Free Bad Stacks Story Collection Box Set by Scott Nicholson Page B

like kids,” David said.
    “Sure, David. And your kids will love it here. Plenty of room to play, hike, or just scream at the top of your lungs if you feel like it. You can scream for days and no one will notice.”
    “And why would somebody need to scream? Is this place occupied or something?”
    David's words were eaten by the shadows. The stillness of the basement was broken only by Reynolds' ragged heartbeat and breath.
    “Occupied?” Reynolds said, not even having to pretend to sound startled. “This place isn't occupied.”
    “You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Reynolds?”
    He wasn't lying. The house wasn't haunted. Rather, it was...what was that catch-phrase? Oh yes, multi-dimensionally possessed.
    Still, beads of sweat erupted on the high bare plane of Reynolds' forehead. The light mercifully fell away and raced across the smooth white-gray of the cement.
    “David, David, David,” Reynolds tutted, recovering somewhat now that his face was hidden by the darkness again. “I'm not a high-pressure kind of guy. If you don't want the house, that's fine with me.”
    Well, not all THAT fine, because then I might have to drape a rope over the ductwork and twist a little noose and take myself a midnight swing.
    Not many buyers existed for a palace like this. While the layout was great, the house was a little too angled. You stepped inside and you felt uneasy. The walls listened and the electrical sockets were tiny black eyes and every single nail and screw and chunk of spackle whispered and every board groaned, even when the wind was still.
    Surely David had sensed it, too. That's why he'd asked the question. It's the kind of house you'd expect to be occupied.
    “I'll have to put some deadwood braces between those joists,” David said. “They're starting to bow a little.”
    Reynolds smiled to himself. David had spoken possessively. The deal was all but sealed.
    If only she would stay away long enough to get David back up the stairs.
    “Uh, David? Don't you have a plane to catch?”
    “Uh?”
    “Your wife. You said you were picking her up at the airport.”
    “Oh, yeah. Guess I've seen enough, anyhow.” David headed for the stairs.
    Reynolds' heart flipped for joy. He didn't even mind that David had left him in darkness. He hurried after David.
    That's when it came out, built itself from the bricks and mortar of nightmare. Nailed itself together with the claw hammer of insanity. Staple-gunned its mockery of flesh into form.
    It was her.
    She looked him in the face, her eyes deeply bright and strange, her mouth curled into a smile. “You're real,” she whispered, no fear in her voice.
    Reynolds drew in a sharp breath, then swallowed the scream that filled his lungs. The basement air tasted of fiberglass and tomb dust. David paused on the stairs, then whipped the light around.
    “What was that?” David asked.
    “Nothing,” Reynolds said. “Nothing but a bunch of nothing.”
    David thundered down the steps, splashed the light around in the corners of the room. “I know I saw it.”
    Reynolds adjusted the necktie that seemed to be choking him. “Listen, David my man, you've seen all there is to see.”
    “Except the breather.”
    “The breather?” Reynolds shrugged innocently. The last three prospective buyers had said nothing, only shivered and hurried up the stairs. None of them had returned Reynolds' follow-up phone calls. But David seemed to be immune to the skin-crawling sensation caused by the basement's tangible tenant.
    “I know there's a breather here,” David said, sounding like all the other pompous out-of-staters who thought money gave them the right to bully around mountain people.
    “No breathers,” Reynolds said. “Breathers don't exist.”
    “Most of the summer houses in the Appalachian Mountains are supposed to be empty. I'll be damned if I'm going to own a house that has a restless spirit banging around. Where's the peace in that?”
    The woman stepped into the flashlight's