21 Dares: A Florida Suspense Mystery
Read 21 Dares: A Florida Suspense Mystery Online
Authors: JC Gatlin
21 D
ARES
By JC Gatlin
Copyright © 2016 by JC
Gatlin
This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations,
locations, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously.
21 DARES
Copyright © August 2016 by JC Gatlin
All rights reserved. The book author retains sole copyright to his
contributions to this book.
ISBN-13:
978-1536854589
ISBN-10:
1536854581
Cover images from Canstock
Photography, image #csp5296718 and csp372648
Chapter
1
S
omething –
some
faint, unnatural noise in the dark
-- woke little Abbie Reed and she opened
her eyes. Barely conscious, the five-year-old stirred in bed, turned onto her
right shoulder and buried her face in the pillow. Then she heard it again. Abbie
sat up, her eyes wide and alert. She listened for monsters.
She
knew about these things. Bobby had told her during recess all about what
scurried under the bed and hid in dark closets. Just thinking about it spooked
her and she reached for the teddy bear lying sprawled eagle beside her pillow.
She grasped a furry paw and slid out of the covers and off the bed. The bear
dangled by one arm locked in Abbie’s left hand, and jostled up and down as she
rubbed her eyes.
Clinton Reed is home
, she thought, stepping
through her dark room toward the door. Slightly ajar, it brought a sliver of
light into her room, allowing Abbie to successfully maneuver around her toys.
She reached for the oval brass handle and pulled open the door.
The
hallway appeared quiet. The glow of a lamp on a table along the wall threw
shadows stretching all the way to Clinton Reed’s shut bedroom door on one side,
and her big sister’s room on the other. Heather’s bedroom door, marked with a
yellow “DO NOT ENTER” sign, was open ever so slightly. Abbie stepped into the
hallway.
Yawning,
she clutched the teddy bear to her chest with both arms and made her way to the
edge of the staircase. She looked down the steps, into the hollow blackness
that was, during the day, the formal living room. She could see nothing
downstairs.
Just dark emptiness.
Which
was odd because normally, when Clinton Reed came home, he turned on the lights
and TV.
Abbie
dropped the bear and reached for the banister. She took a step. A loud crash
like breaking glass startled her. It echoed unnaturally through the house. Abbie
froze.
This wasn’t Clinton Reed. Was this
the sound of monsters, like the kind Bobby had warned her about?
She peered
downstairs, into the blackness.
Two
sharp bangs followed, loud and insistent. She gasped. Picking up the bear, Abbie
turned and jumped up the step. She headed for her big sister’s room. Opening
the door, Abbie rushed in, bringing lamp light from the hallway behind her. It
took a second to see in the dark, and her eye caught the silver light reflected
from her sister’s necklace. Heather sat atop the covers. Abbie ran to her, and climbed
onto the bed.
“I
heard it too,” Heather said. She wrapped an arm around Abbie’s shoulder. Abbie
looked back at the open door.
“Is
it—
”
“No.”
Heather shook her head. “He’s work’n graveyard tonight. You know that.” She
hopped off the bed and tiptoed to the door. “He won’t be back till morning.”
Abbie
watched her big sister, who was twelve years old – practically an adult.
Heather always knew what to do. She was a role model, best friend, baby sitter
and, in a way, the only mother she ever knew. At least, she guessed that’s what
a mother would feel like.
Heather
waved an arm and Abbie clutched her bear even tighter. The soft fur was a
comfort as she listened to heavy footsteps creak downstairs. They rattled the
house. Abbie knew Heather heard them too, as she acknowledged it with a quick
nod.
“Stay
here,” Heather said, holding up a hand and signaling Abbie to stay put.
Abbie
slipped off the bed, bringing the sheets with her as her bare feet landed on
the floor. Clutching the bear, she followed Heather out the bedroom. The girls
came to the edge of the staircase and looked down.
The
living room was pitch black – too dark to see anyone moving about. Still they
heard the floor boards creak. Someone was there, downstairs, in their house. There
was no doubt about it. Heather crouched along the banister railing and scooted
down a couple of steps. Abbie followed and came up beside her. They looked over
the railing as their eyes adjusted to the dark.
Moonlight
shined into the living room window, casting the furniture in an eerie glow and splashing
a white rectangle along the opposite wall. Heather slipped her head between the
stair railings, straining her neck as far as it would go. Her necklace drooped
down. The silver unicorn pendant swayed back and forth like a pendulum.
“What’cha doin’?”
Abbie’s voice was
barely more than an urgent whisper. Still, Heather shushed her.
“Be
quiet,” she said. “I’m trying to see who’s down there.”
Abbie
touched her sister’s arm. It felt cold and bumpy with goose flesh. She was
trembling, and that made Abbie even more nervous and curious all at the same
time. She looked past her big sister. She couldn’t see into the kitchen, but
she could hear drawers open and shut. Silverware clanged.
“Heather,”
Abbie whispered. Heather shushed her again. Abbie tugged on her sister’s arm.
“Heather…”
Heather’s
head slipped back through the spindles. Her eyes seemed focused on the wall,
and Abbie knew she saw it too.
The
butler door from kitchen squeaked, as if someone just opened it. A floorboard
creaked. Something tingled like keys or loose change. With it came a solid
shape splitting from the blackness. The bulky silhouette of a man formed in
front of the living room window, blocking the moonlight. Light glinted off the
shiny blade of a box cutter in his other hand,
then
illuminated his face.
It
could’ve been the face of a wild boar or an angry bull or a hateful man with no
hair on top his head, a flat pig-like nose and a protruding lower lip. He
looked imaginary. Exactly like something Bobby described on recess. Those
kind
of things that scurried under the bed and hid in dark
closets. Now it scurried in their living room.
The
white beam of a flashlight swept across the room, highlighting the wall, the
furniture and finally her father’s desk. The man moved toward it, seemingly
unaware of the two girls huddling on the upper steps in the stairwell. Abbie
scooted closer to her sister. “What’s he looking for?”
Heather
brought her index finger to her lips,
then
motioned
for Abbie to get up. Abbie stood, clutching her bear. She turned and tiptoed onto
the upstairs landing. Heather was behind her,
then
brushed
past her.
Abbie
followed Heather to the end of the hallway. Her big sister opened the door to Clinton
Reed’s bedroom, not all the way though. Just enough so that it wouldn’t make a
sound and the girls could slip through. Heather entered the dark room. Abbie
stepped behind her but remained by the door jamb clutching the bear.
She
watched Heather run to a window and struggle to open it. After a moment,
Heather looked back at her,
then
ran to the nightstand
by the bed in the center of the room. She picked up the phone and dialed
someone.
Abbie
tried to listen. It was no use though. The man downstairs distracted her. It
sounded like he was rummaging through drawers and dumping their contents on the
floor. A picture fell. Glass shattered.
Abbie
flinched at the sound. She could almost feel his presence around them, as if
his weight had shifted the delicate balance of their home. She looked over at
her sister. Heather hung up the phone and came toward her.
“We
need to hide,” she whispered, and brushed past Abbie into the hallway.
Abbie
stood perfectly still as Heather moved the table away from the wall, disturbing
the lamp and causing its cord to yank from the outlet. The hallway went dark. The
rummaging sounds downstairs stopped, and the home fell silent. Abbie glanced
behind her shoulder at the staircase, then back at her sister. She brought the
table to the center of the hallway and climbed on top of it. Balancing, she
motioned for Abbie to follow.
Abbie
came to the table edge. Heather stretched out an arm to help her. Abbie dropped
the bear. It fell to the floor, landing next to the table leg. She crouched down
for it, but Heather stopped her. Rising up on her toes, Heather reached for a
cord dangling from the ceiling. She grasped it and pulled.
A
wooden ladder fell out of a trap door in the ceiling. It squealed in protest,
as two metal spring coils stretched from the upper steps to the bottom rung.
Its rusty cry reverberated, like a living thing, around the girls, through the
hallway, and down the steps. Abbie looked at Heather. Heather’s eyes opened
wide. She knew. They both knew.
The
following silence betrayed them. Nothing moved in the hallway. Nothing seemed
to be moving downstairs either. Just an intense, unnatural silence that thumped
rhythmically in Abbie’s ears, then broken by a sudden pounding up the steps. The
man was coming.
“Get
up there,” Heather screamed.
Abbie
gripped the first wooden slat of the ladder and felt Heather’s hand on her
rump, pushing her forward. Abbie scrambled up, and could feel Heather’s weight
behind her. Her big sister’s breath nipped at Abbie’s heels.
Abbie
crawled into the attic.
Turned.
Saw her sister
climbing. The man was behind her.
Bald round head, flat nose
with flaring nostrils, red eyes.
He lunged up, grunting as he hit the ladder.
He grabbed Heather’s leg.
Abbie
screamed and reached for her sister’s arm. The man had Heather by the ankle. Heather’s
arm slipped from Abbie’s grip. Abbie clasped Heather’s hand. Their fingers
interlocked. Heather screamed. The man let out a breath, almost snorting.
Heather’s fingers slipped out of hers and Abbie sprang forward, stretching. Her
fingers brushed Heather’s silver unicorn pendant. She pulled on the necklace,
tugged as hard as she could. Heather’s eyes widened.
The
man’s right arm, thick, muscled and hairy, reached around Heather’s waist.
A tattoo
of a gray alien-looking cartoon—
Gareth
the Goodhearted Ghoul
!—was etched
into his upper bicep. The comic face with large eyes and missing teeth smiled
at Abbie. It seemed so odd.
So out of place.
It was an
after school cartoon, not something that big, scary men tattoo on their arms.
Was Gareth laughing? It was. It was laughing
at her.
Abbie didn’t care. She pulled on the necklace. She gripped the
unicorn pendant. Its little horn dug into her palm. Abbie clenched her teeth.
Heather screamed.
The necklace snapped. Heather
sprang backwards, down the ladder, into the man’s sweaty hold.
Abbie’s
eyes locked with Heather’s. She stretched her arm, hand open wide. Heather reached
back. The man snatched her into the hallway, into the darkness. Then the wooden
ladder sprang up and slammed shut with the loud squeak of old rusty springs and
a brutal slap of the frame.
Abbie
let the necklace slip from her hand. She could hear her sister’s screams.
Her cries for help.
Crouching in the dark attic, Abbie
pushed on the wood ladder. She struggled against it, fought to force it down.
The ladder wouldn’t budge. She wasn’t strong enough to make it move.
Heather’s
muffled scream grew fainter, as if she were moving farther away in the house. Abbie
didn’t know what to do. She hit the wood ladder again. Her fists balled-up and
she pounded until her hands stung. She tried again,
then
paused. Something changed. The house turned silent.
Heather’s cries had stopped.
Abbie
listened. Her ears strained. She could no longer hear her sister, and that
chilled her. Abbie pushed away from the trap door and scrambled deeper into the
shadows. She looked around.
There
were no windows, no light. No movement what so ever.
She could sense more than see. She knew she
was surrounded by dusty boxes of old clothes, discarded toys and Christmas decorations.
She sat on a wood beam, her bare feet planted firmly on the crumbling sheets of
drywall beneath her. She backed-up until her spine butted against more boxes.
She felt cobwebs in her hair, and the whole space felt uncomfortably stale and
silent.
Unusually so.
Abbie
jumped when the trap door rattled. The ladder dropped and light from the
hallway invaded the black corners around her. Abbie held her breath, pushed her
body tighter against the dusty boxes. There was no room to move. She looked
back at the opening.
The
man’s bald head rose from the trap door, into the attic. Their eyes met. She
trembled, held her breath. He reached for her.
“Come
here, Pretty One,” he said with some deep, gravelly voice.
She
saw the tattoo again on his arm. Gareth the Goodhearted Ghoul was laughing. Its
grin widened. Abbie tried to push away from him, but it was useless. There was
nowhere to go. His hand rushed toward her, palm open, fingers extended.
“No!
No! No!” Abbie dug her heels into the rough drywall. He grabbed her leg,
wrapped a hand around her ankle, squeezed tight. Abbie screamed as he pulled.
She grasped the edge of a box.
Tipped it over.
Spilled cords of Christmas lights around them.
She pushed
the upended box toward the man’s face. It hit him. He released her. She yanked her
leg back, as her other hand smashed a green bulb. The glass cut her fingers.
