Dead Ends by Marc E. Fitch

Author:Marc E. Fitch
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror; dark fantasy; flame tree press; creepy stories; dark suspense; horror fiction
Publisher: Flame Tree Publishing
Published: 2023-06-07T15:07:12+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Amber woke with the obligatory hangover and the sound of whimpering dogs at her bedroom door wanting to go outside or be fed or just reclaim what they considered their bed. She already knew she would have a mess of shit and dog piss to clean up in the laundry room and that dragged down her elation at having had a night almost entirely to herself full of laughter and even a little sexual intrigue; she recalled her bare leg resting against John Ballard’s as the two of them shared a moment of intimate conversation. Poor guy, she thought. She tried to give him enough of a hint, but the big, beefy lug either couldn’t see it or was actively blocking the possibility from his mind. Either way, she felt she connected with him on a deeper level through the power of drink and that always meant a good and fun night. The hint of something sexual blossoming from the dried gardens of parentage still carried with it the aroma of youth. She felt new and invigorated.

Eight in the morning still counted as sleeping in, and she listened momentarily for the sound of Thomas watching television in the living room, but all she could hear were the whimpering dogs, their levels rising to a point that forced her to get out of bed and grumble beneath her waxing euphoria. The boy had played all day and night. She hadn’t sent him home till nearly ten-thirty, well past his normal bedtime. He was likely exhausted.

The dogs jumped at her when she opened the door, swirled between her legs, nearly knocking her down as she tried to get to the front door and let them out. They slid like snakes through the doorway and bayed at the rolling, overcast sky. She let the door swing shut with its own weight and shuffled to the laundry room to assess the damage. A couple piles of shit, but not as bad as she expected. She ran the coffee maker and stared for a moment at the dishes in the sink, remnants of her work in preparing the nacho dip. She tried to remember getting home last night but came up short. There had been multiple bottles passed around the bonfire, everyone partaking of a sip, sharing each others’ saliva in a communal toast to the newly founded Neighborhood Watch while they drunkenly discussed the details and waxed poetic about the fate of the nation.

The last she remembered was laughing and nearly tipping over in a camping chair as John Ballard, shirtless, stood over the fire like King-Fucking-Kong.

With her memory of coming home drawing a total blank there was a brief moment of panic, a niggling sensation and realization that she had not actually checked in on Thomas to make sure he was safe in bed. Coffee cup in hand, she quickly walked to his room, assuring herself that he was fine, there was nothing to really worry about; nothing could have happened to

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