backyard. How inappropriate that he should be thinking of this as she lay upstairs in some type of mental breakdown. Was it a survival instinct, he wondered, a way for his brain to keep him focused on something?
He rounded the corner into the kitchen, saw the phone as a black shadow on the wall near the cabinets, and grabbed it. Apparently the dead line upstairs wasn ’ t an isolated incident; either the phone lines were down or someone had cut the wires outside the house. But then, that couldn ’ t be right, because there was a noise coming from the phone after all. A hissing static, faint but definitely there. And beyond it, at the edge of audibility, a woman ’ s voice saying, “ help me, he ’ s bleeding on the rug, he ’ s bleeding on the rug… ”
“ Hello? ”
The faint voice came again through the phone , came fr om somewhere far away , urgent and fast: “ help me, he ’ s bleeding on the rug… ”
The phone dropped from his hand, swung on the tangled cord and banged into the wall, swishing back and forth like his own senility. Out of the earpiece continued the now familiar susurration, growing louder: “ He ’ s bleeding on the rug… ”
Matti ’ s voice drifted down the stairs and oozed into the shadows, providing a complementary backing vocal to the refrain: “ …bleeding on the rug… ”
It was confusion that he felt first, not terror. An innate need to rationalize what he was experiencing. And so he stood in the darkness of the kitchen, more boxes around him, listening to both voices chant about the blood on the rug, asking himself just what in the hell was going on? There ’ s always a logical explanation for strange events, he knew. Looking around, though, all he co uld see was a nearly- empty kitchen. There weren ’ t any answers jumping out at him. Figure it out later. Right now you need to call for help.
Cell phone, he thought, where was his cell phone? He ’ d been packing up books in the living room before going to bed and was pretty sure it was in his jacket on the table. Was it still charged, he wondered, or should he just cut across the lawn to his neighbor ’ s house and wake them up, tell them to call an ambulance and maybe even some men in white coats?
No, he couldn ’ t leave Matti, not yet anyway. He could feel that in his gut, that need to protect her, that need to make sure she was okay. For her sake, of course, but also for his. Because if anything were to happen to her…
As he passed the front door, moving through the foyer that separated the kitchen from the living room, he saw t he Dust Buster sitting on a taped-up box and picked it up. He didn ’ t know why exactly, it just felt right. Having some kind of weapon in his hand gave him a sense of advantage, even if it was a false one, and led him to believe he could still keep control of the situation.
That is, until he stepped into the living room and saw the f igure standing near the sofa, bleeding on the rug.
Dane froze, his heart kicking into overdrive as his body went slick with sweat and his tongue dried up into cardboard.
The lanky figure was shrouded by shadows, its shoulders hunched forward with poor posture, its hair wispy and short. Judging by the lack of effeminate curves, it was a man. Whoever he was he was holding a hand to his head, his body swaying ever so slig htly, as if a light breeze might blow him over. There was something decrepit about him, but at the same time…strangely formidable.
He ’ s here to hurt Matti, Dane thought. Have to protect Matti.
The table in question was off to his right, equal distance from both him and the other man. His jacket lay in a heap on top of it, his cell phone in the front pocket. If he tried to run for it, and the man lunged after him, they ’ d meet at the same time. Dane hadn ’ t been in a fight since high school, wasn ’ t even sure he remembered how to defend himself? Still, he knew he ’ d fight for Matti, come what may.
Using the Dust
He rounded the corner into the kitchen, saw the phone as a black shadow on the wall near the cabinets, and grabbed it. Apparently the dead line upstairs wasn ’ t an isolated incident; either the phone lines were down or someone had cut the wires outside the house. But then, that couldn ’ t be right, because there was a noise coming from the phone after all. A hissing static, faint but definitely there. And beyond it, at the edge of audibility, a woman ’ s voice saying, “ help me, he ’ s bleeding on the rug, he ’ s bleeding on the rug… ”
“ Hello? ”
The faint voice came again through the phone , came fr om somewhere far away , urgent and fast: “ help me, he ’ s bleeding on the rug… ”
The phone dropped from his hand, swung on the tangled cord and banged into the wall, swishing back and forth like his own senility. Out of the earpiece continued the now familiar susurration, growing louder: “ He ’ s bleeding on the rug… ”
Matti ’ s voice drifted down the stairs and oozed into the shadows, providing a complementary backing vocal to the refrain: “ …bleeding on the rug… ”
It was confusion that he felt first, not terror. An innate need to rationalize what he was experiencing. And so he stood in the darkness of the kitchen, more boxes around him, listening to both voices chant about the blood on the rug, asking himself just what in the hell was going on? There ’ s always a logical explanation for strange events, he knew. Looking around, though, all he co uld see was a nearly- empty kitchen. There weren ’ t any answers jumping out at him. Figure it out later. Right now you need to call for help.
Cell phone, he thought, where was his cell phone? He ’ d been packing up books in the living room before going to bed and was pretty sure it was in his jacket on the table. Was it still charged, he wondered, or should he just cut across the lawn to his neighbor ’ s house and wake them up, tell them to call an ambulance and maybe even some men in white coats?
No, he couldn ’ t leave Matti, not yet anyway. He could feel that in his gut, that need to protect her, that need to make sure she was okay. For her sake, of course, but also for his. Because if anything were to happen to her…
As he passed the front door, moving through the foyer that separated the kitchen from the living room, he saw t he Dust Buster sitting on a taped-up box and picked it up. He didn ’ t know why exactly, it just felt right. Having some kind of weapon in his hand gave him a sense of advantage, even if it was a false one, and led him to believe he could still keep control of the situation.
That is, until he stepped into the living room and saw the f igure standing near the sofa, bleeding on the rug.
Dane froze, his heart kicking into overdrive as his body went slick with sweat and his tongue dried up into cardboard.
The lanky figure was shrouded by shadows, its shoulders hunched forward with poor posture, its hair wispy and short. Judging by the lack of effeminate curves, it was a man. Whoever he was he was holding a hand to his head, his body swaying ever so slig htly, as if a light breeze might blow him over. There was something decrepit about him, but at the same time…strangely formidable.
He ’ s here to hurt Matti, Dane thought. Have to protect Matti.
The table in question was off to his right, equal distance from both him and the other man. His jacket lay in a heap on top of it, his cell phone in the front pocket. If he tried to run for it, and the man lunged after him, they ’ d meet at the same time. Dane hadn ’ t been in a fight since high school, wasn ’ t even sure he remembered how to defend himself? Still, he knew he ’ d fight for Matti, come what may.
Using the Dust
Similar Books
