Horror Tales (3 page)

The signed the rental contracts on the table of the wide kitchen. The agent was ecstatic because he had spent more than a year trying to
fix
that house on someone. Its location hadn´t helped at all, but that foreigner seemed to have found exactly what he was looking for. The price of course was a bargain, but it was worth it instead of having it empty.

The agent shook his head, forcing a smile. That strange question didn´t seem a joke, but he preferred to place it as if it was. He was a peculiar guy, but... what the hell, he had just given him six months cash in advance!

The architect came back with his stuff a couple of days later. The agent had kept his promise and the house was spotless. Yes, this time things were going to be fine.

Soon, he was trying to make some acquaintances in the zone to get some contracts. There weren´t many architects around there, so even though there weren´t many jobs, there wasn´t any competence either. Money wasn´t a big problem for him, up to now, but boredom was.

Luckily, he soon made good friends with a somehow grumpy guy, but very cult, who used to take his dog for a walk in the hill where his house was situated. His name was Tyler; buy everybody in town called him
Lonely
, because he was always wandering alone from one side to the other. In old times, he had written a book which brought him fame and benefits, but the early success shuttered his career, his inspiration and his dreams. He had retired to live off the rents in that place, forgotten from god´s hand.

That afternoon, he saw him coming with his dog,
Daddy
, a nervous Beagle who was always sniffing around his house and who didn´t stop barking at him no sooner he was at less than two meters away from
chucho
.

They used to spend time chatting for a while. On some occasions, Tyler used to come inside the house and share a couple of beers, while both hypothesized about life, about life going by and about good literature. On others, they encouraged each other to provide some company during their long walks around town, just to do some exercise and stretch their legs.

Everything seemed at ease; at last he had found the right place. But no. It had to happen
again
. Two months after having moved into that pretty, comfortable and huge house,
his nightmare
returned. As usual, very late in the early morning s
omeone
was banging the door. He went down the stairs and got to the entrance with the hope that it was just a gang of bored children: it was Saturday night and in that small town a gang of adolescents couldn´t find a better way to spend their time.

The banging suddenly stopped. The architect slowly approached the entrance door. He knew that there was somebody at the other side. He could hear the shortness of breath. He recognized it immediately. He had had to hear it more than a thousand times during his whole life. It was like a 12 or 13 year- old- girl´s gasp. However, the banging that had just shaken his door could have been only hit by a young, strong and well- built man.

The breathing he was hearing was now more inaudible, almost imperceptible. As other times before, he leaned against the eyehole of the door and checked that nobody was outside. The yellowish light in the porch lighted a few meters, but enough to detect any intruder.

Suddenly, he felt a shiver of terror and he turned away from the door as if pushed by a spring.
Someone
had just covered the eyehole of the door, when he was trying to find out who the hell was on the other side.

The architect was trembling from head to toes. Ploughing up the courage from his own guts, he raised and turned the handle violently. Nobody. Absolutely nobody.

The weeks went by and, as it had been happening for many years, every dawn the same terrible experience was repeated, which was destroying his spirits. From time to time he used to think that the solution was escaping again: at least he could count on one or two months of certain tranquility. But on many occasions the idea of committing suicide crossed his mind.

Lonely
had found a friend after many years, and he didn´t wish the architect to leave the town. He had gotten used to his company, the lovely walks one afternoon yes, one afternoon no, and the endless talks about books.

Just a couple of days later, almost at dusk, Tyler was in front of the house in the hill, with a serious expression, followed by the good
Daddy
and carrying a handful of papers.

Both men sat down and had a look at the papers Tyler had brought with him. Most of them were scans of newspaper clippings, but there also were some digital reports and a couple of entries from two well- known Blogs devoted to gossip. Almost all of them were giving news about the death of a famous actress´ daughter, in a fire. The actress was married to a renowned architect. Then, they informed that the actress hadn´t put up with the pain and had ended up killing herself a few months later.

Both of them went to sleep. The architect felt more at ease than ever. He didn´t regret having told Tyler the whole truth. Maybe, that was what he should have done from the beginning. The idea of being suffering from psychotic episodes wasn´t funny at all, but letting someone help him was the best he could do... once and for all.

They decided to sleep in the hall, because there were two big sofas which would allow them to sleep next to each other, without the uncomfortable obligation of having to sleep in the only bed upstairs. The first part of the night passed with calm and peace, but in the very early morning, some knocking awoke both men abruptly.

Daddy
also awoke, and he was barking at the door as if he was possessed. The architect approached it, and without undue he opened it. Nobody.

Some minutes of uncomfortable silence went by. Both men were reflecting, trying to draw conclusions from what had just happened. In the meantime,
Daddy
hadn´t stopped growling and huffing. And then, a succession of new banging startled them.

The architect got closer to the keyhole and observed. There was no one in the outside porch. After just a few seconds he could feel that agitated breathing which was so childish that made him crazy.

Tyler nodded. He didn´t understand anything. Maybe, in reality he was sleeping soundly on his bed, and influenced by all the information his niece had sent him now he was being captive of a terrible nightmare. But no, he knew this was real. At the other side of the door someone, or
something
, was breathing. It was creepy.

The architect let his friend pass, thinking that he wasn´t sure what his intentions were, but he had nothing to lose. Tyler approached slowly the keyhole. He felt as if his heart was running away from his mouth, he felt the beats swelling the veins in his throat, which were compressing against the neck of his pure cotton shirt. And at last he could contemplate the outside... A thunder of horror fired in his guts. Standing in the front door, there was a girl, with her clothes and body almost completely charred, and her empty eye sockets fixed in the eyehole...
She was challenging him from the porch!
And she looked really pissed.

I
appreciate it, honestly, that you have purchased this book of tales and have read it. That is the best gift that can be given to a writer.

If you liked these horror short stories, I would appreciate a last favor from you: write a comment about the book. You would be helping me with that kind gesture so that it can get to even more readers.

Thank you so much,

Harry Glum

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