Dead Horizon Read Online Free PDF

ignore it, focusing ever harder on my work, typing madly. The words came quickly—hot impressions on paper—quite possibly the words of a genius, but enough about that.
    The scraping began to move against the wall. It was the sound of fingernails across a chalkboard, slow and tortured, and as I could no longer overlook it, I began to follow it, cocking my ear to the wall. The noise would periodically come to a halt, as if my scrutiny had been detected. It would then, after a period of perhaps thirty seconds, resume its standard pattern, moving slowly along the inner workings of the wall.
    My curiosity soon gained the better of me. I began to search for something with which I might knock a hole in the wall. The end of the wall, at last, was upon us, but the scraping sound changed its course. There was the addition of another sound—a knock of sorts—which alternated with the more familiar scraping.
    I dashed madly from the house, down the steps, and to the small yard that fronted my living quarters. Facing my guest house and peering upward, I saw that indeed there was an attic of sorts to be accessed, and whatever the thing was lurking behind my wall, surely that was its destination.
    I rushed back into the house, overcome with high hopes. There had to be a way for me to access the attic room as well, and sure enough, I found it. A trapdoor did indeed exist. There it was, a thing of beauty, dead-center above my work desk. How had I not noticed it before? The only obstacle now was to reach the thing.
    And here, dear readers, is where the insanity begins. I tried the desk chair, then I climbed upon the desk itself. Neither of them was of sufficient height to allow me to reach my goal.
    Then an idea struck. I went immediately to my bookshelves and dragged books to my desk, piling them high, a precarious arrangement at best, but one I would be obliged to make due with.
    The thing had already gained entry to the attic. I could hear it walking above me, and at that moment, I became quite convinced that it was not at all anything from the rodent family. It walked on two feet, and, I might add here and now, with quite a heavy step. Each foot that fell upon the floor of the attic was solid enough to shake plaster dust onto my upturned face, forcing me to shut my eyes as I struggled with the trapdoor.
    Eager as I was to put the mystery to rest, my heart pounded with the excitement of what I might discover. My throat was swollen and dry. I prayed silently that I would not be required to scream for help. I thought several times to turn away from the foolish business at hand, and had it not been for the sudden displacement of the door, I would surely have abandoned my insane pursuit.
    I stared for a long time into the black mouth of the attic, plotting what my next move might be. I went to retrieve a lantern, for only the truly disturbed would have ventured into the attic as it was. Though questionable, my mind had not taken leave completely. By the time I returned, I could no longer hear footsteps, but I detected the heavy breathing of the thing above me.
    I rose upon my toes for a closer look, setting the lantern inside the lip of the opening. The books began to wobble rather dangerously, forcing me to grope for the sides of the open door. I began to haul myself up into the attic. The darkness swallowed my lantern. I stood fully erect and proceeded into the attic. It was not the move I intended, but my curiosity gained the better of me, and so it was that I found myself sharing the same space with something that, had I known the full extent of, I would not have wanted to be close to under any circumstance.
    The attic was silent now. The lantern cast a pale yellow light about the room. As my eyes adjusted, I took note of shadowy forms around me: an old trunk, a high-backed chair, dusty boxes piled one upon the other . . . but nothing alive.
    I was at a loss for explanation. Certainly I had heard those footsteps. Was it possible that it