Free Forgotten Fears by Michael Bray

Instinctively, he ducked to the side a split second before the heavy wrench embedded itself into the door, splintering it with ease. Ignoring the fact his skull would have suffered the same fate had he not moved, he squeezed passed the man as he tried to free the wrench and ran upstairs. Even in the dark, he was familiar with the layout, which he supposed gave him a slight advantage. The hallway had four rooms leading off it. The tiny guest bedroom was first, then the bathroom. A little further down the hall was Billy’s office, where just a few hours ago his only worry was finishing his presentation for work. Finally, at the end of the hall was the master bedroom. It was there he headed, trying to be as quiet as he could. He tried to remember exactly which floorboards creaked and which doors made a sound when they were opened. He made a point of slamming the bathroom door closed as he passed, hoping it would act as a decoy before he entered the shadowy confines of the bedroom. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. He stared through the gloom, looking for somewhere he might be able to hide other than the horror movie cliché of under the bed or in the closet. It was then he realised he would have been better served hiding in the study. From there, he could break a window and drop down onto the porch roof, then down to the ground. Cursing his own stupidity, he doubled back intending to do just that, when he heard the creepy unhurried whistle and saw the ugly shadow draping across the wall as the man from Trans Energy slowly climbed the stairs.
    ~IV~
     
    Billy crouched behind the bed. Although he wasn’t exactly hiding as such, it felt good to have a solid object of some kind between himself and the man, who he could now see standing at the end of the hall. From this distance, he looked even more immense. His face thrown into ghoulish shadows which made his eyes look like bottomless wells and his mouth like the screaming maw of some unearthly creature. He was taking his time, whistling that maddeningly familiar tune as he stared into the gloom. It appeared he couldn’t see Billy yet, perhaps due to his unfamiliarity with the layout of the house, or maybe through sheer blind luck. Trying to ignore the agony in his arm, Billy watched the man approach the guest bedroom, pushing the door open with the end of his wrench and glancing inside. It was no more than a box room, and it was obvious enough there was nowhere in there a person might hide. He turned his attention back to the hallway.
    “You can’t hide from me Snifferblob.  I can smell you up here. You Squeakers are all the same. Pesticides are what you need. Well, I have justice for you, just like mother said I should.”
    He wasn’t shouting, and to Billy that made it worse somehow. He was cool and calm, speaking with certainty and – more worryingly – absolute belief Billy was a Snifferblob – whatever the hell that meant. The man was obviously deranged, perhaps the victim of a violent upbringing or some kind of untreated mental illness. Whatever was wrong with him, his grasp on reality was dangerously skewed. The silence was broken by the sounds of boots on hardwood as the man slowly walked down the hall.
    “I've already killed her you know, that wife of yours. She split open like ripe watermelon.” He whispered, his voice carrying through the darkness of the house.
    Billy knew its intention was to draw him out, but once again, fear had taken him, and he could only cower in the shadows and wait.
    “Filthy Snifferblob whore wife,” He growled as he pushed open the bathroom door. Once a Snifferblob, always a Snifferblob. You know that already, don’t you?” He muttered as he moved on, making his way ever closer to Billy’s hiding place. The study was up next, and because of its shape, Billy knew the man would have to go fully into the room to ensure he wasn’t there. It was his best chance of escape, and he crawled as slowly as he dared