Free The Open Door by Brian Brahm Page B

breathing— sense their
fear?
    They still wanted to see the thing, but had
no desire to find out its true intensions.
    The monitor was still black, and they
couldn’t detect any movement outside the door.
    Suddenly, there was a methodical but subtle
scratching at the door. The noise was long and painfully slow, as
if it meant to torment them with the sound of the scraping.
    They sat silent and motionless, praying it
would go away. Drawn out clawing noises went on for minutes, and
then stopped. They looked at each other—both anticipating something
horrible—looking for the other to show strength or hope, but
finding nothing but fear in each other’s eyes.
    They both shook frantically, still staring at
each other, waiting for the door-handle to turn, but there was
nothing.
    The screen on the monitor was still black,
but the scratching had been over for a few minutes. They began to
breathe normal again—heart rates dropping—eyes still unable to
blink—mouths so dry the white mucousy stuff formed into a thin
crust.
    What was seemingly an endless night, and most
certainly sleepless, came to an end. Sunrise was upon them at last,
and a new day brought hope. Hope that whatever was outside their
door would be gone, never to bother them again.
    Hope that they could leave the nightmarish
world they found themselves in—behind.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
     
    After only receiving a few hours of sleep
during their highly stressful two-day stay, Scott and Cody were
exhausted.
    “It’s 7:30 in the A.M. Rise and shine!” Cody
said sarcastically.
    “Funny, but seriously, we need to get some
sleep this afternoon, even if it means driving somewhere.” Driving
somewhere sounded like a good option—actually. Driving . . . never
looking back . . . never returning.
    They again checked the monitor, which was
still black as the night. “There’s no way that thing stood in front
of the camera all night.” Cody said.
    “I’m not sure we should open the door; is
that what you’re implying?”
    “I’ll open it quickly, and you cover me with
your gun. We need to get out of here, and I’m curious about the
camera. Besides, we need to try and recoup as much equipment as
possible, or you’re going to have to pay for it.”
    Cody made a good point, Scott couldn’t
replace all of the equipment, and he too was curious as to why the
camera went blank, and why the thing scratched the door.
    Are there claw marks? How wide . . . how
deep are they? Maybe there’s a new message etched in the wood, done
by a grotesque, discolored fingernail—much the way the psycho,
possessed lady had done. Scott desperately needed answers to
the questions flooding his mind.
    He moved the freezer away from the door while
Cody mentally prepared himself for the unexpected. Scott stood by
ready to raise the .45 and fire, while Cody gripped the cold steel
of the door handle—pausing to look back at Scott. Scott gave him
the nod to go ahead—Cody turned the handle and jerked the door
open—jumping out of the way as fast as he could. Raising the gun
after Cody cleared; he first focused down the hall where the camera
was positioned. Cody peaked his head around the corner and out the
door to see what Scott was looking at.
    “Oh Lord!” Cody stuttered, nearly coughing up
what little food remained in his stomach.
    A blood-soaked, matted head of a black cat
had been forced onto the camera lens. In no way was the job clean;
someone or something had ripped the head off. Blood and bits of
brain that had ran down the body of the camera were now a dried
sticky ooze with flies all over it—laying eggs that, by midday
would be maggots.
     
    The left side of the cat’s head was distorted
as if something had gripped it too hard and caused it to cave in.
Its right eye was bulged out of its socket, and its jaw was barely
attached, causing it to hang abnormally low and crooked.
    Looking at the ground for bloody