Buku Stalk by Louis Charbonneau

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Stalk by Louis Charbonneau

Author:Louis Charbonneau

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

Published: 2014-06-11T16:00:00+00:00

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Stalk by Louis Charbonneau

11

IT WAS LIKE WALKING IN on a movie you had seen before. Waking in darkness. Feeling disoriented. Feeling battered. A lip like a thick piece of sponge rubber. Jackhammers trying to break through your skull. Had he only dreamed of it happening twice? Or would he open his eyes again and find himself back on his bed in the California cottage, listening to the alien laughter from the living room?

Face pressed against roughness. A rug. Nice Oriental rug, though; pale blue background with pink and rose flowers. He had noticed it when he first came into the room of the Victorian house.

 

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Mystery, Thriller & Suspense

Stalk by Louis Charbonneau

Author:Louis Charbonneau , Date: June 12, 2019

,Views: 31

Author:Louis Charbonneau

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

Published: 2014-06-11T16:00:00+00:00
11

IT WAS LIKE WALKING IN on a movie you had seen before. Waking in darkness. Feeling disoriented. Feeling battered. A lip like a thick piece of sponge rubber. Jackhammers trying to break through your skull. Had he only dreamed of it happening twice? Or would he open his eyes again and find himself back on his bed in the California cottage, listening to the alien laughter from the living room?

Face pressed against roughness. A rug. Nice Oriental rug, though; pale blue background with pink and rose flowers. He had noticed it when he first came into the room of the Victorian house.

He rolled onto his back. Gasped as the pain burned in his chest, stabbed at his shoulder, assaulted his head in waves.

He lay for a time with his eyes closed, letting the dizziness spiral down. Couldn’t stand the dark room wheeling around him like that. Made him nauseous.

He became aware of sound effects in the background. Storm noises. Rolling crack of thunder. Hard rain beating against the windows. Dripping. Not a good night to be out.

When he tried to open his eyes one of them stayed shut. Swollen. With a careful hand he explored the puffiness.

The hand functioned. So did the other one, more or less. His left elbow was very painful but he couldn’t be certain whether or not it was in serious trouble. Probably not, since he could bend his arm. Just don’t prop yourself up on it, son.

Very slowly and carefully, fighting off the dizziness and the unsteady stomach, McLean managed to sit up and lean against the side of the four-poster bed.

The bed told him where he was, and it all came back in a rush. Those kids, desperately swinging their bats, as grim as missionaries. What had Stacy Barrett told them about him? Enough to make them believe that he was dangerous, some kind of a monster. And that he deserved the punishment he was getting.

Outside it was full dark. Old-fashioned shades had been pulled down over the windows behind the decorative lace curtains. On one side of the room the windows were black, their outlines barely discernible. On the back wall he could make out a hazy pencil line of yellow light around the window shade.

He crawled over to the back window.

It looked down on a deep back yard and garden with tall old trees guarding it. The street beyond, he remembered from the tour briefing, which ran parallel to Bank Avenue, was lined with old carriage houses, most of them converted into attractive homes. It was too dark to see much of anything below. There were no lights along this back street. Just one in the distance on the intersecting street. The light was made fuzzy by the rain on the window, and it seemed an odd amber color until he remembered that Riverton took pride in its display of turn-of-the-century gas street lamps.

No one would be out on such a night. Not even any cars moving along the streets. Nobody in Riverton was holding Open House tonight.

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