Free Thunderland by Brandon Massey Page A

the bed, not daring to move. What sane person would attack a man who could walk through doors?
    The closet squeaked shut.
    Trembling so badly he was certain he would give himself away, he tried to hear where the stalker would head next, though from past experience, he knew exactly what would happen. He listened out of a vain hope that his fears would not be realized.
    The stalker walked across the room, to the windows. He ruffled the curtains.
    Jason ground his teeth.
    For a moment, silence, as though the stalker were deliberating where to look next. Then, Jason heard the inevitable: footsteps approaching the bed.
    He drew himself into a tight ball.
    He desperately wished he could fold up into himself and vanish. Or shrink as tiny as a gnat. Anything to get out of there. His heart banged wildly.
    A pair of sleek black leather boots stopped beside the bed, inches away from Jason’s face.
    The boots shone in the darkness, emitting a strange, silvery glow.
    Jason heard the sound of movement: the visitor beginning to bend down.
    He clenched his hands into fists. He was caught between wanting to see the stalker’s face and never wanting to know the man’s identity.
    Slowly, the stalker lifted the hanging bedspread. Higher, higher, higher ...
    The instant Jason would have seen the face, he shut his eyes and screamed, exploding out of the nightmare.
    “Hey, you all right?” Shorty said.
    Heart thudding, Jason groaned. He lay curled up like a pill bug and wedged under something. He unclenched his hand, touched the object above him. It felt like a table.
    “You crawled under the card table,” Shorty said. Crouched on the floor, he peered at Jason, his face a black oval in the dark den. “Damn, that nightmare of yours must be an ass-kicker. You okay?”
    “I’m alive, but I feel awful.” He squeezed from underneath the furniture. “Man, how embarrassing. I was hidden under there like a little kid afraid of the bogeyman.”
    “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna tell anyone,” Shorty said.
    Outside, thunder bellowed. A continuous sizzle of rain pattered on the roof. Jason went to a window and lifted the drape. The stormy night had a burned-out look that reminded him of his nightmare. Shivering at the similarity, he dropped the curtain.
    “What time is it?” Jason said.
    “Almost four in the morning. Ain’t nothing happened. We’re the fools here, man. The Stranger’s probably snoring like everyone else.”
    “Maybe so. But I think sleeping in shifts is a good idea. In case something does happen.”
    “Anyway, it’s your turn to watch,” Shorty said. “Four o’clock, remember?”
    “Yeah.”
    Shorty handed him the flashlight and the sheathed knife. Jason clipped both items to his waistband.
    “Watch your back, don’t fall asleep, and if you see anything, holler,” Shorty said. “I’m taking my butt to bed.”
    Shorty slipped inside his sleeping bag, which lay beside Brains, who slept soundly on a pallet. Brains’s shift had been from ten o’clock until one; Shorty’s had been from one to four; and Jason’s ended at seven. Jason had slept six hours, but he felt as if he could use six more. His muscles ached from all of yesterday’s activities.
    According to their plan, the designated watcher had to make a circuit of the house every thirty minutes, checking all vacant rooms such as the living room, dining room, and kitchen, and enclosed spaces such as the laundry room, closets, and bathrooms. Shadowy niches were to be inspected with the flashlight, and close attention was to be given to all doors. Not knowing the true nature of their adversary, they had to guard themselves as though anticipating a physical threat. But if their nemesis proved to be something unearthly, their plan might be a waste of time: the stalker in his nightmare could walk through doors....
    Don’t think about it, Jason cautioned himself. It’s only a dream.
    He began his circuit. He went to the laundry room, which was located just off