Shallow Graves by Wallace Kali

Author:Wallace, Kali [Wallace, Kali]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-11-17T19:00:00+00:00

2. Drowning

3. Rat poison

4. Gunshot

5. Electrocution

6. Hanging

7. Stabbing

8. Skated face-first into tree

I added:

9. Eviscerated by Lyle

Good band name, I thought.

One more and I would have a perfect ten.

I pulled the chair away from the table and angled it toward the kitchen light, pulled up my T-shirt and tucked it beneath my chin. The wound was red and scabbed, hot to the touch. It looked infected. I didn’t even know if that was possible. I hadn’t bothered cleaning any of my other injuries. My dad always said the most important thing to do for an open wound was keep it clean.

I needed to see what was under the scabs. I selected a knife from the kitchen drawer.

Before I could sit again, I heard another sound from behind the basement door. Not a metallic clank, but the creak of wood.

Somebody was on the stairs.

I glanced over my shoulder.

The basement door was open.

My heart jumped.

Only a crack, but it was open. It had been closed before. I was sure of it.

I was ten feet from the door, maybe twelve. I tried to guess how many steps it would take me to get there, how fast I could move, whether I could shut the door before—before what? Zeke had warned me not to go into the basement. How to Survive a Horror Movie 101: Never go into the basement. The rule had to apply double when you were alone in a monster’s house, even if the monster in question was an awkward teenage boy who had only left you alone because he had to go clean toilets in an office building.

But the door was open.

And, I thought, if this is a horror movie, I’m on Team Monster already.

I saw the flash of an eye through the gap. It was low to the ground, gone before I could blink. Claws scrabbled noisily down the stairs.

I made myself start breathing again. I didn’t put down the knife.

Six steps to the basement door. I pulled it open and fumbled for the light switch. The stairs made a ninety degree turn halfway down. On the landing there was a broom and a blue plastic bucket filled with cleaning supplies. Sponges, rags, furniture polish, spray bottle of Lysol. And—I knew it—a toothbrush. Beside the bucket was a stack of picture books. Where the Wild Things Are was on the top. That had been my favorite when I was a kid.

I crept down the stairs. They creaked beneath my weight; I paused every few treads to listen. I stopped when I reached the landing halfway down. I could see the edge of a woven rug on the concrete floor at the bottom, but not much else. The air was musty and cool.

“Hello?” I said.

There was a faint scratching below.

“Hey. I’m not going to hurt you.” My voice wavered. I wondered if I should be hiding the knife behind my back. “I just want to, um. Say hi.”

A shadow moved at the base of the steps. It was compact and low, creeping close the ground.

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