Endless Night (Dylan Hart Odyssey of The Occult Series)

by Gilmore, R. M.

  A growl emanated through the darkness coming from nowhere in particular. I stopped in my tracks and searched my surroundings for a rabid dog showing teeth from some darkened corner. Nothing came running for me. No glowing eyes shining in the streetlamp. I dug in my bag for my keys. I saw on T.V. once you should have your keys out and ready for use when walking alone at night. I shoved half of the keys in my back pocket, leaving a few dangling over my butt cheek for easier grabbing, just in case.

  I forced my feet to pick up the pace as I headed for home. Through the sound of my rubber-soled shoes slapping the cement, another growl rang in my ears. This time I didn’t bother to stop and look. Faster, I moved through the dimly lit street and around the corner at the end.

  Louder the growls came until I heard them snarling and snorting so near my head, I swore there was a beast following close behind me. Without hesitation, my legs lifted nearly to my chest as I tore off in an all-out run.

  Pounding paws hit the cement behind me. No matter how fast I pushed myself to run, the galloping beast stayed close behind. Snarling, snorting, jaws snapping their razor sharp teeth right at my neck. Or so my brain told me from the sound it emitted. My legs burned from the exertion of energy I was forcing upon them trying to escape whatever was following me.

  Another corner, then one more and I’m home. Run, fat ass! Run!

  Unearthly, animalistic noises tickled along my skin as the unseen beast growled its terrible growl. And gnashed its terrible teeth. I ran as fast as my fat ass could carry me. I ran until my lungs refused to fill with air. Ran and ran, until I thought I’d just fall down and wait for death to come. My hand clenched around the beaded rosary that hung through my fingers and I prayed for help.

  Mike’s voice played through my head as my feet pounded the broken sidewalk toward home. “When you run, I’ll be there.” How true had that become? As my feet slapped the pavement, only a block from home now, my phone rang somewhere deep in my bag. Images of dead things flashed sporadically through my head and I tried my damndest to keep them at bay, if only to keep from running into things in my path. I dug in my bag, frantically searching for my ringing phone. Beastly growls followed close at my heels as I ran. Fat girls didn’t run, not unless being chased. And though my eyes didn’t see the beast, my heart felt its presence and my soul told me to escape that evil at all costs. My fingers found the slick plastic of my phone and brought it to my ear, answering it on the way.

  “Mike!” I cried into the receiver. “Help!” a scream escaped my heavy lungs and the muscles in my legs burned as I picked up the pace to clear the last few hundred feet to the stairs of my apartment. I hadn’t had time or energy for more. He’d called when I needed him and I prayed he’d gotten the hint that I needed him so desperately. Knowing him, he was already on his way. I clutched the phone in my hand but didn’t speak. Didn’t even hold that damn thing to my face. I held onto it like a lifeline, just in case. Just in case, shit went down. If I died, I didn’t want to be alone.

  My breaths hardly came anymore. I just ran. Ran in the direction of home. Away from the growling, heavy footed thing at my back. Whatever it was that followed me from the cab, I had an idea who’d sent it after me. It was no dog. No natural animal chasing me home. Real or mystical, I hadn’t the chance to find out and I hoped I’d never have to. The thought of something unknown breathing down my neck terrified me. Send a wolf. A bear, a fucking Yeti, but like hell you shouldn’t send some demonic beast to tail me home. Three legs, snarling unearthly jaws snapping at my flesh, devilish fur, talons to tear at guts, my mind ran rampant with wild images of possibilities.

  Only feet away, I pushed my body to continue. It’d be a shame to lose now.

  I ran as fast as my legs would allow. My left leg rose, subconsciously preparing for the first step of the stairs, now only inches away. I lunged my body forward and my foot caught the step perfectly, landing flush with the old wooden step. In a heartbeat, my other foot caught up and carried me up another step. I could feel the weight of death brushing at my heels. My muscles burned as they flew up the stairs. Out of pure instinct, I ducked just in time to clear the tree limb of death, but lost my balance and landed on the palms of my hands against the step. They stung with the pain of scraped skin, but I shoved on. Without a thought, my hands moved in unison with my feet and I scurried up the steps. I moved quickly, utilizing all four limbs. I reached the door and grabbed the keys dangling partially from my back pocket. I begged God just this once to let my damn door open. I jammed the key in its slot and turned my quivering hand over. My breath escaped my lungs in a quick yip of joy when I heard the pins shift and felt the key turn over. With all my might, I shoved my body against the door as I turned the knob. For the first time ever, it flung open without instance. I felt dark evil looming over my back. It tickled my soul with its heartless feelers.

  “No!” I screamed.

  I flung my heavy body into the darkened space that was my apartment. As I did, I turned my body to face the open doorway to catch a glimpse of the beast at my heels. I fell firmly on my ass. As I stared out to the blackened porch, I saw nothing. Before me was an empty void, where what I’d imagined to be a huge hideous drooling monstrosity, should have been. Though my eyes saw nothing, my heart felt the weight of death staring back at me. Sitting on my butt a few feet from my open doorway, I questioned my sanity. I blinked my eyes over and over again, waiting for them to show me the truth behind the veil of reality. Seconds passed and nothing happened.

  A sigh began in my heavy lungs and made its way out through pursed lips. From the dark void of my porch, a screeching gust of foul air blasted my face with such force I felt my clothes press against my skin. The smell was similar to rotten meat. Terrified as all the fucks in hell, I screamed back into the blast of air. Using my foot, I kicked the door closed, slamming it against the darkness. In an instant, I was on my knees clinging to the doorknob. I flipped the deadbolt over and collapsed against the door. My heart pounding in my chest, all I could hear was the rushing of blood in my ears. I sat for a moment, anticipating further contact.

  Silence. I scrambled toward my bedroom half on all fours, half on my own two feet. Moving so quickly through the room, I slammed into my bedside table, knocking the things on top to the floor. Even in the darkened room, I saw the glint of my shiny, freshly cleaned, Beretta. I checked the clip, to be on the safe side, and flipped the safety off.

  Eerie silence filled the small apartment. Atrophy was setting in and my legs were beginning to protest any movement. Not believing for a minute this horror show was over, I found a spot to perch on the edge of the couch, facing the door, and waited. I sat in the dark, shining pistol in hand, and waited for evil to bust down my door.

  A thud slammed against the door. And another and another. Until I thought, whatever beastly thing was on the other side, would bust right through.

  “What in the fuck!” I screamed at the door just before it burst open.

  Like a swift kick in the ass, all that I once knew as truth has crumbled, and new mysterious things begin taking shape. In the night that never seemed to end. The night that never gave way to the shiny light of day, fiction charged through and sunk its teeth into reality. I am the gory mess it left behind. Me and my big ass gun.

  Reality bites.

  From The Author:

  When I first put pen to paper for this series the name Dylan Hart was not even a thought. Her story was one of humor and satire, not this drama you just read. It took only a day or two of jotting down notes and ideas for Dylan to pipe up and let herself be known. From there the others were born. Tatum came first, before the other crazy bitches that occupy this world. No girl is complete with a bitch friend to reminder her how awesome she is, of course. From there Mike was a must. Love interest? Not exactly. More like love lost and gone forever. Cyrus and the lot of them came in their time. One after the other, they each popped up and screamed their story. The turns this tale has taken over the last few years are remarka
ble knowing where the story started. Now, knowing what I do, knowing where this story will take me – where it will take you – makes me giddy with evil delight.

  Thank you for hopping on this jacked up coaster of blood and voodoo. Are you ready for more?

  There’s no turning back now.

  Love y’all!

  X’s

  www.RMGilmoreAuthor.com

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  Don’t stop now! Check out Dylan Hart book three Sacrifice!

  Want more Gilmore nonsense? Read excerpts from more RM books now.

  Sacrifice – Dylan Hart #3

  Becoming - Lynnie Russell Trilogy part 1

  Find FREE DOWNLOAD RM Gilmore short stories here!

  Sacrifice

  Fear. Fear above all else is the driving force behind every negative emotion I own. Heart pounding, skin slick with sweat, mouth sticky, rage and fury building upon oneself until it's forced from every pore. Fear, my darling, is the end all be all of Dylan Hart.

  Evil has descended upon me and it's ripe with death. Death from me. By me. For me. My penance. My ultimate retribution for the sins I've committed. My pound of flesh. My sacrifice.

  Chapter One

  "What in the fuck?" my voice screeched out as the wood of my front door splintered and shattered, leaving a gaping hole that lead to the blackness of my porch.

  I held my pistol, and aimed steady at the black hole in front of me. The steel warming under the heat of my skin. Nothing came. The unseen force that busted my door made no attempt to make itself known. Reluctantly, I lowered my aim toward my lush carpet.

  My gut churned with nervous vomit, but I released my breath and allowed my shoulders to relax, even if only just a bit.

  From the darkness, a streak of white moved quickly, then nothing. My eyes trained on the hole in the door, I waited. Again, a movement of white through the black, but nothing more. My stomach roiled again. A stark white leg stepped through the human-sized gape in my door. My eyes went wide, but I didn't let the fear overtake me. My hands came up pointing the barrel of my gun at the hole. Fuck, through the hole, passed the hole at whatever was attached to that ghostly white limb. The leg pulled the lower half of a body through the hole, exposing the rotten flesh of an inner thigh and pubic area.

  Fight or flight, bitch.

  I gagged and forced myself to stay where I was. Gun trained. Fight engaged.

  The torso followed, bare boobs smooshed together between bound arms. I knew what was coming then.

  "Oh, fuck this shit." Without a further thought, my finger squeezed. The recoil sent shock waves up my forearms. Fear had blocked my brain from hearing the shot, but the telltale ringing in my ears told me the gun had fired without a hitch.

  Standing in my living room, a naked girl oozed rusty dead blood from the hole I'd put in her belly. The nub of a neck that was left on her shoulders was dull with death and decay. I waited for the walking corpse to fall dead, or dead-like, leaking decayed ooze from her wounds. It never happened. Her feet shuffled forward toward me in an awkward cadence. Hands, wrapped in her black hair, reached in my direction. My ass left the edge of the couch as quickly as I could force it, and I stumbled away toward my room.

  "What? What am I supposed to do?" I screamed at the corpse. Spit flew from my mouth with little control as the words came.

  Movement at the door. A leg. A torso. Bound hands and boobs. Another headless body came through my door.

  "Stop! Please!" I wanted to run. I wanted to hide, to leave and never come back.

  You have nowhere to go, idiot. Out the hole the dead things were coming through? I don’t fucking think so.

  Gun in hand, I pointed out at the thing in front of me. I heard the shot this time. It rang in my head like a marble bounced on glass. Another wound oozed, but nothing hindered the endless shuffle of dead feet toward me. At the door, a leg, torso, boobs, hands, matte blood atop of white shoulders. A third corpse breached the hole in the door.

  "Why? Why are you here? I helped you! I killed the men who killed you!" I screeched at the dead girls in my living room. Didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

  A leg, a torso, boobs and hands. Again. Again. Again. Seven decaying headless bodies shuffled through my living room. My feet moved back farther and farther until my back slammed into the jamb of my bedroom door.

  "What do you want?" I screamed at the headless things. They couldn't answer me. Chopping a bitches head off, proved better than duct tape.

  Fourteen hands reached out for me. Seven muted red stumps met my eyes where seven faces should be.

  Eight. There should be eight.

  At the door, a leg, a torso, boobs and hands bound with purple strands of hair appeared. Regina's living corpse came into my home uninvited. Eight dead things inched closer and closer. My heart felt like it'd flip out through my open mouth if I hadn't already been swallowing back bile compulsively.

  "Stop!" Sliding backward, I maneuvered into the sanctity of my room. My trembling hands made music with cold steel and Azelie’s crucifix, which was still wrapped around my palm. My front door didn't stop them. Why I thought this cheap hollow core would save me, I didn’t know. I just wanted the fuck away from all those dead girls.

  Locking myself in, I backed deeper into my darkened room. Never taking my eyes from my door, I backed and backed until the backs of my knees hit the edge of my bed. My butt automatically sat, giving my shaking legs a much needed break. Finally, sitting and breathing, sort of, I was able to hear small whimpering sounds. Disgusting images of gurgling blood stumps trying to form sounds ran through my head. This terrified me more than the bodies as a whole, merely because they had no natural source. Things with no heads should make no vocal sounds, theoretically. I swallowed hard and realized they were my whimpers. My short sobs. My fear seeping out.

  The noises from my throat stopped, and with it my breath when my bedroom door began to rattle. The dead things on the other side were trying to get in. "No." My soft pitiful voice caused me to wince with anger, but it didn't change anything. My fear was too strong. I was just too terrified for the rage to build in me. "Stop," whining sobs filled the abyss that was my lonely, dark room.

  My legs pulled me from the edge of my bed and backed me against the wall farther away from the rattling door. "No more," I sobbed. "Please. No more." My hands trembled, gun rattling in my clutch. My back flush with the cool wall, my legs shrunk. I slid to my ass on the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry they did that to you."

  The rattling persisted and I thought then of Azelie. She'd done this to these women. These dead girls at my door were here because of her. Dead because of her. She'd killed them with her greed and refused to let them rest in her quest to punish me for inadvertently foiling her plans. For spilling blood that didn’t belong to me.

  Fuck that cunt.

  Fear remained, but I fought it with all my might. "I'm sorry they killed you!" My voice still shook but the sobs were gone. "But I'm not sorry I killed those boys." The door shook fiercely with my revelation. "And I won't be sorry when I kill that voodoo bitch either!"

  The door shook and the knob creaked under pressure from something on the other side. Azelie sent the dead things for me. She sent the bodies of eight dead girls to relentlessly crawl through my front door. They weren’t going to stop. It was never going to stop.

  I took a deep, ragged breath and lifted my gun.

  It's never going to stop.

  BANG!

  WANT MORE? Click me!

  Becoming – Lynnie Russell Trilogy

  Howdy ‘do?

  My name is Sharlene Carolynn Diamond Russell. It's a mouthful, I know. My mama must've hated me dearly to stick me with a name like that. Most folks don't know me by anything but Carolynn, thank goodness. And my friends all call me Lynnie. So far, I've been pretty happy with that.

  This is my account of the day my life changed forever. As best I can remember it anyhow. Now, normally someone wou
ld start their story from the middle, at the point the action begins. I think this story is better told from the beginning. Not back to the day of my birth, mind you. I will start my story just before I was born, for the second time. The day I became…

  Hell Bent, but Homebound

  It was my twentieth birthday. I always figured I'd be out on my own by twenty. Maybe I'd be living in a college dorm miles away from my parents and this hick town. Poor life choices and lack of funds kept me trapped in Havana, Arkansas.

  Stifled by my overbearing mama and ignored by my absentee daddy, I didn’t have too many opportunities to spread my wings, as they say. I made the choice to move in with my older brother, Garret, at the thought of some kind of freedom. Well, as much as somebody could get in a place like Havana.

  Daddy drives long-haul so he’s never home and when he is it ain’t long enough to get to know him much. I’m sure he loved me, brought me gifts and things, just didn’t give up his time too often. My mama, God love her, she never could stay in one place too long without a man to keep her there. She loved us kids with all her soul, but if it weren’t for me and my brother she’d have left Havana a long time ago and never looked back.