The Mammoth Book of Halloween Stories: Terrifying Tales Set on the Scariest Night of the Year! by Stephen Jones

Author:Stephen Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2018-09-17T22:00:00+00:00

Jim found himself outside the car, and when he moved, everything seemed to whirl for a moment, then gathered up slowly and became solid. He had been thrown free, and so had William, who was lying nearby. The car was a wreck, lying on its roof, spinning still, steam easing out from under the hood in little cotton-white clouds. Gradually, the car quit spinning, like an old-time watch that had wound down. The windshield was gone and three of the four doors lay scattered about.

The nuns were parked up on the road, and the car doors opened and the nuns got out. Four of them. They were unusually tall, and when they walked, like their elbows, their knees bent in the wrong direction. It was impossible to tell this for sure, because of the robes they wore, but it certainly looked that way, and considering the elbows, it fit. There in the moonlight, they were as white and pasty as pot stickers, their jaws seeming to have grown longer than when Jim had last looked at them, their noses witch-like, except for those pig-flair nostrils, their backs bent like longbows. One of them still held the two-by-four.

Jim slid over to William, who was trying to sit up.

“You okay?” Jim asked.

“I think so,” William said, patting his fingers at a blood spot on his forehead. “Just before they hit, I stupidly unsnapped my seat belt. I don’t know why. I just wanted out I guess. Brain not working right.”

“Look up there,” Jim said.

They both looked up the hill. One of the nuns was moving down from the highway, toward the wrecked car.

“If you can move,” Jim said, “I think we oughta.”

William worked himself to his feet. Jim grabbed his arm and half-pulled him into the woods, where they leaned against a tree. William said. “Everything’s spinning.”

“It stops soon enough,” Jim said.

“I got to chill, I’m about to faint.”

“A moment,” Jim said.

The nun who had gone down by herself, bent down out of sight behind William’s car, then they saw her going back up the hill, dragging Harold by his ankle, his body flopping all over as if all the bones had been broken.

“My God, see that?” William said. “We got to help.”

“He’s dead,” Jim said. “They crushed his head with a board.”

“Oh, hell, man. That can’t be. They’re nuns.”

“I don’t think they are,” Jim said. “Least not the kind of nuns you’re thinking.”

The nun dragged Harold up the hill and dropped his leg when she reached the big black car. Another of the nuns opened the trunk and reached in and got hold of something. It looked like some kind of folded-up lawn chair, only more awkward in shape. The nun jerked it out and dropped it on the ground and gave it a swift kick. The folded-up thing began to unfold with a clatter and a squeak.

A perfectly round head rose up from it, and the head spun on what appeared to be a silver hinge. When it quit whirling, it was upright and in place, though cocked slightly to the left.

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