Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage by T.W. Piperbrook Read Free Book Online

caught one last glimpse of the thing behind her.
    Eyes red. Snout pointed skyward. Waiting for her.
    She engaged the lock and sank to her knees against the door. Sobs burst from her mouth like water from a broken dam. She pressed her hands against her face, unable to hold back the sound. Her husband was outside. Dead. And she was next.
    Even though Abby had gotten inside, the thin door had only bought her a measure of time. She had no doubts that the thing would be coming for her. She needed to pull herself together. She needed to call for help.
    She wiped the tears from her cheeks, her eyes still bleary. The house was dark and cold. She pulled herself to her feet. Her coat rustled against the single windowpane in the front door, and she jumped at the sound. Was the thing still out there? She swallowed the lump in her throat, wanting nothing more than to climb the stairs in front of her.  
    But she had to look. She had to.
    Abby could feel the blood pulsing through her neck. She turned, propping her gloved hands against the door. Her fingers felt numb and detached, and so did her brain. She peered through the pane and held her breath.
    The yard was empty. She could still see the Civic in the road. The hood and roof were spackled white, the windows misted. Rob's blood still stained the snow.
    Bile crept up Abby's esophagus. It was her fault. She'd done this. She'd let her husband go off alone.
    She sank to her knees, fighting off alternating waves of guilt and sickness. Her legs felt like rubber, and she couldn't fathom moving.
    But she had to.  
    Or she'd be next.
    She needed to call for help. The landline .
    Abby turned and mounted the stairs, her legs unsteady. When she reached the kitchen, she snatched the receiver from the wall and jabbed the power button. But there was no dial tone. She mashed all the buttons, plugged and unplugged the cord. It was no use. The line was dead. Probably disabled by the storm.
    No. Dammit. No.
    Frantic, she patted the pocket of her sweatpants, searching for her cellphone, but it wasn't there. It must have fallen out. Probably while I was running. Rob would've had his cellphone on him.
    It was as if every option available to her had been eliminated. The only way to get help was to go back out there , where the thing was waiting for her.
    She crept over to the living room window, heart knocking.
    Through the windowpane, she could see the snow still bursting from the sky, as if intent on burying her inside. She had the sudden vision of the house encased in snow with the windows pasted shut, and she swallowed.  
    She scanned the front of the house for the creature's tracks—some evidence that it had been there—but couldn't discern much through the storm. Rob's blood already held a thin coating of snow. If it weren't for the pink splotches, she might be able to convince herself that all of this was a nightmare, a hallucination. She'd give anything for this all to go away, for her to wake up and discover it'd been a dream.
    But she knew it wasn't.  
    She scrambled across the room and back to the kitchen, her mind racing. As she did so, she felt the sudden urge to keep quiet. Even though the thing knew she was inside, she had the sudden, irrational sense that she could escape detection. If she stayed silent, it would go away. Right?
    She crept along the counter.
    Something flashed by the kitchen window, and she ducked next to the sink. She squinted into the backyard. The deck and property were exactly as she remembered them—covered in snow. No sign of the creature.  
    But it was out there. Probably circling the house.
    She slid open one of the kitchen drawers.
    No matter what happened next, she needed a weapon. A way to defend herself.  
    Her hands shook as she dug through the utensils: a whisk, a wooden spoon, and the beaters for a mixer. Finally she located a large kitchen knife, and she pulled it out and wielded it in front of her. The pale light of the windows glinted off the blade,