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Phil had started hearing the noises in the walls 3 days ago. He didn’t know if it was his fault, but he now mused that using that Ouija-board he found in the attic had probably been a bad idea.
The first night he’d simply shrugged it off as lack of sleep and too much drink, the incessant buzzing sounds at 3 in the morning were probably in his ears anyway, he thought. Placing the pillow over his head was enough to drown them out, letting him get some sleep that evening.
It was during the next few days that Phil noticed a few strange things. On returning to his flat, he found fine red dust on the floors. This was something that puzzled him, but he didn’t find it alarming until he heard the moaning coming from inside the wall. The sound started as a high pitched sound that stopped and started, barely on the edge of his hearing, but it soon developed into an audible inhuman moan that sent shivers down his spine. Nothing human could make that sound, he thought as he lit up a joint with shaking hands.
What had he unleashed? The Ouija-board seemed a good idea at the time, a group of friends had been around after a visit to the pub, they’d carried on drinking and smoking pot while he set the board up. Even though he’d been pretty stoned by then, he was convinced that his mate James had been moving the glass across the board deliberately. After all, it was pretty stupid, this spirit-world nonsense. According to James, they’d made contact with a man named Ben, who’d been killed by his wife, Jill, 40 years ago. she’d admitted to killing many men after that and he even described the way she would call out her husbands name as she acted out her hatred of all men (all described through the careful handiwork of James, of course) Most of all, he warned that she wanted to kill again.
Reflecting on this, it wasn’t long before Phil began hearing voices within the walls. They started off as guttural syllables, a moaning sound which vibrated the dust on the floor, but today it was unmistakably a woman’s voice he heard and pretty soon he was sure that she was screaming for her Ben. Maybe she was calling to inflict more torture on her long-suffering husband or, a more terrifying thought occurred to him which set his teeth on edge, was the cry meant for him? Each time he heard the voice it made him sob and his heart raced as he listened to the walls, echoing her mournful cries. He fumbled for another cigarette paper, but couldn't even roll the joint and let it fall to the floor.
He thought for a minute that he would just stay rooted to that spot forever but, managing to find some strength in his legs, he made for the bathroom, willing his body to get there. As he ran to the room, to wash the sweat from his face and try to wake from this terrible dream, he saw more of the red dust forming on the stairs and even hanging in the air. He reached the sink and his trembling hands turned the taps before plunging them under the running water. What he saw made his skin freeze.
Running through his hands was not water, but sticky red blood. Though the rest of his body froze, he could feel his heart almost bursting through his chest. He held his hands to it as he gasped for air, but it was no use. His eyes blurred as he held his neck and screamed. Backing away from the sink, his face contorted and his lungs gave a last rasping breath before his lifeless body collapsed on the floor, his face still a picture of terror.
Jane and Ben Conners had just returned from arguing with the landlord about the rusty taps when they saw police outside the flat next door. They looked at each other for a second and shrugged. They were more concerned with finishing their flat, what with cleaning up after all the drilling and DIY. Still, Jane hoped they’d make up for it with another night of passion, if last night was anything to go by then she’d better put up some soundproofing.
The first night he’d simply shrugged it off as lack of sleep and too much drink, the incessant buzzing sounds at 3 in the morning were probably in his ears anyway, he thought. Placing the pillow over his head was enough to drown them out, letting him get some sleep that evening.
It was during the next few days that Phil noticed a few strange things. On returning to his flat, he found fine red dust on the floors. This was something that puzzled him, but he didn’t find it alarming until he heard the moaning coming from inside the wall. The sound started as a high pitched sound that stopped and started, barely on the edge of his hearing, but it soon developed into an audible inhuman moan that sent shivers down his spine. Nothing human could make that sound, he thought as he lit up a joint with shaking hands.
What had he unleashed? The Ouija-board seemed a good idea at the time, a group of friends had been around after a visit to the pub, they’d carried on drinking and smoking pot while he set the board up. Even though he’d been pretty stoned by then, he was convinced that his mate James had been moving the glass across the board deliberately. After all, it was pretty stupid, this spirit-world nonsense. According to James, they’d made contact with a man named Ben, who’d been killed by his wife, Jill, 40 years ago. she’d admitted to killing many men after that and he even described the way she would call out her husbands name as she acted out her hatred of all men (all described through the careful handiwork of James, of course) Most of all, he warned that she wanted to kill again.
Reflecting on this, it wasn’t long before Phil began hearing voices within the walls. They started off as guttural syllables, a moaning sound which vibrated the dust on the floor, but today it was unmistakably a woman’s voice he heard and pretty soon he was sure that she was screaming for her Ben. Maybe she was calling to inflict more torture on her long-suffering husband or, a more terrifying thought occurred to him which set his teeth on edge, was the cry meant for him? Each time he heard the voice it made him sob and his heart raced as he listened to the walls, echoing her mournful cries. He fumbled for another cigarette paper, but couldn't even roll the joint and let it fall to the floor.
He thought for a minute that he would just stay rooted to that spot forever but, managing to find some strength in his legs, he made for the bathroom, willing his body to get there. As he ran to the room, to wash the sweat from his face and try to wake from this terrible dream, he saw more of the red dust forming on the stairs and even hanging in the air. He reached the sink and his trembling hands turned the taps before plunging them under the running water. What he saw made his skin freeze.
Running through his hands was not water, but sticky red blood. Though the rest of his body froze, he could feel his heart almost bursting through his chest. He held his hands to it as he gasped for air, but it was no use. His eyes blurred as he held his neck and screamed. Backing away from the sink, his face contorted and his lungs gave a last rasping breath before his lifeless body collapsed on the floor, his face still a picture of terror.
Jane and Ben Conners had just returned from arguing with the landlord about the rusty taps when they saw police outside the flat next door. They looked at each other for a second and shrugged. They were more concerned with finishing their flat, what with cleaning up after all the drilling and DIY. Still, Jane hoped they’d make up for it with another night of passion, if last night was anything to go by then she’d better put up some soundproofing.
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Good. Yes, very good.
Nice changes of tempo especially nearer to the end which really turned what could be just a good story into a great story - I swear felt myself tingle during the second to last paragraph.
Lovely desriptions, nice twist and generally all the usual pb quality. Nice work, as usual.
Nice changes of tempo especially nearer to the end which really turned what could be just a good story into a great story - I swear felt myself tingle during the second to last paragraph.
Lovely desriptions, nice twist and generally all the usual pb quality. Nice work, as usual.
Phil had started hearing the noises in the walls 3 days ago. He didn’t know if it was his fault, but he now mused that using that Ouija-board he found in the attic had probably been a bad idea.
The first night he’d simply shrugged it off as lack of sleep and too much drink, the incessant buzzing sounds at 3 in the morning were probably in his ears anyway, he thought. Placing the pillow over his head was enough to drown them out, letting him get some sleep that evening.
It was during the next few days that Phil noticed a few strange things. On returning to his flat, he found fine red dust on the floors. This was something that puzzled him, but he didn’t find it alarming until he heard the moaning coming from inside the wall. The sound started as a high pitched sound that stopped and started, barely on the edge of his hearing, but it soon developed into an audible inhuman moan that sent shivers down his spine. Nothing human could make that sound, he thought as he lit up a joint with shaking hands.
What had he unleashed? The Ouija-board seemed a good idea at the time, a group of friends had been around after a visit to the pub, they’d carried on drinking and smoking pot while he set the board up. Even though he’d been pretty stoned by then, he was convinced that his mate James had been moving the glass across the board deliberately. After all, it was pretty stupid, this spirit-world nonsense. According to James, they’d made contact with a man named Ben, who’d been killed by his wife, Jill, 40 years ago. she’d admitted to killing many men after that and he even described the way she would call out her husbands name as she acted out her hatred of all men (all described through the careful handiwork of James, of course) Most of all, he warned that she wanted to kill again.
Reflecting on this, it wasn’t long before Phil began hearing voices within the walls. They started off as guttural syllables, a moaning sound which vibrated the dust on the floor, but today it was unmistakably a woman’s voice he heard and pretty soon he was sure that she was screaming for her Ben. Maybe she was calling to inflict more torture on her long-suffering husband or, a more terrifying thought occurred to him which set his teeth on edge, was the cry meant for him? Each time he heard the voice it made him sob and his heart raced as he listened to the walls, echoing her mournful cries. He fumbled for another cigarette paper, but couldn't even roll the joint and let it fall to the floor.
He thought for a minute that he would just stay rooted to that spot forever but, managing to find some strength in his legs, he made for the bathroom, willing his body to get there. As he ran to the room, to wash the sweat from his face and try to wake from this terrible dream, he saw more of the red dust forming on the stairs and even hanging in the air. He reached the sink and his trembling hands turned the taps before plunging them under the running water. What he saw made his skin freeze.
Running through his hands was not water, but sticky red blood. Though the rest of his body froze, he could feel his heart almost bursting through his chest. He held his hands to it as he gasped for air, but it was no use. His eyes blurred as he held his neck and screamed. Backing away from the sink, his face contorted and his lungs gave a last rasping breath before his lifeless body collapsed on the floor, his face still a picture of terror.
Jane and Ben Conners had just returned from arguing with the landlord about the rusty taps when they saw police outside the flat next door. They looked at each other for a second and shrugged. They were more concerned with finishing their flat, what with cleaning up after all the drilling and DIY. Still, Jane hoped they’d make up for it with another night of passion, if last night was anything to go by then she’d better put up some soundproofing.
The first night he’d simply shrugged it off as lack of sleep and too much drink, the incessant buzzing sounds at 3 in the morning were probably in his ears anyway, he thought. Placing the pillow over his head was enough to drown them out, letting him get some sleep that evening.
It was during the next few days that Phil noticed a few strange things. On returning to his flat, he found fine red dust on the floors. This was something that puzzled him, but he didn’t find it alarming until he heard the moaning coming from inside the wall. The sound started as a high pitched sound that stopped and started, barely on the edge of his hearing, but it soon developed into an audible inhuman moan that sent shivers down his spine. Nothing human could make that sound, he thought as he lit up a joint with shaking hands.
What had he unleashed? The Ouija-board seemed a good idea at the time, a group of friends had been around after a visit to the pub, they’d carried on drinking and smoking pot while he set the board up. Even though he’d been pretty stoned by then, he was convinced that his mate James had been moving the glass across the board deliberately. After all, it was pretty stupid, this spirit-world nonsense. According to James, they’d made contact with a man named Ben, who’d been killed by his wife, Jill, 40 years ago. she’d admitted to killing many men after that and he even described the way she would call out her husbands name as she acted out her hatred of all men (all described through the careful handiwork of James, of course) Most of all, he warned that she wanted to kill again.
Reflecting on this, it wasn’t long before Phil began hearing voices within the walls. They started off as guttural syllables, a moaning sound which vibrated the dust on the floor, but today it was unmistakably a woman’s voice he heard and pretty soon he was sure that she was screaming for her Ben. Maybe she was calling to inflict more torture on her long-suffering husband or, a more terrifying thought occurred to him which set his teeth on edge, was the cry meant for him? Each time he heard the voice it made him sob and his heart raced as he listened to the walls, echoing her mournful cries. He fumbled for another cigarette paper, but couldn't even roll the joint and let it fall to the floor.
He thought for a minute that he would just stay rooted to that spot forever but, managing to find some strength in his legs, he made for the bathroom, willing his body to get there. As he ran to the room, to wash the sweat from his face and try to wake from this terrible dream, he saw more of the red dust forming on the stairs and even hanging in the air. He reached the sink and his trembling hands turned the taps before plunging them under the running water. What he saw made his skin freeze.
Running through his hands was not water, but sticky red blood. Though the rest of his body froze, he could feel his heart almost bursting through his chest. He held his hands to it as he gasped for air, but it was no use. His eyes blurred as he held his neck and screamed. Backing away from the sink, his face contorted and his lungs gave a last rasping breath before his lifeless body collapsed on the floor, his face still a picture of terror.
Jane and Ben Conners had just returned from arguing with the landlord about the rusty taps when they saw police outside the flat next door. They looked at each other for a second and shrugged. They were more concerned with finishing their flat, what with cleaning up after all the drilling and DIY. Still, Jane hoped they’d make up for it with another night of passion, if last night was anything to go by then she’d better put up some soundproofing.
Page: