Whispers Of The Damned

Chapter 7: Curiousity Killed The Cat

     After breakfast, I hand washed the dishes. Me and my mother never had much luck with dishwashers, always stalling or not running.
 
     Wiping the last warm dish with my red hand towel, I padded into the foyer and slipped on red sneakers and my black faux leather jacket.

     I zipped up and made my way on the front porch, the solid door creaking shut and the boards in the floor quivering and squealing with every footfall. Pausing, I reached and fingered a pair of shears I held in my coat pocket.
    
     An invisible line crossed between the two pillars that supported our porch overhang.

     A tripwire, the oldest trick since day one.

     I snickered and clipped it with my sharp shears.

     I stepped back, and no more than half a second since I triggered the wire, a scrawny little raccoon, clearly dropped, fell from above.

     Once it landed clumsily on its paws, it gave me a saucer eyed look and hissed, bearing its frothy jaws with sickle like teeth.

     I stomped my foot, causing the porch wood to make a loud thump. With that, the raccoon scrambled away in a frenzy.

     "Not today, asshole," I called.

     A low, irritated grumble sounded from above.

     "Next time."

     I laughed and shook my head,  stepping into the cracked sidewalk that lead to my front door.

     Once I was out of the yard marked by a fence, I went right and scaled the edge.

    Checking the open windows of the house and looking over my shoulder, I crept to the backyard, the morning dew damping my shoes. The sun on my back, and the autumn breeze whisking my hair.

     Dragging a stick against the fence, resembling an inmate, made a thunk, thunk, thunk.

     In the midst of the satisfying thunking, a mute snuffling creeped out from the brush.

     My dumbass decides to investigate.

     The sound is held near a groaning, claw-like tree with twisted bark and a dark woody smell.

     I cautiously approached the bush, my curiosity getting the best of me. As I get closer, I notice at the foot of the tree, its roots protruding out of the ground like thick black serpents.

     A small footfall sounds from the undergrowth. It sounds like a rat, but heavier.

     I would usually not check out noises coming from bushes, but this... this didn't feel or sound right. The scuttling was too sudden and too spastic for a rodent. It was almost.... paranormal.

     I feel in the pile of brush with my stick, and something dark and quick bolted out.

     I'm so surprised, I reel back, loose my footing, and fall backwards, my hands grabbing at the air for a hold on something, but nothing came.

   I landed on my back, the wind knocked out of me.

     I lay, fazed. Unsure of whether or not the mysterious creature was still lingering about.

     I catch my breath and prop myself up on one arm. A sharp, sudden pain shoots up my arm.
 
     Fucking hell, I say to myself as I sit up and grip my pain ridden limb.

     I am completely unaware of the creature in front of me.

     It sniffs and it gets my attention.

     I spot a small hare. Nothing was unusual about it, except for the fact its fur was a solid shade of pitch, and it ogled me with milky, lifeless eyes. It didn't blink, just stared, deep and foreboding.

     "Carlyle," said a distant call from behind me.

     "There you are! I've been looking everywhere, I wanted to show you how Peyton Man--," he knew something was wrong.

     He tapped my shoulder lightly.

     "Carlyle?" He whispered.

     The rabbit held me firm in its gaze, deaf to Brants genuine concern.

     He knew something seriously bizarre was going on. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

     The hare's stare broke mine free.

     "Hey Brandt," I jumbled, clearly dizzy,

     "Look at that hare, its the most pecu--"

     I point to an empty piece of Earth, no hare in sight.

     The grass wasn't even flattened.

He looked away from me and glanced over his shoulder.

     "What rabbit? I don't see anything," Brandt questioned.

     "W-What? It was ri-" I stuttered, left shaken and half nuts after the bizarre hare encounter.

     I shut my mouth, and took a long, deserving breath.

     "You know what? It was nothing," I mumbled, disappointment ringing clearly through my tone.

     Brandt has a sheer look of confusion, and continued on slowly.

     "Okay, well, the Broncos......."

     His voice faded away, even if he was solidly talking to me, it didn't pierce through my skull.

     All I could see in my vision was those eyes. Those dead, foreboding eyes.

     I had only looked away for a second.

     Surely it was real?

     Could've been.

     I have no idea.

     Lots of things don't make sense nowadays with the Redsons.