Experiment in Terror 05 On Demon Wings Read Online Free PDF

voice was shaking.
    Another knock, louder this time, as if to shut me up.
    “Um, come in?”
    I walked over to it, taking silent, slow steps, listening for
    whoever was on the other side. Whoever it was had
    knocked three times.
    I heard that breathing again.
    I paused in mid-stride, then took one more step until I
    was up against the door. I reached for the handle in slow
    motion, hesitating before placing my hand on it, afraid of
    what I might find on the other side. I was always afraid of
    what I might find on the other side. I knew better now than to
    chalk up anything strange as pure paranoia.
    If I thought there was a monster in my closet, there
    probably was a monster in my closet.
    My eyes flitted to the shadow on the floor. As if to prove
    my point, the shadow slowly eased back under the
    doorframe until it was gone.
    It was time to find out what was going on.
    I grabbed the handle and flung the door open…
    Ada was at the very end of the hal way near my parents’
    bedroom, the red hot water bottle jostling in her hands.
    “I found it!” she yel ed at me. “I got the tap water running
    until it was pretty hot. What’s wrong?”
    I shook my head. “Were you just in my room?”
    “No, I’ve been looking for this in mom’s closet. Why?”
    She came toward me and placed the bottle in my hand. It
    was hot and soothing and just holding it, and having Ada
    and her slender company, made my heart beat slower to a
    comfortable level.
    “I thought I heard someone knocking on my door.”
    She scrunched up her forehead, the day’s waning
    makeup crusting a little at the corners.
    “I know I heard the doorbel ring three times.” She turned
    to the stairs and shouted down them, “Mom! Who was at
    the door?”
    “I don’t know, sweetie,” came the response from the
    kitchen. She sounded a little put out. “Kids playing nicky
    nicky nine doors, maybe.”
    I exchanged a look with Ada. At eleven o’ clock at night?
    In this neighborhood? both our eyes seemed to be saying.
    My mom appeared and came up the stairs with a tray
    containing a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup (no chicken
    chunks), a glass of orange juice and a bottle of Nyquil.
    I eyed the NyQuil. “You trying to drug me, mom?”
    “It’s to help you sleep. Get back in bed, Perry,” she said,
    and shooed me into my room. I did as she said and placed
    the hot water bottle on my pelvis. The cramps had already
    died down a bit thanks to the pain meds. I swal owed the
    sticky plastic cup ful of NyQuil, hoping the stuff would make
    me pass out. My mind was racing and it needed to be put
    to rest. I was hearing things and seeing things, most likely
    brought on by my delirious pain of earlier. Most likely .
    When my mom left, Ada sat on the bed beside me, her
    long legs folded up until her chin rested on her knees. I felt
    safer having her there. Maybe she knew that.
    “Today total y sucked, right?" wi she said.
    “Right,” I said, sinking deeper into the mattress. It was a
    fucking weird day. First Rebecca appears randomly,
    stirring al these feelings I wanted to keep at bay. Then the
    incident in the club, the vomiting, the cramps, fol owed by
    thinking someone was in my room and nicky nicky nine
    doors.
    “Your friend Ash was nice to drive you home.”
    “He’s a nice guy.”
    “Do you, like, like him like him?”
    I smiled. “ Like him , like him? No. He’s too young for me.”
    I sensed Ada tensing up. I turned my head to look at her.
    Her eyes were bright and shiny. Oh dear.
    “Is he young enough for me?”
    “Hel no. He’s twenty. And you’re stil fifteen.”
    “Only for a few more months,” she protested.
    “And you have a boyfriend,” I pointed out. She had been
    going out with this Layton fel ow for the past few months. I’d
    met him. I wasn’t impressed. Especial y when he cal ed me
    “Ghoul Girl” and threw up the gangster symbol.
    “I don’t know,” she said wistful y. “Sometimes I think I
    don’t like Layton anymore. He