Mostly Dark - Miranda Kate (popular ebook readers .TXT) 📗

he slid face first into a carpet of leaves and mulch. But he barely felt it, his attention being caught by a sound next to him: a sharp intake of breath.

Damon turned his head to the side and there she was, cowering away from him, hugging her naked body tight in an attempt to cover herself. Her leg was bleeding where he’d caught it with his shoe.

He pushed back onto his knees and turned round, opening his long overcoat and sweeping it round her as best he could in the tight space. She pulled it round, and let him embrace her, resting her trembling body against his. Whether from fear or cold Damon couldn’t tell, but at least he had her first before the monsters came.

Neither of them made a sound as they heard them crashing through the trees. Damon hoped the twigs and leaves of the thicket had bounced back behind him and they wouldn’t spot where he’d dived in.

Footsteps crunched nearer, and two voices spoke in rough whispers.

“She came through here, I’m sure of it.”

“We should have brought McKlennan, he could have tracked her better than you.”

“She’s here somewhere, I know it.”

“You said that a mile back.”

“We’re getting close. Shhh!”

The men went still and Damon held his breath, feeling the girl do the same. Everyone waited. Then something crashed off in the distance, an animal maybe, and they were moving again, excited by the sound.

“She’s over there!”

“I can’t wait to have her!”

Damon and the girl didn’t move or speak, though they relaxed as the sound of the men became distant.

Eventually the girl’s head came up from Damon’s chest, and she whispered, “Why?”

He looked into her pale frightened eyes, and said, “Because you’re a valuable human being, not a piece of meat to be hunted.”

    Full Dark
Love Me

 

Jeffrey had seen his dad buy the fireworks and put them in the shed, but his dad wouldn’t let him touch them. He said they weren’t for children to play with, that they had to be handled with care. Jeffrey knew all about handle with care: it’s what they’d been doing with him his whole life.

When he was little he wondered what it was they were afraid of; what it was he did that sparked so much fear in their eyes whenever he was around; why they barely touched him, or came near him. So he’d started experimenting and found that there were quite a few things.

The first time the police had shown up he’d acted as sweet as pie, but by the fourth he didn’t care anymore. The empty threats were just that: empty. His parents never followed through on any of them, they were too afraid, afraid of what he might do next time. Ironic really.

And the older he got the more ways he discovered, no matter what they tried to hide from him, including the fireworks his dad had tried to sneak home. The fireworks meant for his baby brother Jeremy: the golden boy, the one who got all the love and affection. Did they really think Jeffrey would keep his hands off? He was fourteen now. His dad knew better.

Social services had been round that morning talking about taking him away. His mum had cried a lot. First time he’d ever seen her do that. He knew he was hurting them, and he tried to care, but he didn’t know how. Plus he knew a way to make it all better.

He snuck out that night. Put the wheelbarrow ready in the middle of the garden. Then he found his dad’s hiding place – it wasn’t hard. He placed the fireworks round the inside of the wheelbarrow, in easy reach with him in the middle. He’d create one hell of a bonfire. He added paraffin, liking the smell of it on his clothing. Then he counted down … three, two, one.

Maybe they’d love him now.

Doing What You Have To

 

Now she had the gun up against his head her hand was steady.

In every scenario she’d run in her head, Amanda had seen herself shaking, barely able to hold the gun. It was why she’d picked the little Taurus 405 model, easy to hold and easy to conceal. And when it had played out in her head she had seen him laughing at her. But he wasn’t.

He stood stock-still, an edge of fear in his eyes. She liked that. For the first time ever he was taking her seriously. When she cocked the barrel he dropped the conch.

She paused, catching her breath, debating whether to go through with it or not – never imagining she’d get this far, and then he surprised her by starting to beg.

“Come on Mand, you don’t want to be doing this. You don’t want to go shooting me. You don’t want that on your conscience. I’m not worth jail time. Come on, this isn’t you. You’re better than this. This isn’t you at all.”

“Maybe I’m not who you think I am, Brandon. I know I’m not who I thought I was. I didn’t think I’d be somebody who’d let a man beat me daily. I mean look at me? Look at the blood trickling down the side of my head. That might be you; it might have been my mother, but it sure as shit isn’t me. And I let you do that Brandon. Me, no one else. I let you worm your way in. I trusted you, I believed your sob stories, your excuses, your sorry speeches—”

“But I meant them Mand, I really meant them, it’s just—”

She spat in his face, “You didn’t mean a word of them! Not one … single … word! If I wasn’t holding this gun to your head, you’d still be beating me with that!” Amanda kicked the conch across the kitchen floor. “But I was ready for you this time Brandon, because I realised that you were never gonna stop. And I need you to Brandon, because I need to live. I need to show those two little people upstairs, cowering at this very moment, that their mother is worth more than that, that she’s stronger than that, that she’s better than that.”

“But I can change Mand. I can get help. I can turn this shit around, I promise.”

“Promise?” Amanda scoffed a half laugh, the gun held firm. “You’re promises aren’t worth shit, Brandon, and you know it. You won’t do any of that. Once this gun is removed you’ll beat me to death, that’s what you’ll do. That’s the only promise you’ll keep.”

She felt his body tense under the barrel of the gun. He knew she was right, and she knew she was right too. And in that moment she knew what she had to do. She pulled the trigger, feeling the warm spatter of blood on her face, and his body slump to the floor.

Prickly Fingers

 

The tips of Fraser’s fingers tingled. He glanced over his shoulder, but couldn’t see anyone else in the library. He looked back at his hands. They were never wrong.

He put his pen down, his chain of thought broken, and stretched, leaning back in his chair, listening. His ears strained for the minutest of sounds: a turn of a page, a breath, but there was nothing. His fingers hadn’t given up though; it felt like hundreds of pins were attacking them.

He sat forward and gathered his books together, sliding them carefully into his backpack, making as little noise as possible. Then he heard it: a tiny scrape across a page.

Fraser had narrowed down his stalker to one of two girls on his course. He should be flattered but he was tired of their efforts to debunk him. They thought it was funny. They liked to tease him. They’d pretend they were interested in him, but they weren’t, it was his fingers they were fascinated by.

He scanned the aisles as he left, catching a glimpse of something light in the second to last one. It was the blonde.

Once outside, Fraser dashed to the right, hiding behind a large potted plant at the entrance. He waited. When she appeared he watched her pause, looking round for him before heading across the lawns back to the resident halls.

He followed – stalkee turned stalker.

He could see her head flitting from side to side. Did she sense someone watching her? Did her body give her signals about the presence of unseen people too? How did it make her feel? Uncomfortable? He moved closer.

She stepped into the shadow of a mature oak and he reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. He felt her gasp as she stopped. He moved up against her, his hand sliding round to her throat, his mouth by her ear.

“Looking for me?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Thought you could outsmart me, did you?”

A nervous titter escaped her lips as his prickling fingers massaged her throat. “Yes.”

“Sorry to disappoint but my fingers tell me everything.” His grip tightened on her throat. “Many ask what it feels like.”

She started to gag, a hand coming up to pull his away, but he ignored it.

“And I tell them it’s a bit like pins and needles.”

Her hand batted at his.

“Which is caused by the circulation being cut off.”

The batting slowed.

“And the limbs going numb.”

Her hand dropped.

“Some say dead even.”

Her body went limp. He lowered it to the ground, laying it in a foetal position so passersby would think she was sleeping. He stood, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder and looked at her lying there all serene. It was a shame they couldn’t take his word for it. He glanced around, but no one had seen him. He’d know, his fingers would tell him.

Scissors vs. Knife

 

She told him to leave her alone when she was untangling the lights, but he wouldn’t listen. She’d put them up on the tree enough times to know how it was done, but he liked to think he knew better. She bit her tongue and went with it, because she wanted to get the decorations up and relax, but all the way through he kept irritating her.

She watched him hang the paperchains up at the window. At least he was good at that; he had the height for it. But when he stood back to admire them, she could feel her rage building again.

Then at the dining table he started wrapping up the presents. He used a knife, claiming it was easier than scissors. But she knew he just liked being a smartass and wanted to look cool wrapping his presents all nice and tight, while hers were baggy and unprofessional.

Then he did it; he finally pushed that one last button, commenting how he could do it all himself, he didn’t really need her. Well, those might not have been his exact words, but it was what he meant.

Sophie grabbed the scissors and stabbed them through his hand. She didn’t give him long to recover from the shock before pulling them out and stabbing him again, this time in the chest. She was surprised how easily they went in, although they were harder to get out. When she yanked them, they flew out of her bloodied hands into the Christmas tree. She glanced over her shoulder to see where they'd gone, ignoring his gurgling sounds. She decided if they weren’t clearly visible she’d leave them there – she didn’t want to