Sound of Madness by Brett Williams

Author:Brett Williams [Brett Williams]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Dark Fiction, Psychological Horror, Alcoholism, Novella
Amazon: B00GEHN654
Goodreads: 20637055
Publisher: Zoe Books
Published: 2013-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Carl woke in bed, head pounding, the beautiful music from last night gone. Although he longed for that sound, he couldn't recall a single note. However, the carnage immediately sprang to mind. The women. Their tentacles. Annabelle. Her strangulation...

Horrified, he swept an arm across Annabelle's side of the bed. Empty beer cans rattled to the floor. A feather pillow lay in her spot.

Reality shocked him sober. He had led his wife to her death.

Goddamn, he needed a drink.

Somehow he found the will to crawl out of bed. After relieving himself in the bathroom, Carl trudged off toward the kitchen, debating coffee or beer. He was reaching for a can of Folgers on the top shelf when the ring of his cell phone cut through the thundering in his head. He retrieved the phone from the jean jacket hanging on a chair back.

“Hello,” Carl croaked.

“Hey, man, it's raining like a bitch over here in Sikeston. Ain't supposed to let up all damn day.”

“You don't say.” Carl hadn't noticed but now heard the steady patter of drops outside.

“Yeah. Maybe it'll clear up 'fore tomorrow. Enjoy the day off.”

“Yeah, right.”

The connection dropped. Carl opted for a can of beer over coffee. He took it to the kitchen table, too hung over to contemplate a proper breakfast. That was Annabelle's job. And now she was gone.

He would have to come up with a story to explain his family's disappearance. How had he gotten himself into such a mess? How could any of this be possible? An intoxicating serenade by such a beautiful, feminine … thing. Her music influenced him much more than any drink had. Oh, he knew alcohol affected him. He had just never done anything about it. Besides, he needed it to relax. He deserved to relax.

Carl took another swig from the can. Perhaps his original idea of saying the boy had ran away would work for his wife as well. Hell, it might make the story that much more believable. Surely some people suspected he smacked them around on occasion. When they needed it, of course. It wouldn't be much of a stretch for folks to put two and two together. Annabelle got sick of it, they would say. She took the boy, left town. Probably went to St. Louis. Or Memphis.

A sharp pain stabbed Carl deep within his skull. He had spent enough time thinking about shit he couldn't control. He took another drink, shut his eyes, lowered his head. With the music gone, he listened to the soothing fall of rain.

The shrill ring of his phone made him jump.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Hey, darlin'. You goin' to work today?” The voice belonged to Tressa.

“Nah, not today. The rain, you know.”

“Where you supposed to be workin'? Your old lady know you ain't going in yet?”

“She don't know shit.”

“Well, think you could slip on over later? Sooner if you can get away from the ol' ball and chain. I'm feelin' naughty.”

Carl felt like shit. Initially irked by the call, the thought of meeting Tressa later helped lift his spirit.

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