Dark Daze Read Online Free PDF

more than a sip of beer before.
He looked at the sandwich. “And I have dinner plans, so why am I
stuffing my face?”
    Buster remained curled up in the corner,
unimpressed by the magic beer.
    Ian’s uncle had been a big beer-drinking
football fan, but it never rubbed off. Women, during pregnancy, can
crave things they would otherwise never consider eating. Ian had
read it somewhere. He placed the sandwich into a baggie. Maybe
something could cause this to happen in a man.
    “Well Buster,” Ian said, washing the crumbs
off his hands, “I think I might be pregnant, boy, and I don’t even
know who the mother is. Shame on me.”
    Buster seemed to roll his eyes before looking
away, as if his master’s sense of humor wasn’t to his taste.
    “Everyone’s a critic.” Ian stepped back
toward the chair, but before he reached it, a loud crash came from
outside.
    Buster rushed to the door, barking his “big
dog” bark, the one that told him danger—at least in Buster’s
eyes—was near.
    “Probably a raccoon.” But the sound was
cacophonous. Far more noise than a raccoon could make.
    Could he have been discovered? Were they
coming to run him off?
    No. It had been more than six months since
his last episode, which hadn’t been in front of anyone.
    Ian tried to still his jittering nerves. He
held a finger up. “Silent.” Buster quieted at the command and moved
to Ian’s left side, where he would remain until Ian gave the
command to relax. He moved to the utilitarian coat closet near the
front door and grabbed his Smith and Wesson .45 from the gun safe
on the shelf, leaving the safety on. Well-trained as he had been,
he could remove it and fire at the same time if he needed to.
    Just in case. He racked the slide and
chambered a round.
    He opened the front door and moved along the
small porch in a crouch. Both he and Buster remained silent,
watchful. Ian searched for the source of the crash. Something had
toppled the bulky metal garbage cans. The lids—meant to keep
critters out—lay next to the overturned cans, but whatever had done
it must have been scared off.
    “Release.” Ian commanded, but Buster remained
by his side, whining. “It’s okay. Just those stupid raccoons after
all.”
    He turned and stepped back into the house.
Buster paced him.
    “I’m going to write a letter to the company
responsible for making those trash cans.” He replaced the gun in
its hiding spot. “Raccoons are the reason I bought them. If they
can’t keep them out what good are they?”
    He walked back to where the cans lay, Buster
at his side alternately whining and growling.
    “Buster, release.”
    He bent to pick up the bags and stuff them
back into the cans. Long jagged puncture marks covered the trashcan
lids. He paused in the midst of hefting a sealed black bag. He
understood now why Buster was acting so strange. A bear must be on
the property.
    Ian moved back from the cans. Bears could be
territorial about food and he didn’t want to piss this one off over
a little garbage. A bullet wasn’t as effective against a bear as it
was against a human. He glanced around, hoping it wouldn’t be
close. The shadows seemed to close in around him. Buster’s whining
became more insistent. Ian swallowed hard to dislodge the lump
forming in his throat. Why was he so nervous? He’d seen bears many
times in his life. They didn’t scare him, nor did they scare
Buster, who was friendly to all beasts. So why were they reacting
like a couple of puppies who needed to be weaned?
    He caught a glint to his right. When he
turned his head, his pulse thundered in his throat. A hulking, dark
figure perhaps twelve feet tall lurked in the shadows—seemed to be
made of the shadows. Two glowing eyes focused on him—well, not eyes
exactly—more like dark holes, sucking all light into their
void.
    Ian’s heart tried to break out of his chest.
He froze to the spot. Even Buster ceased his loud whining and stood
unmoving at his side, growling now. Ian