Running Scared Read Free Page A

thought it would explode. Piles of dirty slush lined the unfamiliar streets, snow fell from the sky, dancing in the pools of light cast by the streetlamps. Far away he heard the sound of a siren and over it all the muted strains of a Christmas carol.
    “God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…”
    Where the hell was he?
    And who was chasing him?
    Killer.
    The word rang through his brain.
    What?
    The one who wants you dead.
    As in dead and buried. Six feet underground, covered in ripe soil…
    No!
    Breathless, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a looming shadow, dark and swift, a weapon in one gloved hand as it swept the poorly lit streets.
    God help me.
    Jon turned sharply, slipping and catching himself with one hand, to sprint forward, into a narrow alley, where the cheery Christmas lights no longer blinked, where only dark oblivion awaited him.
    Please don’t let this be a dead end, he silently prayed as the sounds of the carol oozed through the night.
    “…to save us all from Satan’s power when we have gone astray…”
    He nearly ran into the brick wall.
    Oh, God, a blind alley!
    He heard the sounds of his pursuer so close behind, felt his skin crawl, and his soul go numb as he turned and knew that there was no way out…
    Jon Summers opened his mouth to scream…
    And woke up with a jolt. He was shaking, the sheets of his twin bed wet with sweat, his heart tattooing in his eardrums as the recurring dream…the nightmare he knew to be a premonition, faded into the gray light of dawn.
    He let out his breath and hoped to God that he hadn’t screamed aloud and woken his mother. Fingers twisting in the bed sheets, he slowly let out his breath and knew, deep in his heart, that his dream was a foreshadowing of events to come. They might not play out exactly as he’d envisioned, but they sure as hell were going to play out.
    Oh, God, why me? he wondered as he always did whenever a vision passed behind his eyes. The ones at night scared the hell out of him and the ones during the day…well, he just had to hide those or else all the other kids would think he was a freak—not that they didn’t already.
    Kicking off the tangled sheet, he ran a hand around his jaw and felt a little bit of stubble on his chin. He needed a smoke and knew his mother wouldn’t approve. She didn’t approve of much he did these days, but she’d really flip out if she knew about this latest vision. Swiping the sweat from his forehead, he pushed Houndog out of the way, climbed out of bed, and plowed through the towels and clothes on the floor of his closet. Without turning on a light, he kneeled down, his fingers skimming the baseboard until he found the spot where he’d rolled up the carpet and cut a hole in the floorboards this past summer. Inside was his stash of all things his mother considered contraband.
    Slowly he lifted the board and reached into the dark hole. His fingers moved deftly over an old copy of Penthouse he’d found in the recycling bins just outside of town, a jackknife he’d purchased with his own money, a box of condoms Billy Eagle had swiped from an older kid, all the cash he had in the world—about seventy-eight bucks—and a framed picture of Jennifer Caruso. Finally, the tips of his fingers brushed against his pack of cigarettes and lighter.
    Not making a sound, he padded barefoot, wearing only his flannel boxers, to the window. Houndog let out a muffled bark as Jon unlocked the latch and shoved the glass open, but the half-grown pup didn’t move from his spot on the bed. Jon propped the window up with a stick, then climbed outside to the roof, where he sat on the old asphalt shingles. It was cool outside, the air brisk. Winter was coming, the night air frosty. Thousands of stars glittered in the sky and a solitary cloud passed in front of a lazy half-moon, just as it had in his vision.
    Shit. His heart was beating about a million times a minute. Hands trembling, he lit up and felt the warmth of