I Am In Need Of Assistance (cont.)

Or, A Collaboration Is In Order by S.R. Torris (and others)

So it seems like some other folks hopped on the proverbial bandwagon and added to this adventure and it is sharing time. Hope you like, and feel free to comment.

Chapter 3 Contributed by A.W.Whitford:

“There’s a ghost in the trees.”

He continued searching through the cabinet over the stove, mildly ignoring the voice drifting up from below the counter, shifting boxes of rice and bottles of oil. The baking powder was somewhere up there he’d seen it just yesterday.
He felt a tug at his sweat pants again, and the same small voice from before repeated its previous statement.

“There’s a ghost in the trees.”

This time he stopped and turned and looked down to see his son looking up at him with sleepy eyes, his blanket lying in a heap on the kitchen floor, one small hand clutching his sweatpants.

“What did you say?”
“I said—there’s a ghost in the trees. The ones by my window.”

His hand had released the leg of his father’s pants and one finger pointed in the direction of his room.

His father bent down, knees popping in angry opposition to the sudden change in position.
“It’s probably just the wind,” he said. “There are no ghosts in the trees. Sometimes the wind makes crazy noises blowing through the leaves and the limbs bang against the house. I need to trim them back a little.”

The wind buffeted the house, and rain washed against the kitchen window as if an example of the previous statement’s validity was required.

“See,” he said. “Its storming outside so the trees are making a bunch of weird noises. It’ll calm down in a little while, as the storm passes.”
David looked into his father’s eyes as though he was looking to see if he was telling the real truth, or just the truth that parents used to pacify a child. He never fell for that.
There was a difference in his father’s tone of voice and he could always tell the difference.

“It’s too loud,” he said. “Can I sleep in your room, in your bed?”

His father picked him up and wiped the hair away from his eyes.

“Sure you can, you want a ride and a tuck in?”

He shook his head and leaned against the broad shoulder. His father felt the warmth of his son against him and his heart swelled with love. He squeezed him tight to reassure him and through him up on his back.

“Okay, Bubba Dubba lets ride.”

He hummed the theme song to Bonanza on his way to his room and deposited his son in the large bed, covering him with the comforter.
David looked up at his father’s face and touched the whiskers on his chin.

“You should grow a beard.”

His father grinned and stood up rubbing his jaw.

“You think so?”

David shook his head, his sleepy eyes already beginning to droop.

“Maybe I will, Bubba Dubba, maybe I will.”

He tucked the little boy in and turned out the light.

“Goodnight Bub, sleep tight.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah Bub.”
“Could you leave the hall light on?”
“You bet.” he said, and reached his hand down the wall to flip the switch turning on the hallway lamp. David was asleep before he could turn back around.

David’s father crossed the hall to his son’s room and carefully made his way across the disaster of toys and clothes, trying not to step on the small sharp Lego pieces that seemed to multiply throughout the house, hiding in the carpet and under every cushion on his furniture. He stood looking through the window as the wind howled, forcing the rain in torrents against the glass. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the trees scraped the siding just outside the bedroom.

He was about to turn and leave the room when lightning flashed, lighting the dark with a sudden burst of white light, bright enough to make him blink. In that moment he saw a man standing in the street looking up at him, a backpack slung across one shoulder, a white garbage bag stuffed with what looked like clothes clenched together in his right hand. David’s father took a step backwards startled by the man who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. He moved toward the window again straining to see through the rain soaked glass.

The man was gone.

He looked again, knowing he’d seen the man standing there, searching through the wet branches and leaves of the tree waving in the wind. The phone began to ring in the kitchen just as the doorbell chimed its familiar cheerful sound.

Ding, Dong.

“What the?”

He walked out to the hallway and down the stairs, the phone still ringing, the doorbell dinging. Turning into the kitchen he slapped the phone off the wall cradle and answered.

“Hello?”

He looked at the caller ID window.

Blocked.

Ding, Dong.

“Hello?”

Still no answer.

Ding, Dong.

He set the phone on the counter and headed for the door, just as the person on the other end answered, the tiny voice lost in the sound of the rain pounding the roof.
David’s father peered through the peephole. There on the other side of the door stood a man drenched by the rain, his brown hair plastered to his head, water dripping from his earlobes. The man on the other side of the door was looking back toward the street. As if he could sense someone watching him he turned to look directly at the peephole and smiled as though someone was about to take his picture.
David’s father stepped back from the door shaking his head. There’s no fucking way, he thought.

“No fucking way.

Chapter 4 Contributed by R.J.Keith:

She loaded the gun with trembling fingers. The bullets glowed bright blue in the warehouse’s dim light. Each click of the bullet securing itself into the magazine made her wince, certain that someone had heard her. When no one came through the large bay door, guns blazing, she relaxed. Relaxed just enough to not dart a look over her shoulder every three seconds. It was every four now.

Blood mixed with sweat dripped down her chin and onto her fingers, causing her to fumble with the delicate bullets. She took a shuddering breath and tried to steady her nerves.
Rain patters against the warehouse’s metal roof, driven to a frenzy by wind. Voices come from the other side of the wall behind her. A female’s voice, high and annoying and with a holier-than-thou tone. Abigail winces against the voice. It sounded worried. It should be worried.

She was number one on the list. Her little boy toy was number two. Anyone else in the room was just collateral damage, explainable to her boss.
The Walker had caught her unawares once. He wouldn’t catch her unawares again. And David.

David would pay for scarring her face.

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