The Late Night Horror Show by Bryan Smith Page B

voices.
    Music.
    Laughter.
    All very faint, but getting louder with each few steps forward. The sounds were heartening. They were like signals from the normal world, that wonderful place where chainsaw-wielding masked men existed only in movies. She couldn’t make out anything being said yet, but something in the timbre of the voices made it very plain these were young people in good spirits, a family or group of friends partying a bit and…having a good time…in the woods. Which struck her as sort of strange, considering how nasty the weather had been until just a few minutes ago, and for other, murkier reasons she couldn’t quite pinpoint.
    A few dozen yards farther along, she began to perceive the dim outline of a house through the trees. The sight of it spurred her to a faster pace. The house sat in the middle of a sizable clearing in the woods. It came into sharper focus as she neared the line of trees at the edge of the clearing. It was a two-story wood house with a long porch in front. External lights lit up the area around the house well enough that she could make out a narrow dirt road that dead-ended at the clearing. The road wound away into another section of the woods somewhere off to her right. There were multiple vehicles parked outside the house, including an SUV and a jeep with big, mud-flecked tires.  
    The sight of these things brought tears to Lashon’s eyes. Her blind flight through the treacherous woods had brought her to the perfect place. Ahead of her was a real, tangible path out of this nightmare. Someone here could drive her to the nearest hospital or police station. She couldn’t believe her luck. If she had turned in a different direction after her collision with the tree, she wouldn’t have happened upon this place or these people. She might still be fleeing sightlessly through thickening darkness.
    I’m meant to live, she thought. God wants me to live. It’s fated.
    That thought triggered an eruption of grateful tears.
    Several people were hanging out on the porch. A few with beers in their hands were standing at one end near a grill. Others were sitting in chairs or leaning on the porch railing. No one had noticed her yet because she still hadn’t entered the clearing.  
    Lashon paused just inside the line of trees, studying the strangers and wondering what she might tell them. Hers was a pretty wild story. If she told them everything, they might think she was crazy. No, clearly some level of fabrication was in order. But she would have to do her damnedest to convince them that some crazy man had been chasing her through the woods. There was real danger lurking out here tonight and they needed to know that.
    She let out a breath and took a step toward the line of trees. A sound somewhere behind her made her gasp. She whirled about and scanned the gloom-shrouded woods. She saw trees and the blackness between them. And nothing else. No sign of a masked man in dirty overalls. And yet she had heard something . A sharp, cracking sound. The kind of sound, say, that a booted foot might make when stepping on a fallen branch. And although she couldn’t see anyone out there in the gloom, it was possible her pursuer—if he was out there at all—might be lurking behind one of the big trees, waiting patiently for her to turn her back to him again.
    It was a creepy thing to think and she tried to dismiss it.
    But she couldn’t.
    Several moments passed.
    And then the sound came again, closer now, from somewhere off to her right.
    Fuck this, she thought.
    She spun around again and ran into the clearing.

Chapter Twelve
    Kira stared blankly at the stone fireplace at the opposite end of the room and tried to think what she might do next. She didn’t like the idea of just sitting here and waiting for this “Master” person to show up and take another bite out of her neck, but she didn’t appear to have any other options.  
    A significant block of time passed. Perhaps as much as a half hour.