He's Watching Me (13 page)

“May the Lord have mercy on your tainted souls!” she shrieked, gums oozing blood, and then broke out into a chilling laughter. As she chuckled hysterically her pitch went from painfully high to unbelievably low, resembling a demon. Rick couldn't help but think of exorcism and possession movies where innocent people speak low and bellow unnervingly when a demon inhabits their body. Which wasn't helping his escalating fear. The girls had begun wailing, sniffling and wheezing in horror.

“What do we do?” Susan helplessly asked, tears lining her eyes and face a deadly white tint.

For the first time in his life he didn't know. His worst nightmare was to not be able to protect his family. Had it finally happened? How would he battle a demonic nun and famished zombies squirming from their graves.

“I....I....” Rick tried incessantly to think of anything, when something grabbed his leg.

Rick jerked to a zombie gripping his ankle, looking up at him with decaying and torn flesh, jaw snapping, hungry for fresh meat. Using his other foot he stomped its head and thankfully it was crushed rather easily. This gave him hope. That was until his eyes fell upon the hoards of them now out of the dark den, all worming their way to him, and even more getting out. He guessed almost a hundred of them were snaking to him, eager to chomp on his carcass. Rick stumbled back, shoving his family to the far window where the chairs had been, only to notice a door handle glistening in the dusk. It wasn't the bathroom, but on the other side of the church, another door with a no doubt equally reasonable space, where they could possibly hide? Out of options and out of luck he hauled his family from the creepy nun and floor-bound zombies and to the door. But unlike the rest room, this door was locked.

“Damn it!” he roared.

Yet Rick continued to bash and kick and fist at the door. The wood was surprisingly sturdy given that this church was on its last legs. But within seconds the wood had splintered, leaving a large enough space for them all to squeeze through. Which they did.

The room was once upon a time an office. A mahogany desk, drawers, filing cabinets and chairs. But there was a coating of dust over everything, cobwebs clung to the corners and the wood had long lost its lustre, tarnished beyond repair.

“We need to block the hole in the door,” Rick shouted to Susan.

Just as they were about to grab a heavy-looking book shelf Susan paused.

“Susan we need to hurry!” he ordered, confused, scared and irritated.

“Where's Sally?” she asked fearfully.

Rick's heart dropped as he quickly surveyed the room to see only one of his daughters. Without thinking, without assessing the situation, Rick leapt through the hole and went back into the church hall.

The zombies now covered every inch of the floor like a sickly pale fleshy carpet. He had to quickly step between and on them to make his way through the heap of the living dead endlessly grappling for him.

“Forget something?” the old evil nun asked, holding Sally.

Oh God!
Rick's pulse boomed looking at the devilish nun holding his daughter and seeing her alarmingly sharp claws running along his baby girl's face.

“Get the fuck away from my daughter you bitch!” he rumbled, anger taking over his fear, the paternal instinct clouding his previous terror.

“Speak to me like that again and I'll slit her little throat and throw her in the pit,” she whispered.
Pit? Oh she meant the basement, with those things! No no no.

Rick played a balancing act whilst conversing with the unholy woman, crushing skulls and kicking away wriggling fingers.

“What do you want? She is an innocent little girl!” he spat.

“Perhaps, but you're sure as hell not are you?” she winked, making blood stream from the eyeball, crimson matting into thick spider-like eyelashes.

Oh no, she knows!
Rick's face filled with nervous warmth, hands shaking.

“Y...b....Okay, don't punish her for me, please, I beg you,” Rick's tactic had gone from threatening to pleading. In the middle of his new approach to get his daughter back he heard Susan and Kirsty shriek from the office. They were screaming and asking for help.
What do I do?
Rick wasn't sure his heart could take anymore as his lungs were ablaze, struggling for breath, throat becoming papery and dry.

“You choose my dear, I will allow you to save this girl,” her prickly claws stroked Sally's cheek as she sobbed, face a dark red, creased and wet from tears. Rick wanted nothing more than to snatch his daughter from the psychotic nun and punch her square in the jaw, but he knew that wouldn't help anything.

“Or those in there,” the index finger of her claws flicked, pointing to the office.

She has got to be kidding. The twisted bitch.

“Are you joking? I am not choosing who dies! You're one sick fucked up bitch!” he hissed.

“CHOOSE!” she roared, with a demonic growl reverberating underneath her voice, ricocheting off the fragile walls.

“I can't choose, I will not choose,” he protested, stomping on more squishy skulls, almost falling.

“Very well,” she muttered gently, then everything went black.

***

Rick's head was pounding. He lay in bed, nauseous and aching, glazed in sweat.
How the hell did I get out of there? Wait, where's Susan and the girls?
Letting his pains fall to the back of his mind he tumbled from bed still wearing his winter clothes and searched the house for his family. “Susan?” he called out.

He paced through every room, turning door handles, checking under beds, opening closets, and continually yelling their names. But nothing. No answer, and no one was found.
What is going on?
He looked at clock's to realise he couldn't tell the time anymore. It was as if he was gawking at a foreign clock using a language that meant nothing to him.
How was this even remotely possible? Did I suffer brain damage?
Then he heard the all too familiar sound of the front door opening. He galloped from the living room through the hall, passing by the kitchen and stopping at the front door to see his wife and two girls enter. He couldn't help but cry. Tears streaked his face as he thumped onto his knees in happiness. He didn't know how this had happened, but he didn't care, he had his family back. Rick rose and jogged to his girls, needing to hold them tight, feel them in his embrace. But the strangest thing happened, he fell through them. Not into them, but passed through them. He bumped into the fridge, discombobulated.

“Sue? What the...” he rubbed his forehead, and none of them turned to him.

“Sally? Kirsty?” he shouted. But not one of them paid attention to Rick, lying on the kitchen floor, beyond perplexed. Using the fridge handle he pulled himself up, unsure whether he should be angry or worried.
Did he do something wrong?
Rick followed them into the living room, repeatedly yelling their names and receiving no response. His heart thundered when they all sat down on the leather couch, dressed in black, weeping horrifically, a photo of Rick on the brown coffee table, surrounded by flowers and candles.

The nun appeared behind Rick, reeking of blood, mould, and death, whispering into his ear. “I had to take someone's soul...” she giggled, as Rick screamed in anguish.

About the Author

Wesley Thomas

Wesley Thomas, college graduate, born in the UK. He is a bestselling author, business owner, blogger, reviewer, freelance writer, and marketer.

He has been featured in local and national newspapers throughout the UK, discussed his work on American radio, read book excerpts at several events, and attended a Twitter interview live from New York.

He has three bestselling horror collections, 'Terror Train', 'What Goes Bump In The Night?' and 'Nightmare Fuel'.

One of his short horror stories, 'There's Something In My House' can be found in a horror anthology 'Journals Of Horror: Found Fiction' along with other talented horror authors.

Another short horror story of Wesley's, titled 'The Journey', can be found in a very prestigious horror publication. The Horror Zine Magazine summer 2015 issue features 'The Journey', and other short stories by fellow authors.

In his free time Wesley enjoys being with his family and friends, watching horror movies & series, computing, reading horror fiction, travelling, aromatherapy, writing reviews for
www.horrornovelreviews.com
, and dining. Furthermore he is very passionate about fitness, passed down from his mother. Every week he jogs, meditates, practices yoga, and is always trying out new ways to stay in shape, both physically and mentally. He also loves to blog, and read work from fellow bloggers. Wesley is somewhat of a knowledge fiend. Although he loves all things horror, he is widely read in many genres and feels that in order to be a truly remarkable author, one must read a vast array of genres.

Publications:

'Secrets Of Eriscove Lake'

'The Darkness Waits'

'Terror Train: A Collection Of Short Horror Tales'

'What Goes Bump In The Night? A Collection Of Short Horror Stories And Flash Fiction'

'Frightful Tales #1: Rose's Thorn'

'Nightmare Fuel: The Ultimate Collection Of Short Horror Tales'

'Frightful Tales #2: He's Watching Me'

Upcoming:

'Frightful Tales #3: Where Does Crazy Start?'

'Gore Zone: 14 Tales Of Gore & Terror'

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my proofreader Paula Limbaugh, and cover designer Sajjad.

Another thank you goes to the social networking pages that have promoted and advertised the release.

Last, but not least, a huge thank you to my loyal and dedicated readers for their continued support.

I would love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to contact me using the details below.

Contact

Email:
[email protected]

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Blog: wesleythomashorror.blogspot.co.uk

Website: wesleythomashorrorauthor.weebly.com

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W. Thomas

Wesley Thomas – Author

Frightful Tales 2: He's Watching Me.

© 2015 Wesley Thomas

This manuscript has been proofed/edited using British grammar and punctuation.

Copyright

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the Author, addressed below.

Email:
[email protected]

Cover design by Sajjad, Courtesy of Fiverr.com/covermaestro
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Digital Edition

Proofread/Edited by Paula Limbaugh.

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Although genuine factual historical events and locations are mentioned, everything else is fictitious. Including, but not limited to, characters, storyline/s, situations, occurrences. Any semblance to anyone of the living or dead is purely coincidental.