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Night Wraith
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Short, Scary Tales Publications
Birmingham, England
Copyright ©2016 Christopher Fulbright & Angeline Hawkes
Cover art copyright ©2016 Vincent Sammy
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-909640-51-1
2016 SST Publications eBook Edition
Published by
Short, Scary Tales Publications
15 North Roundhay
Stechford
Birmingham
B33 9PE
England
www.sstpublications.co.uk
eBook design by Paul Fry
First Digital Edition: June 2016
This book is dedicated to the kids, the cats,
and the old gang at the Mountain Sun
PROLOGUE
In the bed of the truck, Mason had just managed to get his hand inside Raylee Condit’s shirt when blood spattered across the side window of the camper top. Since he considered this the ultimate achievement of his high school career, a jewel in his otherwise lackluster crown of conquests, Mason wasn’t immediately willing to admit that things had taken a sudden grim and horrifying turn. They were in two zipped-together sleeping bags, their alcohol-tinged breath misting the wintry air. Mason could still taste the strawberry wine cooler he’d kissed from her lips. Raylee gasped at the sound of wet splatter.
The blood droplets on the camper window looked like black paint until silhouettes near the bonfire outside moved out of the way. Then the flames shimmered through a pattern of red spots, sending a chill of recognition through him that sank deeper than the cold of the night. The sounds of the keg party echoed into the woods—thirty or so drunken teenagers, laughing, shouting, arguing and singing along to the tune of “Nothin’ On But the Radio” which blasted from massive speakers in Don Lundy’s truck. It was parked with its tailgate down across from the fire, doors open, sending the raucous sounds of rock and roll echoing through the deep mountain forest. Mason cocked his head, listening, struggling to hear what was outside the camper.
“Mason,” Raylee said, breathless. “What is it?”
“Sshh,” he said, hand still on her tit. His erection had gone flaccid in her sweaty hand. His chest tensed. His throat tightened as an indefinable black shape swept by outside the window. His vodka buzz all but disappeared.
Something smashed hard against the side of the pickup—hard enough to rock the bed of the truck on its shocks. Raylee screamed. Mason instinctively tried to sit up but they were both zipped into the sleeping bag, causing him to inadvertently jerk Raylee’s neck with an awkward yank.
“Ouch, damn it! What the hell—?”
“Shh!” Mason removed his hand from her shirt, using it to muffle her mouth.
“Mmmmmppphh!” She dug her fingernails into his wrist.
“Shit!”
“—the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Will you shut up?”
Another heavy impact jarred the truck, followed by something like a blood soaked mop-head that struck the camper window. The glass cracked in a sharp web and was painted with a blood-black smear.
Raylee screamed. Mason’s voice caught in his throat.
The shape of something vaguely human glowed green outside the window. A phantom mist formed the semi-amorphous features of an angry demonic face, peering in at them with eyes like black holes in emerald nebulae. The form of the being swirled and faded before it came back even stronger. Its deep greenish light ebbed, gathering power, and then engulfed the rear of the truck, violently ripping away the hatch of the camper. The camper shell’s door flew into the crowd of drunken teenagers around the bonfire, hitting four people, one of whom fell into the fire with a cry, sending swirls of embers into the treetops and the autumn stars. The tailgate jerked open too. Raylee clutched Mason, screaming at top volume as the greenish fog reformed into a translucent thing with wildly cocked legs, a thin torso, and long spindly arms that ended in taloned fingers.
They didn’t have time to make sense of what they saw as the force of the being’s attack fell upon them, quick and raw with fury.
The first slash of its deadly talons raked half of Raylee’s face from her skull like the skin of a rotting peach, leaving wet muscle and a crazily twitching eye in one socket. Mason’s final moments were mercifully void of the anguish he might otherwise have suffered with a slower, less abrupt end. When the phantom thing laid into him, it tore deep into his throat, bathing the inside of the truck bed with his gore. The only sound he made before dying was a gurgle as blood flooded his windpipe.
Raylee, faceless, screamed until the thing ripped open the sleeping bag, exposing her quaking breasts just before it eviscerated her, tearing into her soft abdomen, shredding the skin and introducing her steaming entrails to the night.
CHAPTER ONE
Tapping at Carly’s bedroom window roused her from sleep. Her eyes opened on the soft shadows of her room, the shapes of her bookshelf, her open closet overflowing with clothes and shoes, her vanity mirror reflecting the moonlit glow of the window and its sheer white curtains that stirred like ghosts. Beyond the translucent curtains, the black silhouette of a figure crouched on her second story windowsill.
A scream caught in her throat. She clutched the blankets. She had to remind herself to breathe.
The tapping again.
A low voice whispered on the other side of the pane.
“Carly, it’s me, Ethan. Let me in, it’s freezing out here!”
It took a moment for her sleep-fogged mind to register Ethan’s voice and connect it to the shape outside her window. She looked to her bedroom door. It stood open just a crack. She folded back the covers, the cool air in the house caressing her bare legs as she crept to the door and closed the latch gently. Then she rushed to the window and unlocked it. A blast of air crisp with the scent of autumn snow penetrated her nightgown.
“Ethan, what are you doing here?”
The grin on his handsome face melted the remnant of her fear and defeated her anger in two seconds flat.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “All I could think about was you. I tried to concentrate on writing my essay, then I tried to watch TV, and when Ryan called and said he and Don were headed up to Rainbow Falls for the party I knew I couldn’t go.”
“You didn’t go to the party?”
“I had to see you. I’m sorry.”
“You sap. Get in here. But be quiet.”
He climbed off the small ledge of the second story into her room. The bare branches of the walnut tree in the front yard swayed with black menace behind him. She closed the window quickly. As soon as she turned around he hugged her, the leather sleeves of his letter jacket icy.
“Ahh,” she said. “Jeez, you’re freezing.”
“Warm me up, sweetheart.”
She swatted him on the shoulder but grinned. She stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the lips.
“Sorry mister, not tonight. My dad’s home. Who, by the way, would have filled you with lead if he saw you on my window sill.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“I’m drunk with desire.”
She crinkled her nose at him in mock disgust, but chuckled despite herself. She caught a whiff of his cologne as he removed his jacket and sat on the pink footlocker she used as a nightstand. Carly crawled back into bed and turned on her side to face him. His handsome features were sharpened in the relative dark of her bedroom. Risky as it was to have him show up here like this, she admired the sharp angles of his face and her heart thrilled at the thought that he’d forgone the party on the off-chance he could see her. She had to admit that every time he went off to party with Ryan and the gang, she feared he’d end up drunk and sweaty in the back of someone’s car with some whore. She knew in her heart he’d never leave her, and yet, the persistent fear that she’d lose him hovered in the background of every moment they were apart.
Snuggled back between the sheets of her bed, warmth returned to her chilled skin. She reached out a hand and touched his knee. He took her hand in his.
“Did you really skip the party just to come see me?”
“Of course. Plus, I didn’t want to be out all night. Mom’s not been doing well lately, so I didn’t feel right being gone too long. In fact, I need to get back soon.”
“You didn’t have to come, Ethan.”
“I didn’t have to, but I did. Besides, you seemed a little upset yesterday after school. It killed me that I had to go to practice. I couldn’t focus. I dropped every other pass they threw to me, and I got creamed once by Bubbamuncher, and twice by Lucas, who managed to slip in a swift kick when the coach wasn’t looking. But anyway, I’ve been thinking about you the whole time.”
She gave him a smile. Tears filled her eyes, and part of her hoped it was too dark for him to see, but a second part of her wanted him to see her pain, to come to her, and make it all go away ... or at least help her get through this next week or so.
He caressed her cheek. “I can’t imagine how tough it must be for you right now.”
“Well, not as hard as it was losing her. I can hardly believe it’s been six years. I swear sometimes I can still hear her voice downstairs in the morning, smell her perfume in the hall. I remember her like I just saw her yesterday.”
“That’s an awesome gift.”
“I suppose it is.” She closed her eyes and clutched his hand to her cheek. A stray tear escaped but she was filled with joy that he cared enough to come. She reveled in his touch. He drew up next to her, kneeling at her bedside. He stroked her hair and it thrilled her.
“Maybe I should go.”
“Please don’t,” she said, reaching out. Her hand slid along his muscular shoulder, cupping the back of his neck. “I mean, only if you have to. I ... want you here with me.”
She returned his smile in the dark. He came closer and they lightly brushed noses as his lips pressed against hers. They kissed at length, and she felt his arm sliding over her beneath the covers, pulling her firmly closer to him. When they came apart, Carly felt heat between her legs, tingling with desire for him.
“I love you,” she said, breathless.
“I love you, too, Carly.”
The phone rang. It clamored loud and vibrating in their ears, and Carly couldn’t help feel that it was an alarm, a sign from God announcing, hey, it’s a little too close in there kids. Save it for your wedding day! And she realized at the same time that her heart was rapid firing in her chest, blood rushing to her face.
Strange moment for a sudden realization, she thought. But she did want to marry him. It was foolish and they were young and she had her whole life ahead of her, but no man could ever match this—his compassion, the fire between them, the sheer thrill of being together.
The phone rang a second time. She looked to the clock on her bookcase. The red digital numbers read 2:17 a.m.
“Jesus!” Ethan hissed. He snatched his jacket off the floor and was halfway to the window before Carly stopped him by holding up one hand.
“Good grief,” she breathed. She reached for the receiver and picked it up. Before she could say hello, she heard her father’s sleep-laden voice answer the other phone in his bedroom.
“Hello,” Carly’s dad said. His voice was loud on the line, in stereo as she also heard it through the closed door of her bedroom.
“Chief Wagner?” said the caller. Carly thought it sounded like Sergeant Oliver Raines. In a small town like this, the cops were family, and Oliver had been over to the house on several occasions for meals before Mom died. He still came over on Sundays for football when neither one of them had to work. He was funny, and she liked him.
“Yes. Oliver?”
“Chief, sorry to wake you like this but we’ve got a situation.”
Curious as she was, Carly turned off the receiver and hung up. If her dad had heard her pick up, he’d be hot if he knew she was listening in. As soon as she set the phone back down on its base, Ethan looked at her wide-eyed.
“Should I go?” Though a barely audible whisper, there was a hint of panic in his voice.
“Just hang on,” she said, matching his near silent volume of speech.
They sat in her room, still as graveyard statuary, Ethan next to her bed, Carly propped on one elbow, listening for the sound of his footsteps in the hall. A few minutes later, her prediction came true. She heard the door to the bathroom close. Moments later the sound of a flushing toilet was followed by running water in the sink.
“Under the bed,” Carly whispered. Scarcely had the words passed her lips than Ethan tucked himself under the frame, adjusting the pleated pink bedskirt to conceal him. Carly laid her head quickly on the pillow and assumed a posture of feigned sleep.
She heard her father’s soft steps approach her bedroom door, pause, and then gently unlatch and push it open. A wedge of yellow light grew into her room. His long shadow filled it as he peeked his head around the door.
“Carly?”
Carly moaned and turned over.
“Sorry about the late night call.”
Carly wiped her eyes and propped herself up on one elbow, wincing at the light flooding her room from the hallway. “It’s okay Dad,” she said sleepily. “Do you have to go?”
“Yeah, it was Oliver. We’ve got a situation I need to check out. I hope I’ll be home in a couple of hours, but I can’t promise anything. We may have to postpone our breakfast date.”
“It’s okay Dad. Want me to make you something to eat real quick?”
“Thanks sweetie, but I’ll live on coffee tonight.” He stepped into the room and leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead. He smelled like Irish Spring soap. “Sleep tight, and I’ll make sure we’re all locked up downstairs.”
“Okay Dad. Be careful. I love you.”
“Always. And I love you, too. Hopefully we can still make that breakfast date.”
Carly gave him a drowsy smile. “I hope so, too. But if not, you can make it up to me in shoes.”
Her dad grinned and lightly cupped her shoulder with his strong hand. “I’ll be making it up to you for years.”
“Be careful.”
“I will,” he said, and disappeared back into the hall. He left her door partially open. She heard him grab his boots from the closet. When he went downstairs, he turned off the upstairs hall light. The glow of the moon reclaimed the shapes of her bedroom. Ethan was silent beneath her bed. She waited several seconds before she gave the quietest whisper of her life: “Wait until he’s gone.”
Ethan stayed quiet. She could almost sense the fear emanating from him.
Carly lay on her back staring up at the ceiling of her room. She was wide awake now, the jarring after effects of the phone ringing
still thrumming in her chest. She turned her head to gaze out the window at the swaying branches of the old walnut tree, its branches like the wicked claws of a black skeletal beast ripping from the guts of the earth. It scraped the purple night sky, sliced the silver orb of the moon. As her eyes strayed again to her vanity mirror, she could see the small black square that was the last picture of her and Mom together before she died.
Dad’s words came back to her: I’ll be making it up to you for years.
He blamed himself. She knew it, and it didn’t make any sense because any thread of decisions woven throughout the course of a day could lead to oblivion. But, like the therapist who’d counseled them said, she couldn’t dwell on how it might have gone if only she’d talked to her a little longer on the phone, if only she’d called in sick that day like she wanted to, if only.... It was a litany of madness when she was convinced that one little thing—the right word, a hug, a promise—would have made all of the difference and she’d still have been with them there, sleeping in the next room. She had to let that go. It wasn’t easy. Dad never quite did.
I’ll be making it up to you for years.
Tears stung her eyes again, and though she was glad that Ethan had come to visit, she was also glad that he was safely hidden under the bed, because this was her private pain. Her and Daddy’s. And it hurt her almost as much that she was gone as to think that Daddy had not only lost the woman that he loved, but that he blamed himself for her death every day.
Mom, if you can hear me, if you can know this ... please set him free, she prayed. Let him know you still love him, that he’s not to blame. Just speak a quiet word into his dreams. Draw near to him and unshackle his heart.
Carly sniffled. She’d begun to cry and didn’t want that right now.
Downstairs, the sounds of Dad rattling around in the kitchen were like sounds in a far away cavern. She heard the last few spurts of the coffeemaker percolating, and the scent of strong Columbian roast drifting its way through the air upstairs. She imagined him in the kitchen, pulling out a thermos, filling it, digging out his jacket and keys, then checking every downstairs window and door to make sure they were locked. Finally, she heard the sound of the garage door opening, the rumbling growl of his pickup as it started and he let it warm up before pulling away.