The Second Horror Read Free

Then he heard the floorboards creak. Scratch. Scratch-scratch. In the darkness, something growled. Brandt froze. He heard the click of claws on the floor. It’s coming for me, he realized too late to move out of its way. With a snarl, the creature sprang through the darkness—its outstretched claws reaching for Brandt’s throat.

Chapter 4
    “Nooooo!” Brandt let out a terrified wail. He shielded his head with both arms. The creature thudded against him, then fell heavily to the floor. Brandt crouched and waited. Where was the creature? Preparing to attack again? He couldn’t see it in the heavy blackness. But he heard scuttling is the far comer. I need to see it, Brandt thought frantically. I can’t fight it if I can’t see it. He fumbled for the light switch. He found it quickly. A dim ceiling light clicked on. Brandt blinked. His eyes moved warily around the room. The long, narrow attic had a low ceiling over plain plasterboard walls. The dusty floor was littered with boxes. To the right of the door, under the eaves of the house, Brandt spotted a small window, slightly open. But the creature? No sign of the creature. Scratch-scratch. Slowly, carefully, Brandt reached for a straw broom he spotted on top of a box. The creature stepped out from behind a box. Brandt narrowed his eyes at it. A fat raccoon. He uttered a relieved sigh. Only a raccoon. But it attacked me, he realized. A raccoon wouldn’t do that—unless something was wrong with it. Unless it had rabies. He stared at the raccoon. It was breathing hard. Its tail switched back and forth. Through the black mask on its face, it stared back at Brandt— and snarled. Oh, no, Brandt thought. It is rabid. The raccoon reared back on its haunches, preparing to spring again. Brandt gripped the broom with both hands. If only I had one of Dad’s spears now! he thought. The raccoon sprang.
    With a gasp, Brandt batted at the animal with the broom. The creature let out an angry hiss as the broom knocked it back to the floor. Brandt swung at it again. With a furious hiss, the raccoon swiped at the broom with its claws. Brandt swung the broom. And again furiously. Backing the creature to the wall. Snarling angrily, the raccoon scrambled up onto the windowsill. It pulled back its lips and bared its pointy teeth at Brandt. Brandt jabbed at the creature with the broom. The raccoon snatched at the broom with its teeth—and caught it. Startled, Brandt let the broom slip from his hands. It clattered to the floor. Brandt started to reach for the broom—but stopped when he noticed the raccoon crouched low, preparing to jump onto him. If he bent to get the broom, Brandt realized, the raccoon could leap and sink its teeth into his neck. The raccoon continued to utter its shrill, angry hiss. Spittle dripped from its mouth. Brandt slowly backed away, his eyes locked on the animal. His left leg hit something—a chair. With a startled cry, he stumbled and fell backward. The raccoon sprang again. Brandt jerked himself up. He grabbed the chair by the legs, lifted it, and jabbed it at the spitting animal. The raccoon retreated to the windowsill again. With a loud, angry shout, Brandt heaved the chair at it. The chair slammed against the wall. The creature dived out the window. Brandt lunged for the window, grabbed it by the top of the frame, slid it shut, and locked it. Struggling to catch his breath, Brandt gazed blankly around the attic. His entire body trembled. The narrow room appeared to tilt and sway. A close one, he thought. That creature put up a real fight. Had any other animals climbed in through the open attic window? Were there other animals hiding up here? Brandt wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he knew the answer. Still breathing hard, he made a careful search of the boxes. No. No more raccoons. No more animals. I’ll be safe now, Brandt thought. He turned out the light and, his legs weak and rubbery, started downstairs. His father stood in the hallway in his bathrobe.