No one she knew.
They couldn’t be.
The smell of death and the receding fire burned through her nostrils.
She tried to back away, to escape, but as she moved, she tripped on the scattered bones. She fell and the skeletons broke beneath her. Frantic, clawing wildly, she tried to stand, to run, to get away from this thick, rattling pile.
Brrrrring.
A siren blasted. As if from the distance.
Her heart jolted. Someone was coming!
Oh, please!
Turning, she saw one of the skeletons move, its grotesque, half-burned head turning to face her. Pieces of charred flesh hung from the skull’s cheekbones and most of its black hair was singed, the eyes sunken in their sockets, but they were eyes she recognized, eyes she’d trusted, eyes she’d once loved. And they stared at her, blinked, and silently accused her of unspeakable crimes.
No, she thought wildly. No, no, no!
How could something this hideous be alive?
She screamed but her voice was mute.
“Ssssshannon…” Her husband’s voice hissed evilly through her brain. Goose pimples covered her skin despite the heat. “Ssssshannon.” It seemed as if his face was taking shape, the blackened flesh filling in, stretching over the bones, cartilage filling the nose hole, sunken eyes staring fixedly at her.
She tried again.
Brrring! The siren. No—a phone. Her phone.
Shannon sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat ran down her back and her heart thundered a million beats a minute. It was dark, she was in her room tucked under the eaves of her small cottage. On a sob, she felt sweet relief swell through her. It was a dream. Only a dream. No, a sick, twisted nightmare.
On the floor beside her, the dog gave a disgruntled bark.
Another sharp blast from the telephone.
“Mary, Joseph and Jesus,” she whispered, using her mother’s rarely called-upon phrase of abject surprise. “What’s the matter with me?” Shoving her hair from her eyes she exhaled shakily. The room was hot, the summer air without a breath of a breeze. Flinging off the damp sheets, she gasped as if she’d just run a marathon. “A dream,” she reminded herself, a headache creeping behind her eyes. “Just another damned dream.”
Heart thudding she yanked the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
No answer.
Just silence…then something more…the sound of soft breathing?
She glanced at the bedside clock: 12:07 flashed in red, digital numbers large enough that she could read the time without her contact lenses. “Hello!”
She was suddenly wide-awake.
Quickly she switched on the bedside lamp. Who would be calling at this time of night? What was it her mother always said? Nothing good happens after midnight. Her heart pounded. She thought of her parents, aging and frail. Had there been an accident? Was someone in her family hurt? Missing? Or worse?
“Hello!” she said again, louder, then realized if there was a problem, if the police or one of her brothers were calling, they would have said something immediately. “Who is this?” she demanded, then wondered if she was the victim of some cruel prank.
Just like before. She cringed as she remembered the last time…Suddenly clammy, she recalled playing that crank-calling game at slumber parties in junior high school: call strangers in the middle of the night and whisper something meant to scare.
But that had been a lifetime ago and now, tonight, holding the damned receiver to her ear, she was in no mood for this kind of sophomoric, idiotic joke. “Look, either you answer or I hang up.” She could still make out the faint sound of raspy, almost excited breathing. “Fine! Have it your way.” She slammed the receiver down. “Creep,” she muttered under her breath and wasn’t even glad that whoever it was had jarred her out of that awful nightmare.
Damn, but it had been real. So visceral. So disturbing. Even now, she was still sweating, her skin crawling, the stench of smoke still lodged in her nostrils. Running a hand over her eyes, she released a long, slow breath and forced the images to recede. It was a dream, nothing else, she told herself, as she reached for the receiver of the phone again and checked the caller ID. The last number to call in, at 12:07, was blocked. No name. No number.
“Big surprise,” she muttered under her breath and tried to tamp down her unease. It was just some bored kids dialing numbers at random, hoping to get a reaction. Right? She stared at the phone and frowned. Who else could it be?