Night of the Spirits
by sloanranger
Part 11
Of a sudden, joining the rattling of the window, something began knocking against the pane, and it was loud. The Scot thought he heard his name called amidst the knocking....
"A-a-n-g-u-u-us," it called, twice... thrice.... Oh Lord, he thought, don't let it get me. He took another pull on the jug.
"Bring me my dog," the voice called. There came then the mournful sound of a hound dog yowling. There was no mistaking the sound of Joe's howl.
He put the jug down and covered his ears, trying to shut out the sound.
It came to him, in the quiet that his covered ears afforded him, maybe it's the old crabapple tree, he thought. He clung to the thought like a drowning man does to most anything.
Angus weaved himself over to the window, his eyes squeezed shut. When he got to the window he made himself open his eyes.
He saw to his relief nothing but the branches of the tree banging against the pane and his breathing came easier. But it was only a second before he heard a loud pounding on the door.
"Open up in there, Angus!"
(To be continued).
YOU ARE READING
Night of the Spirits - @Short Story
Short Story@SHORTSTORY - Historical Fiction, Horror: Dying man Jeb Crayton, asks his friend Angus, an old Scot who likes his liquor to help his widow after he's gone. Days later, Angus is asked to bury Jeb's dog, Joe. It becomes a horrific task.
