Whispers From The Dark by Bryan Hall Read Free Book Online

hallucination, could it?
    He reached the stereo and fumbled to turn the power off.  The noise had sent his head into a throbbing abyss of agony.  He removed the LP from the turntable and replaced it in the sleeve, tossing it onto the table beside the stereo.  Suddenly he heard footsteps, turning his head just in time to catch a glimpse of a girl of maybe six or seven run through the doorway and into the kitchen.
     Where the hell had she come from?  There was no way she could have gotten by him without him noticing.  Was she a delusion, too?  A phantom sent by whatever was wrong with his brain?
    Or was she real, a runaway seeking refuge in his home from something?
    Alan ran to the kitchen doorway, with no luck.  The girl was nowhere to be seen.  The only ways out of the kitchen were through the door he now stood in, or through the door leading outside to the lawn.  But the door to the yard was closed, the deadbolt still engaged.
    His heart pounded, fear coursing through his veins.  Alan had never had one before, but he was sure he was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.  Not only was he hearing things, but now he was seeing them too.
    Behind him, he heard music.  It started quietly, gaining volume as each second passed.  It was the same mournful song he’d heard the second time he played the album.  The girl’s sobbing was more far more pronounced, in the foreground now instead of blending in with the ambient noise.  It sounded more intense as well, more hysterical than before.
    He hurried back to the living room.  The stereo was still turned off, no record on the turntable.  He traced the source of the sound across the table and froze.
    The music was emanating from the album itself.
    Alan stared at the cover, barely able to even take a breath.  It had changed.  The scene was the same, only now there was no small white cabin.  The house in the painting was now his own.
    Slowly, fearing what he would see but needing to see it nonetheless, he walked to his window.
    His small lawn and the suburb beyond were gone.  Alan gazed through the glass at a vast field with lush rolling hills.
    In the distance two black, featureless figures were advancing towards him.
    Behind him the child’s sobs grew louder, the haunting music receding into the background.  From somewhere in the house faint footsteps sounded out as the little refugee searched for a hiding place.
    As he watched the faceless shadows cross the field the crying faded away and the music overtook Alan and he drifted into it.  It wrapped around him like a womb, embracing him with its beauty.  His headache melted away and his fear followed closely behind.
    Somewhere in Alan’s mind he knew that he should be terrified.  But there was no way anyone could be afraid with these heavenly sounds filling the air.
    He couldn’t move, which was fine.  He didn’t want to.  The song was far beyond the point at which he’d blacked out last time.  This part of the album he hadn’t yet heard, and it was so perfect that he knew he would never hear anything again to match it.
    He had to hear as much of the song as he could.  Nothing else mattered. 
    They would be here soon, those dark entities.  And even though he had no idea just what would happen when they made it to his home, he knew he only had a few more minutes to enjoy the music.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    DESPERATE TIMES
     
    Rick stood in the doorway staring into the house, the full moon piercing the windows and filling the home with a pale blue light, giving it an ominous and foreboding appearance.  Each piece of furniture stood like a shadowed, wooden sentry on guard.
    Beside him James was silent, but Rick could feel his smile speaking through the dark.  Told you so, that smile said.  It had been James’ call, this house.  It was the fourth of the week for them and Rick had had his doubts about pressing their luck further.  But James’ description of the isolation of the place