You Are A Death Risk, Part 10
By BD Scott
Dremond is doing the Chief of Police a favour. But it is going all wrong.
The rumbling on the second floor shook so hard, Dremond couldn’t stand up properly.
“Geez, an earthquake? What the…?”
Dremond crawled instead of walking or running. He groped the exiting walls of apartment 302 for anything to remain steady, until he entered the hallway, where the rumbling suddenly stopped.
A door creaked open fifty feet away from him and a ray of daylight spilled onto the hallway flooring. Some thing or someone crossed the light, making it flicker for an instant.
“It’s them,”he whispered.
Dremond cleared his eyes and remained as quiet as possible while rising to his feet.
I’m going to take care of whatever is killing off the people in this town. Apparently, the Chief’s step-son said when you see those females in the window, death happens.
His shoes were heavy and loud; and after one step, he decided to remove them. Although he cold floor shot a chill through him like electricity, he controlled his breathing with a considerable amount of effort.
Wait, I saw these crazed females and I didn’t die. It can’t be a case of seeing them and suffering the consequen…
A long drawn out low register moan echoed from somewhere in the corridor.
His feet answered this interruption and kept him moving; his right hand repeatedly pressed against the inches of wall due to temporary blindness from the descending hallway darkness. He moved down to the next apartment, his palm opened the door in silence. But this wasn’t the room calling for his attention. But, he entered it anyway. The dank, dry air flared his nostrils to what he swore was twice their normal size. He covered his mouth and nose to filter his breathing between his five digits. This room had zero furnishings within it. The walls held onto a strange blend of orange and red, smearing the sparsely broken dry wall patches and holes. The same hue mixture hung off the odd circle shaped edges of the open wall wounds. Remnants of the wall sat scattered in an odd, nondescript pattern on the wooden, rotting floor.
Who or what did this?
He imagined someone or something with thick, round arms or tentacles punching the wall for fun, or for a different undisclosed reason. His mind blanked out in wonder and forgot about what could have caused the third floor to rumble as violently as it did a mere moment ago.
His imagination demanded an explanation come out and explain itself, as if it were an embarrassed teenager hiding marijuana or alcohol. His footsteps had a mind of their own however, taking him deeper into the mystery of this apartment. What awaited him would carve a deep dangerous scar into his mind.
And it waited within the darkness of the hallway, breathing in a silent rage.
Something did not want to be discovered.
To Be Continued
BD Scott, Author, Producer of Bestshorthorrorstories.com & Founder of Friedrich Imagines, Ltd. a media production company