The Painted Darkness by Brian Keene, Brian James Freeman

middle of the river, following the rabbit tracks as if this was just another path in the woods, one that roared liked a thunderstorm under his boots at times. He kept trying to imagine where the rabbits could have come from, and how they moved in sync like that, and why their eyes were red. And, most importantly, where were they going?
    Henry was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear the faint warning cries beneath him, the sound like glass being shattered in slow motion.
    His first indication of the danger was when his right boot pushed through the ice and was grabbed by the frigid water, as if a hand had emerged from below to pull him down.
    A shrill cry escaped Henry’s throat. He took a step backwards and then he was sinking and an instant later the world was cold and black and he was struggling under the surface of the river, surrounded by a rushing wall of freezing water.
    The current sucked Henry away from the hole he had created in the ice and into the darkness beyond. His eyes were wide and his arms flailed; the coldness slithered along his skin, chilling the blood in his veins, squeezing his chest.
    Henry kicked his legs and he desperately held his breath as the swift current dragged him along. Vise-like pressure squeezed him from all sides and he couldn’t believe what was happening. He felt trapped in a terrible nightmare.
    His heart raced, yet his body was already becoming lethargic and sleepy from the biting cold.
    Then, when Henry’s eyes were about to close, when he was on the verge of letting the river carry him away, he smashed into the trunk of a submerged tree.
    The pain was tremendous, but even though the water tugged at him with icy claws, the current wasn’t dragging him along anymore and the shock jolted him back awake.
    Henry wrapped his arms around the mossy trunk and pulled himself into the slick branches. His lungs were burning and screaming at him.
    He looked up in desperation and saw the ice was only inches above him; he extended his arm weakly. His knuckles tapped at the frozen ceiling like he was pushing on solid rock.
    He punched again with more force and a crack formed, the lines splintering away from him.
    His third punch smashed the ice apart, opening a window into the cool winter sunlight.
    Henry pulled himself up the branches and out of the water, sucking in a huge breath the moment he felt the dazzling embrace of the sun. He crawled up the tree toward the uprooted base of the trunk where the roots hung limply, exposed to the elements.
    Once over land, Henry dropped to the snowy riverbank, gasping for air and staring into the sky at those dancing clouds. A chill was eating into his bones and he couldn’t stop shivering. His teeth chattered and he bit down on one of his knuckles to make them stop.
    Henry lay there in the snow, grateful to see the sky. He watched the clouds through a break in the trees. Exhaustion overwhelmed him. He couldn’t imagine moving again, let alone crossing the river and finding his way home. He wanted to close his eyes and settle into the comfort of the cold darkness.
    As the chill lulled Henry toward the grip of an endless sleep, a rustle came from the bushes.
    The herd of white rabbits, hundreds of them, burst through the brush and stopped just short of where Henry lay.
    Their noses and whiskers twitched and they stared at the little boy with their red eyes. Follow us, there’s more to see and do, they seemed to say. Then they turned in unison and darted deeper into the forest.
Henry watched them go.
THE PRESENT (8)
The Madness in the Cellar
I

t might be madness to believe there’s a monster
    in your cellar, but Henry is pretty sure denying what just happened to him would be an even worse kind of madness. The kind that ends with someone living in a padded room. Henry is also beginning to believe he
    didn’t need to discover an eye in the cellar drain to understand something was wrong in his home.
    Under the surface, he has been sensing an intrusion