam & Scare Street [Ron Ripley & Emma Salam & Scare Street]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Mystery, Thriller, Paranormal, Ghosts, Serial Killers, Mystery & Detective, Crime
Goodreads: 35786275
Publisher: ScareStreet.com
Published: 2017-08-27T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32: Protected but Not Safe, August 11th, 2016

At a little before midnight, Connor was still awake. He had yet to break himself of the habit of sleeping during the day, and he doubted he would do so anytime soon. The dead were still too active during the day. Night was preferable.

His mother had died during the morning, and daylight would always be far more threatening than the night.

Connor climbed out of the bed, and Rex lifted his head, blinked, and then lowered his chin back to the mattress. A smile crossed Connor’s face as he gave Rex a quick pat on the head.

Connor’s feet whispered across the wooden floor. He came to a stop at the window and pulled the shade over to the right, allowing him to glimpse his own house. A fog had risen up from the ground and hid the same from his eyes. Shadows passed behind the windows of the house he had so recently fled from and Connor wondered if one of the shapes he saw belonged to his mother.

His throat tightened, and he ground his teeth, letting the shade fall back into place.

He walked to his bag, took his clothes out, and got dressed. The dog remained asleep as Connor left the room. From behind a closed door, Connor heard Hu snore. He crept along the hallway, not wanting to wake his host up.

The stairs creaked as he descended to the first floor. Once in the kitchen, he clicked the light on over the stove and found the long, fireplace candles he had seen earlier. He took several before he exited the house.

Standing on the cracked asphalt of Hu’s driveway, Connor stared at the dilapidated building that had once been his home.

His shoulders sagged, and for a moment his heart ached, tears filling his eyes. He swallowed his sorrow back, wiped his eyes with his hand, and walked through Hu’s yard to stand beside his father’s car. Leaves and debris were piled around the foundation, dead bushes and plants crowded against the cement. The trash that Connor had so industriously bagged and removed from the kitchen was still stacked against the house. Ancient paint hung in great strips from the wooden siding and all around the building was a void of silence.

Nothing moved.

Nothing lived.

There were no crickets, no night birds.

Connor walked to the house, and he heard thumps and scrapes against the interior walls. Fingernails clawed against the filthy glass, and people hissed his name at him.

They would be out soon, and they wanted him.

The idea of it drove nails of fear into his temples, bright white spots exploding around the edges of his vision while the pounding of his own heart almost made him deaf.

Without further reflection, Connor hurried to the foundation to the left of the porch. He crouched down, and with shaking hands, struck the matches against the rough cement. The heads flared up. The strong smell of sulfur assaulted Connor’s nose, and he dropped the matches to the leaves.

The debris burst into flame, the heat sending him tumbling backward.

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