Horror Stories: A Macabre Collection Read Online Free PDF

cawing—just the noise of wings
flapping, feet skittering, and beaks now pecking at the door. He
could see wings, feet, and beaks trying to reach him and the dogs
from the thin separation of door and floor. He stepped back, still
trying to handle the dogs. From the bedroom erupted the sound of
glass shattering again—this was turning out to be one hell of a
morning, Carter thought. He heard what was becoming a familiar
noise—the flapping of ruined wings—and ran, pulling the dogs. Rusty
was smart enough to follow along without being commanded.
    Carter ran for the basement. The flutter of
wings and the sounds of small bodies bouncing off the walls
followed behind him. He opened the basement door and the dogs
darted past him, nearly knocking him over. He slammed the door shut
and leaned against it as kamikaze birds rammed into the door.
THUP-THUP-THUP-THUP, the barrage was seemingly endless and shed new
light on the term birdbrain.
    The dogs stood at the top of the steps. Their
voices became hoarse as they continued to bark. Carter’s head
swirled and ached as he fumbled clumsily for the light switch. He
found it and flicked it on, illuminating the small, dirty, and
unfinished basement. He descended the stairs. What the hell is
going on?, he thought, but was unable to answer himself. After a
few moments Bee-bo gave up the ghost and sat next to his master at
the foot of the steps. Lucky and Rusty quickly followed. Bee-bo
licked Carter’s hand and Carter smiled at his friend, staring into
the dog’s deep, dark eyes. Something was wrong, something was very
fucking wrong, he thought, and Bee-bo knew it too.
    Carter looked around the small basement. He
had no radio, no television, no phone, no food—nothing but the damp
basement and the dim light. He scratched at his beard, not knowing
what else to do. He could hear the fluttering of birds, and at
least one bat, above his head. He didn’t want to think of how much
the repairs to the house would cost—windows weren’t cheap, and from
the sounds of it, that would be the least of his worries. New
sounds went through the house: raccoons maybe, cats, dogs,
squirrels for sure—they were everywhere as it was, anyway—he could
hear the odd hopping that must’ve been a rabbit. Then he heard the
phone ring. His eyes widened and he moved toward the door, pressing
his ear forward, trying to listen. After several rings, the
answering machine picked up. It was Sarah. Her voice sounded shaky.
He wanted to run out there and pick up the phone. They hadn’t
spoken to each other directly in weeks and he just wanted to hear
her voice. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, and it killed
him. He couldn’t hear her anymore. The machine beeped to signify
the end of the call. Carter sighed and returned to the bottom of
the stairs. Lucky had something pinned underfoot and halfway
devoured—it was a field mouse. Carter pushed Lucky aside and could
tell that the field mouse was no ordinary mouse—its hair was matted
with dried blood clinging to its body in clumps, and it had small
bite marks that Lucky was much too large to make. Carter felt sick.
He looked at Lucky, knowing she stood a good chance of getting
whatever it was that made the animals go crazy. Carter scooped up
the half-eaten mouse with an old box and set it aside. Bee-bo and
Rusty kept their distance from Lucky, and she did the same. She
knew she was sick. She sat at the far end of the room licking her
paws and occasionally looking in their direction. Carter’s eyes
grew red. These dogs were not just pets. They were his family—his
children. He loved them more than anything, and he feared what he
may have to do to Lucky to prevent her from infecting Bee-bo and
Rusty. He looked around the room for something capable of putting
her down if need be, and he prayed that he wouldn’t have to.
    But there was only a hammer, an old baseball
bat (which had been chewed to all hell by the dogs), and a few
other items. It would be no