Free Shatter the Bones by Stuart MacBride

nice things. Much nicer things than Daddy ever did.
    Daddy wouldn’t let Teddy Gordon sleep on the end of her bed.
    Her room smells of bananas and ice cream, but the little plastic thing plugged into the wall by the nightlight still can’t cover the old-man smell of the blue teddy bear. The window glows a pale orange, making thick shadows between the chair and the wall, behind the toy cupboard, down the side of the wardrobe. Creeping out from under the bed…
    She tries to lie really still and quiet, like a dead person.
    She’s not awake. She’s asleep, like a Good Little Girl.
    Only Bad Little Girls wake up in the middle of the night. That’s when the monster comes out.
    She shivers, even though she knows she mustn’t move at all. Not even a tiny bit.
    The monster doesn’t like Bad Little Girls.
    The monster with its sharp white teeth and bright-red claws. Lie still. Don’t move an inch.
    She can hear it, out in the hallway, creeping on its soft hairy paws, making the floorboards creak. Creak. Creak.
    She holds her breath.
    Go away. No one’s awake in here. Only Good Little Girls, fast asleep and dreaming of ponies.
    Please go away…
    But the monster knows.
    A rattle. A clunk. And then the door groans like an old man.
    A pause.
    She holds her breath.
    Go away. Go away. GO AWAY!
    Good Little Girl. Sleeping.
    The monster rustles, right beside her bed. Breathing.
    Whooomph… Hisssssssss . Whooomph… Hisssssssss .
    Standing right over her. In the dark.
    Don’t move…
    But her chest aches, like a big purple bruise. And then her body tells on her, gasping in a great whoosh of air. And now it’s too late: it knows she’s awake. Her eyes snap open…
    Light spills in through the open door. Teddy Gordon grins from the bottom of the bed.
    But the monster’s different. Its face is waxy-shiny, and it’s naked – its skin all crinkly white, rustling as it breathes.
    Whooomph… Hisssssssss . Whooomph… Hisssssssss . One eye glows red in the darkness.
    Daddy…
    No…
    Don’t leave us…
    The monster reaches for her with sticky purple fingers. She screams.

Chapter 12
    Logan took another sip of coffee and clicked his mouse on the little red ‘R EPLAY ’ icon. A moment of darkness. Then the video started playing again. Fourth time in a row. The counter beneath it showed 6,376,451 views since the ransom demand was uploaded eight days ago.
    The quality wasn’t great. Better than a lot of things posted on YouTube, but still jerky and grainy. A low-light image, all the colour leached away by whatever setting they’d used on the camcorder to make it record in the middle of the night – and there it was: the most famous house in the country. Or the back of it, anyway.
    A plain, two-storey, brick box, just like all the other plain, two-storey, brick boxes in the street, with a six-foot tall wooden fence running all the way along the back gardens.
    He shifted the headphones again and turned the volume up full, but there was nothing there. Not even a hiss. Complete silence. At least for this bit…
    ‘03:05:26’ blinked in the bottom left hand corner of the screen.
    The camera swung left then right – checking the little alleyway was empty – and then a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters appeared on the screen. They crunched through the shackle of a massive padlock, then a pale-grey hand reached into shot and pushed the gate open.
    The image shook as the cameraman hurried up the path to the back door.
    Someone stepped in front of the camera – filling the screen with an expanse of grey-white – and then they were inside.
    According to the time-stamp at the bottom of the screen less than two minutes had passed.
    Kitchen: old fashioned units and a fridge freezer covered with newspaper clippings and childish drawings.
    Hallway: floral wallpaper, a couple of generic pictures in cheap-looking frames.
    Stairs: a photo halfway up. Logan couldn’t see what of. Landing: three doors leading off.
    He clicked the mouse again,