The Haunting of Rachel Harroway: Book 0 by J.S. Donovan

Author:J.S. Donovan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: haunted art, haunted, haunted cabin, haunted cities
Publisher: Roger Hayden

Chapter Six

The Plea

Rachel dashed for the stairs. A brass lamp flung passed her head at scary speed. She ducked behind a couch, ruffling the white sheet cover it and taking a face full of dust. A 2x4 zipped by. It crashed a few yards behind her, knocking into the rocking chair with a loud bang.

“Brett! Someone!” Rachel shouted. Her voice bounced in the corners of the room as more trash and small dangerous things flew at her. Staying low, she scurried behind the mannequins. They crumbled like bowling pins as the chair crashed into them. Rachel hid behind a neglected nightstand and held her breath. She covered the flashlight beam in the palm of her hand, allowing darkness to quickly envelop her. Her heart thumped powerfully. What was happening? Soft feet pattered the concrete floor. Pat-pat-pat.

The footsteps moved closer.

Rachel pulled her knees up to her chest, making herself as small as she could behind the nightstand. Her eyes trailed to the red circle where the flashlight drilled into her palm. Clicking the mag light’s button seemed too risky. She wanted dreadfully to steal a peek at the person in the basement with her but he could be watching her right now, waiting for her to move.

The pitter-patter walked by her. Something tickled her spine. The hairs on her neck stood in attention. She didn’t move. Her lung fought for release. She won’t to do it. One breath could be the death of her. Over the thumping in her chest, she listened for the stranger. Only the patter of feet. Was he holding his breath, too? For a long moment, the basement was quieter than death. Rachel couldn’t hold her breath any longer. She peaked part of her head out from behind the nightstand. She could scarcely make out shapes in the few feet behind her. The journey to the stairs would require an exercise in memory.

Rachel’s lungs gave way and she gasped, drinking up the dusty basement air. Using the noisy opportunity, she clicked off the mag light and held the cold metal with her teeth. Coarse concrete bit into her hands and knees as she crawled from cover to cover, allowing instinct to guide her. She groped aimlessly at chair legs and old boxes. At one point, her finger tips broke through a web and multiple somethings crawled up her arm. She swatted them away, not even wanting to imagine their size.

With no other noise but the soft jets of her own uneasy breath, she almost believed she was alone. That lasted about a second before an unfamiliar sinking feeling pitted in her stomach almost as if her dread and fear were as tangible as the two inch something she felt crawl down the back of her shirt. It crawled down her ribs and toward the lip her pants before she was able squash it with her hands, feeling the burst of the egg sack and hundreds of tiny spiders scattered all over her body.

Rachel’s shirt was off in an instant.

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