scritch
Brendan woke up.
He'd heard something. He listened for a minute, but there was nothing. It was nothing. He closed his eyes again.
scritch scritch
There it was again. He opened his eyes and tried to see in the dark, wondering what it was. Perhaps something on the roof. Sometimes they'd get birds or rats or other things walking around on the roof above his room. Or it could have been a tree knocking against the -
scr-scr-scritch
No. It was something in his room.
Then a different noise. Scratching. Scraping. A sound like something scraping against cardboard. Then something fell. No, it was something moving, a dull thump as if something has jumped, just a little.
It was the box. Brendan already knew it was the box. He sat up. In the dark he could just see the outline of it, still sitting on his desk.
It moved!
Just a tiny bit, but it moved, shivered a little bit, then stopped. Then the noise again.
scritch scritch scratch
Brendan stood up and switched on his bedside lamp: he would be safer in the light. He could grab the box and throw it out of the window; as long as he was quick enough. He started stepping away from his bed, walking over towards the box. He just didn't want it in his room anymore, he could get rid of it. He could -
He stared at it. It was still and quiet now, looking just like a birthday present with the stupid rainbow paper all around it. He could look inside while it wasn't moving. He could open it and see what was inside there. He could see what was in there making all the noises, what was making it move.
He had to know.
He reached out, touched his fingertip on the lid. The box didn't move. He let his fingers drift around towards the edge. Then his other hand. Both hands on the lid. He could take it off. He could look inside. He just needed to -
He took the lid off.
In the dim light he couldn't see much. From where he stood he could only just see over the edge of the box. There was something round in there, like the edge of the easter egg he had glimpsed earlier. He leaned over, getting closer, closer, until he could see more of the egg, the cloth wrapping now torn and crumpled, the egg open, inside it was
Something red.
Something red, and furry, and sticky, and dead: Katarina's dead bunny. She had wrapped up her dead bunny and given it back to him. Except it wasn't dead any more: it was twitching. Its dead eye was roving around looking for him. Every so often its back leg would jerk, kicking backwards against the side of the box. It was trying to stand up, but it couldn't do it. Not yet. It wasn't completely alive again yet.
Brendan didn't want to wait and see what might happen when it finally managed to stand up. He slammed the lid back on the box, covering the terrible thing that was inside. He would throw it out of the window. It couldn't get him from outside. He could lock his doors, close his windows, hide under the covers: he'd be safe inside, safe from... it. He picked up the box.
There was a knock.
But it didn't come from the box. Almost straight away there was another one. Another knock. Something thumping against his window. He turned and looked at his door. Maybe he could take the box that way, go to the front door and throw it away. But that would take too long. Also the dead thing inside was moving more and more now. He had to get rid of it quickly, before it -
He looked back at the window; it was quiet there now, the noises had stopped. He walked over, gripping the box hard, always keeping one hand pressed over the lid. His curtains were drawn, they had robots on, robots with lasers, but they weren't going to help him now. He needed to open the curtains, that's what he needed to do; he needed to open the curtains and then open the window and then throw the box outside. It would all be over once he did that.
All he had to do was open the curtains. He put the box under his arm, trying to pretend he couldn't feel all those little movements coming from inside it, trying to pretend the scratching wasn't getting louder. With his free hand he reached over and slowly dragged his curtains open. It was black outside, the middle of the night; he couldn't see anything with his light on, but he really, really didn't want to turn the light off. He tried to look through the glass, to make sure there was nothing out there, nothing that could get him when he opened the window.
Something flew out of the darkness.
It banged against the glass and left a smear that looked like spit all over his window. Brendan's heart started pounding inside his chest, beating as though it was trying to burst out of him. He couldn't move. He wanted to turn around and run to the door, but he couldn't move.
He realised he'd dropped the box. It was down on the floor, lying by his feet. The dead bunny was next to it, still quivering, but now both its legs were kicking. Its jaw was all torn and bloody but he could see that moving as well, its red and shattered teeth trying to bite down. Every time it kicked it moved a little closer, its teeth coming a little closer towards him.
There was loud crack.
He looked back to the window and saw there was now a jagged line across it. Something else flew against it and the line grew bigger, splitting across the glass. Then another. This time he saw what it was: a bunny. But it wasn't like any bunny he'd ever seen before. Its eyes were yellow, full of hate and anger. Its fur was filthy and black, and across its feet he'd glimpsed a set of jagged claws.
And it looked hungry.
Then another one came, throwing itself against the window, and another. The glass broke a little bit more each time, the crack spreading wider and wider. He could see blood over the glass now; they were cutting themselves on the broken window, but they still kept coming.
Two at a time, then three, then more, then so many he couldn't count them, couldn't see out of the window. All he could see were the teeth, the eyes, and what they wanted to do to him when they got inside. They were coming for him.
The glass shattered.
Brendan screamed.
-- the end --
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends