Read Too Good To Be True - Book Six of the Connor True Series Page 1

Too Good To Be True

  By Andy Morris

  Copyright 2014 Andy Morris

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  ISBN 9781311087850

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  Too Good To Be True

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  Too Good to be True

  Dale Tanner was gone, along with Connor’s panic attacks. The fearful paranoia that had plagued him for the last few weeks was no more. In one blur of violence, that he struggled to recall in any detail, he had ended his problem with the local thug. Connor still found it hard to believe. It was a side of him that was totally alien and he did not wish to see it again. That wasn’t who he is. He was a regular dude, not some street like Tanner. His incident still unsettled him but with each passing day it was slowly getting easier to not think about it. He looked around the room he now found himself in.

  It was just as he remembered it. The colourful pictures of racing car drivers and and football players adorning the walls, the large wooden bed in the centre of the far wall covered by a white mosquito net. He beamed as he recognised Grandmother Nnedinma’s old house, the one that he used to visit in Nigeria when he was a child.

  He was dreaming again, he could recognise his dreams easily enough. Somewhere in this dream his doorway would be open. It could have opened out into the present, the past, the future or even another dimension altogether. Where and whenever it opened, the light from his mind would be shining into the Afterlife like a beacon and could draw the attention of the creatures that dwelled there. He should close it but over the last few months he had dreamed and he had even consciously opened his door and there had been no consequences. The Afterlife was eternal in its vastness and his light was nothing more than a pin prick in the infinite darkness so the chances of something finding him were small, although not impossible. He needed to be aware of the risks though and he should make sure he shut it. When he dreamed it would creak open of its own accord.

  Knowing he needed to close his door his dream-self idly drifted about the old house. He wandered from room to room, looking down stairs at the large open planned living area. Leading off from the landing Connor found long forgotten rooms that did he had not noticed last time he was there. Previously undiscovered tunnels lay hidden behind furniture and cupboards that led to yet more unknown places and he wished he had found them when he was younger. Only they hadn’t existed when he was younger. This was a dream and his grandmother was gone. It was just as the dream started to remind him of what he’d lost that the thing in the shadows made its move and started running.

  Connor felt rather than saw it: A threat coming at him from behind a door. He began to run down the long landing. It had used to be a dull creamy colour when he was younger but here in this dream the walls were decorated with ruby red wallpaper, the colour of blood. The shabby picture frames holding faded photographs of people long deceased rushed past him as he tried to get away from the thing that was in pursuit. He could run faster than this but the fog of the dream slowed his movements. The sound of throaty breathing rasped after him. The way its foul breath felt hot on the back of his neck insisted it would grab Connor at any moment. Icy fingernails of fear pressed into the back of his skull, prickling his skin as Connor fought down a spreading unease. At the end of the hallway was a bedroom door that led into his grandmother’s room. He was not allowed in there and had never seen inside but it was the only place he could go to hide. Connor made it to the door swung it open and dived through, slamming it shut behind him.

  Connor forced breath into his starving lungs as he stood with his back to the door to hold it closed. After a few moments he allowed himself to relax a little as a quite stillness descended. But it was a pregnant silence and he knew the monster hadn’t gone away.

  Connor looked about the room and recognised it as his own bedroom at home in his house. He was safe back in England, he thought, daring to hope he had left the monster in his grandmother’s house, but dreams pay little attention to the laws of physics.

  There was an enormous bang. The thing collided with the door, knocking Connor forwards a step or two. The whole doorframe vibrated as Connor threw himself backward against the door as the monster slammed into it again with its incredible strength. The reverberations shuddered through his body and Connor knew it was only a matter of time before the door started to break. He couldn’t hold it back for long and as he looked around his room, searching for something to help him, the monster hit the door again and there was an audible crack this time. Something fell at Connor’s feet and he looked down to see a silver door handle lying on the floor.

  It knew he was in here and it wanted him. The monster hit the door a fourth time and Connor was pushed forwards several terrifying inches before he managed to shove it closed again. It was taking all his strength to bare it the door but whatever was on the other side was stronger and heavier than Connor. There was nothing he could use to barricade the door; his chest of draws was on the far side of the room and he would never be able to move his bed before the monster battered its way inside.

  There was something he could use though - something under his bed.

  If only he could get to it but he daren’t leave the door unguarded. The second he stepped away the monster would smash its way in. Connor didn’t know if he’d have time to dive under his bed and retrieve the weapon he had hidden under there.

  He kept the sharpened scale hidden under his bed in preparation for when Abiku would come for him. He wasn’t sure how effective it would be when the demon eventually came for him but that makeshift knife was the only thing he had to fight it with. But it was doing no good under there because he needed it now.

  The monster hit the door a fifth time and Connor was rocked forwards. His panic was now rising up his chest filling his lungs and making it difficult to breathe.

  He had to run. He had to get away from here. There was nowhere to go, but he couldn’t stay here any longer. Connor tried to cry out for help but he could no longer talk. Seeing no other option and with time running out he dived forward towards his bed. He landed on the floor just as the door burst open, cracking against the wall and sending a shower of splinters sailing over his head.

  From the landing, a black gelatinous mass boiled into the bedroom. Connor watched in hypnotic fascination as the entity poured into the room, filling all available space in a roiling miasma of nightmares. Connor reached under his bed for his weapon but for one horrifying moment he felt his heart stop. His hand closed on empty air where the blade should have been. He tried again, groping desperately and then found what he was searching for. The smooth black blade touched his hand and he snatched it up, rolling over and holding the blade to his chest as if he could hide behind it.

  His skin prickled again as if hundreds of spiders were running up and down him. The monster would pounce upon him at any moment. The thick black mass reared up above him like a tsunami. Connor felt the spines of terror burst from his heart and piece his body in all directions, unable to comprehend the terrifying panic that was smothering him. As the monster bore down Connor cried out, the first and only sound he could make and immediately the monster vanished and the room went dark leaving Connor in a dizzying free fall i
nto disorientation. He scrambled backwards and found himself in his bed glistening in sweat and gasping for air as the dream finally released his tortured mind and he became fully awake.

  His mouth was very dry while his wild hair was stuck to his forehead with perspiration. His heart slowed its rapid beating beneath his chest as he looked around his bedroom, reacquainting himself to his surroundings. Although it was dark he was relieved to see his bedroom door was still in one piece on the far side of the room. The glowing red digital clock read 03:01 on the table next to his bed. He couldn’t face to look into it now though, it was late… or early, depending on which way you looked at it.

  There was an unpleasant smell in the room which he hadn’t noticed earlier. It was as if he’d left some food or a takeaway carton somewhere in his room and it had gone off, but he hadn’t done that since his university days.

  The abrupt waking had also brought dull ache to his head and the smell wasn’t helping. It felt like a headache but more so. It didn’t throb it just… ached as if he had been thinking about something to very hard and for a very long time. It was probably because he sat up too quickly. He sighed and