Wormwood Dawn (Episode I) by Edward Crae Page B

immaculate. Drew went around to the nightstand, opening the drawers. He pulled out a pistol, stuffing it in his belt, and filling his backpack with boxes of ammo.
    “9mm,” he said. “There are some shells, too.”
    He stacked up five boxes of shells, and Dan stuffed them in his backpack. They looked around once more, and started down the hallway again.
    That was when they heard the thumping sound.
    The two of them froze immediately. Below, the thumping was slow and irregular, gradually increasing in loudness and frequency.
    “What the hell is that?” Drew said.
    “I don’t know,” Dan whispered; his heart pounding.
    Damn, I need a drink.
    “Slow and quiet,” Dan said, creeping toward the staircase.
    He looked over the edge of the railing, pointing the shotgun downward. He couldn’t see anything on the stairs, or any shadows moving. He padded over to the top stair, quietly stepping down. The stair creaked, making him wince. Drew’s teeth were gritted. Placing his hand on the rail, Dan tiptoed down two steps, placing his other foot next to the first one before stepping down again. He could hear Drew silently descend behind him.
    Dan gripped the post at the landing, craning his head around the corner. Still nothing downstairs but the pounding sound. It was becoming erratic; desperate and more intense. There was a scratching sound that accompanied it, followed by a low groan.
    “Jesus,” Drew exclaimed behind him. “What the fucksy? Is someone down there?”
    Dan shook his head and started down again. The sound was coming from the kitchen; maybe from the pantry or a cabinet? He sighed, continuing down until he reached the last step. He crouched, leaning against the left wall to peek into the hallway toward the kitchen.
    No shadows; just the scratching, pounding, and groaning.
    “Is the basement door in the kitchen?” Drew whispered.
    Dan shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.”
    They crept down the hallway, keeping to the walls as they approached the kitchen. They could see the back door. It was closed with the chain in place. The sounds were coming from the left of it, near where Dan guessed the basement door would be.
    As they stepped into the kitchen, they saw that there was indeed a basement door. Pressed against it was a wooden post fastened into place with scraps of wood. The other end of it was wedged into the floor with more scraps; nailed down to keep it from moving. The door was shaking with each pound, and the scratching echoed in Dan’s ears. The low groans were disturbing and reverberated through the heavy wood.
    “There are people down there,” Drew said.
    No. Not people. Loonies. Dennis probably trapped them down there before he went outside to croak.
    Dan looked at the back door. There would probably be basement windows outside. He didn’t really want to look, but he knew he had to. Why? Who knows?
    “Basement windows,” he said. Drew raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips. Dan wasn’t sure what kind of answer that was, or whether he had even asked a question. “Let’s look.”
    Drew nodded, making an “ah!” expression. Dan unchained the door, and the two of them stepped onto the patio, looking left and right for a window well. There was one on the west end of the house; boarded up with only a small gap to see inside. Dan crouched down to look.
    The glass had been broken, as was expected, and the interior was dark. There were only a few rays of sunlight shining through from another window, creating thin lines of brightness on the floor. Though he could see nothing, he could hear the scuffling of one or two people moving around on the concrete floor. The pounding continued, and the groaning had morphed into eerie, croaking cries.
    “See anything?” Drew asked.
    “No,” Dan said. “I still hear them, though.”
    Dan felt a rough tap on his shoulder. He turned his head to see a flashlight in Drew’s hand. He took it, pointing it into the gap, and switched it on. On the