Scary ghost stories and stuff (1)

The Rainmaker

STOP DOING THAT!

David Krane knew something was wrong the moment he stepped foot into the town. Not just the sort of wrong he was used to. No, not that at all. It was really, really wrong.

Wrong was one hell of an understatement.

The unsettling fog shifted and spun around him like a spectral embrace as he walked, his heavy boots crunching on gravel and broken glass. He almost left cold fingers brush against his face, but it was probably the wind.

Yes, it was definitely the wind.

Countless houses were boarded up on the streets, their window panes covered with tape and plastic. Metal skirtings blocked gates, and doors had massive wooden boards nailed to them. Rubbish, blackened bins, wrecked cars and broken toys were thrown everywhere, like some giant had emptied his bins on the streets. Krane had never been anywhere this unsettling…or quiet. He shivered despite the warm coat. He liked to think he had seen it all, but he knew it was a lie. His thoughts were cut off as he stepped on a splintered piece of wood, a stabbing pain spiking through his heel.

‘Shit,’ he murmured, stumbling over to a rotting bench and examining his injuries. A nail or a shard of glass had pierced his shoe and breached skin, drawing blood. He wrenched his boot off and examined the cut. Suddenly the bench he was sitting on collapsed, sending a crackling noise bouncing down the streets. Confused by the situation he got to his feet and dusted himself off.

‘Hehe. Hehe, haha.’

It sounded like child laughing.

It felt like an icy bucket of water had been emptied inside him. He glanced around, looking for the source of the sound. There was nothing.

He could have sworn he heard a child laughing.

I’m losing my mind, he thought. His hand instinctively reached for the ‘puffer’ in his pocket. At least there was no one around here to hide it from. He pressed on the trigger and sucked on the gush of the delicious poison. His head bounced around for a moment and then everything came back to normal.

‘Now, where to?’ He glanced quickly at the directions on the sketchy map that he had been given. He spotted the marked house and set off, his pace slightly faster than before.

He just couldn’t shake the feeling that someone – or something was watching him. Watching, watching, watching, watching…

WHY? WHY ME?

*

The date is the 12th of Nov, 20--. I’ve arrived at ---------. It’s quiet. Where the hell is everyone? It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It feels…different. I just wanna get this done and get the hell out of here and never, ever, ever come back.

*

The rusty swings in the park rattled in the wind, their chains whimpering and shaking with terror. Krane did his best to ignore it, stepping over a pile of rubbish and navigating his way through a graveyard of broken building scaffolds and timber panelings. He turned up the stairs and onto a balcony that was soaked with rain and moss, possessive black vines snaking up the woodwork. He tried the door handle, surprised to find that it was open. He entered the dimly lit house, the hallway aligned with still portraits of what was probably the former residents. They looked hollow and empty, as if someone had sucked all life and joy out of them with a straw.

Suddenly the door slammed shut with a gigantic clang. He walked back to investigate.

Somehow he wasn’t surprised to find that it was locked.