Free The 5th Witch by Graham Masterton

1:30 AM , he fell asleep. Almost immediately, though, he opened his eyes again and sat up. He listened, hard. The samba music had stopped, and the night was hushed. Yet he was sure that he had heard something.
    He stayed where he was, still straining his ears. He could just about make out the distant sound of traffic on the freeways. For a moment he thought he heard a small child crying, but then that stopped, too.
    You’re overtired, Dan. Go back to sleep .
    He turned over and punched his pillow into shape, but as he did so he glimpsed somebody passing the mirror in the hallway. It happened so quickly that he couldn’t be sure if it was a man or a woman.
    “Hey!” he called. “Hey—who’s out there?”
    There was no reply. He waited for a moment, and then he opened the drawer of his nightstand and took out his .38 revolver and cocked it.
    “You’d better show yourself, whoever you are! Come into the doorway with your hands on top of your head!”
    Still no reply. He waited a little longer, then swung his legs off the bed and stood up. “This is your lastwarning! I’m an armed police officer, and I will shoot to kill if I have to!”
    He crossed the bedroom and looked out into the hallway, holding his revolver in both hands.
    It was dark out there, but there was a tall window right at the very end, covered by a white cotton blind. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, Dan saw that a figure was standing in front of the window, not moving. It was silhouetted against the blind, but he could see that it was dressed in something pale, like a nightgown.
    “Hey, put your hands on top of your head where I can see them.”
    The figure remained unmoving.
    “Did you hear what I said? Put your hands on top of your head, or I’ll shoot you.”
    No response, except for the whistle of somebody who was finding it a struggle to breathe and the faintest of bubbling sounds.
    “Can you hear me?” said Dan. The figure swayed very slightly, but it still didn’t answer, and it was beginning to make him feel unnerved. He kept his revolver aimed at it and backed down the hallway toward the light switch.
    The figure made a whining noise, as if trying to protest, but Dan switched on the light and said, “Okay, friend, let’s see who the hell you are.”
    He was so shocked that he shouted out, “ Gahhhh! ” His legs felt as if they were going to buckle underneath him. His heart thumped once, twice, three times—so hard that it hurt his rib cage.
    The figure in front of the window was Gayle. His dead fiancée Gayle—not wearing a nightgown but the cream satin dress that she had been wearing to Gus Webber’s wedding. Her blond curls were gingery with blood—but worse than that, she looked exactly as shehad after the accident. The end of one of the scaffolding poles had struck her directly in the face, just below the bridge of her nose, pushing it in. She hadn’t been killed immediately, and the fire department had tried to remove her from the wreck of Dan’s Mustang by sawing through the scaffolding pole about two inches in front of her face.
    Her blue eyes were open on each side of the sawn-off pole, like a fish’s eyes. The pole itself formed an O of surprise. Around the pole, her breath was whistling and bubbling with blood.
    Dan lowered his gun. He tried to say something, but he couldn’t. Gayle simply stood there staring at him, her eyes occasionally blinking in mute desperation.
    This is a nightmare. I’m asleep. I’m dreaming this. Wake up .
    He couldn’t bring himself to approach her. He could only do what he had done on the night of the accident—stand and stare at her in horror.
    I have to find a way to wake up .
    He took two steps in Gayle’s direction, until he reached the bedroom door. She kept on staring at him and swaying slightly, but she didn’t try to approach. He edged his way into the bedroom and climbed back onto his bed.
    I’m asleep. If I shut my eyes and open them again, I’ll wake up, and