Free Thunderland by Brandon Massey

If he did not take action and do the right thing, he feared he would eventually wind up like his father. Sick. Bitter. And alone.
    Electric-blue lightning seared the sky, and thunder grumbled like an angry god.
    Lying in his bed, clutching the bedsheet to his chin, Jason looked out of the nearby window at the building storm. Elm trees swayed in a fierce wind, and darkness pressed against the glass—a burned-out blackness that reminded him of ashes, death, and the end of all hope. He turned away from the window. Watching the turbulent night only sharpened his anxiety.
    He stared at the dark ceiling, shivering, though the room was warm. He told himself to be brave, to face his fear like a man, but his voice sounded weak and unconvincing. Thunder clashed, shaking the walls. Lightning ripped apart the darkness, ghostly flickers playing over the furniture.
    When he thought he might be spared from the terror that night, he heard the fateful sound: a door downstairs opening, then slamming shut.
    His heartbeat accelerated.
    He looked at the bedroom door. It was locked. But a locked door never seemed to make a difference. He checked out of habit and foolish hope.
    Then he heard the footsteps. They clocked across the floorboards, each step loud and sharp, as if the walker wore a pair of combat boots. The stalker marched slowly, methodically, like a sadistic executioner approaching a doomed victim. With each strident footfall, Jason’s heart pounded harder.
    He yanked the bedsheet over his head.
    But covering himself seemed like a pathetic attempt at protection, hardly better than lying out in the open. He had to think of something else.
    He threw off the cover and swung his legs to the side of the mattress. He slid his feet to the soft carpet, stood.
    He heard the footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs. The invader began to climb the steps.
    Frantic, Jason hurried to the door. Noticing his oak desk, he gripped the side of it and, straining, pushed it in front of the door. It probably would not stop the stalker, but it was better than nothing.
    Thunder boomed in earth-rocking fusillades. A gust punched the window, like a furious spirit demanding entry.
    The footsteps arrived at the head of the stairs.
    He looked around wildly for a place to hide. Inside the closet? Behind the curtains? Under the bed? None of those spots seemed safe, but he had to choose one-quickly. He heard the stalker shuffling across the hallway, drawing closer to his room.
    He dropped to the floor and scrambled underneath the bed.
    Although the stale air under there felt cooler, he was suddenly sweating much more than before. Cold perspiration poured off him. Combined with the cool air, the icy sweat drove a numbing chill into his body that compelled him to curl into a fetal position, shivering, hugging himself for warmth.
    Lying on his side, he had a view of those few inches near the floor not concealed by the hanging bedspread. At the moment, he saw only the oak baseboard at the bottom of the wall facing him, but that would change soon. The stalker was coming.
    The doorknob rattled.
    He tensed.
    The doorknob turned again. Back and forth, back and forth. He imagined the knob, gleaming brass rotating left and right, and with each squeaky turn, he cursed the stalker. Although the stalker twisted the knob stubbornly, he would not enter through the door in the conventional manner. He was merely teasing Jason.
    The doorknob quit rattling.
    Jason listened.
    He heard a soft hiss, like air escaping a balloon.
    Then he heard footsteps inside the bedroom. So much for the desk’s usefulness as a barricade.
    The stalker walked to the closet at the foot of the bed. Jason heard the closet door squeal open.
    He swore silently.
    The stalker likely knew where he was hidden. But he wanted to prolong the search, raise Jason’s terror to a fever pitch. Jason wanted to fight back, wanted to grab the guy and pulverize him for playing these mean-spirited tricks, but he cowered under