Deadman's Tome: Monsters Exist by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Dark Fiction, Dark Fantasy, Monsters, Cryptids, Lovecraftian, Short Stories, Collections & Anthologies
Goodreads: 35298232
Publisher: Deadman's Tome
Published: 2017-06-30T23:00:00+00:00

About the author:

Calvin Demmer is a crime, mystery, and speculative fiction author. He has had over thirty stories published in various magazines and anthologies. When not writing, he is intrigued by that which goes bump in the night as well as the sciences of our universe. Find out more at www.calvindemmer.com or follow him on Twitter @CalvinDemmer.

The Voice from the Bottom of the Well

Philip W. Kleaver

The voice started as a scratching in the subconscious. It was a disruption of order small enough to go unnoticed, like a beetle squirming through the walls of an empty home. The sound echoed in her eardrums and forced her sleep-heavy eyelids open. She glanced around her bedroom, heart thudding, the wan light of early morning not yet enough to banish the shadows. Anything could be lurking in the blackness shrouding her dresser, the rocking chair, or the closet door.

She lifted her ear off the pillow. Silence. Her animal instinct veered toward flight, urging her to sprint to the known safety of her parents’ room. Her rational mind superseded, picturing the angry look her father got when he was roused from sleep. You’re ten now, she thought. Ten now. Ten, ten, ten… the short syllable an incantation, protecting her like the sheets covering her trembling limbs.

The whispering resumed. Her throat constricted. At first, she thought the voice had been the vestige of a nightmare. But it lingered, low but harsh, even as the sun cast its rays further into the room. Still, she fought the urge to run. Sweat beaded in her armpits. She gripped the pillow and pulled it around her ears, wriggling her body down her mattress until she was cocooned in linen. She stayed that way, frozen, until the familiar bustle of Mother and Father in the kitchen downstairs drifted up through the floorboards.

***

“You feeling alright, hon?” Mother, making the rounds at the breakfast table, paused in the middle of spooning eggs onto Johanna’s plate and placed a palm flat on her forehead. “You aren’t warm…”

“I had trouble sleeping,” said Johanna. Then, sensing further explanation was needed to appease Mother: “It was a bad dream.”

Mother pursed her lips. She seemed about to interrogate, but was interrupted by an outburst from Luke across the table.

“Want my eggy, Mama!”

Mother dutifully filled her three-year-old son’s plate, while Johanna dug into her breakfast. Johanna grabbed the almost-empty ketchup bottle and squeezed, splattering red all over the plate. It looked like a Humpty Dumpty crime scene.

The rest of the family ate.

Father scrolled through Facebook on his tablet, lingering (imperceptibly to the kids, but not his wife) on the women he had known from high school who had managed in middle age to keep their figures.

Luke chewed and hummed happily, bits of breakfast sliding down his chin and onto the table. Mother side-eyed her daughter. Her lip stuck out as she ran her tongue over her teeth. Mother always did that when she had something to say, but didn’t know how to say it.

“You want to talk about your dream, Joanie?”

“No!” Johanna barked.

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