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Storm Shelter
by Dave Maynor

We had stepped in from the cold and the rain, my younger brother and I, and entered the Breitenstein house. It would seem foolhardy on any other day, like the countless times other children had dared one or both of us to entered the old place. But in the current torrential downpour, all reason was washed away by a flood of freezing cold wet anger from the skies. Just inside the entry hall I told myself, and no farther.

It was our own fault that we ended up here, well truly it was mine. I was immortal and invulnerable, which means I was 14 years old, and my younger brother Adam was only 11. We had spent the day in the park and as the other kids headed home to avoid the coming deluge I stood defiantly and refused to let mere weather deter MY fun, no matter how unwise a course it was, nor how much my younger brother decided to cry. It would do him some good I reasoned, and help build some character. By the time we had reached the door of the ramshackle old mansion I was partly glad for the stinging rain so that my younger sibling would not notice the tears of frustration streaming down my own face.

The entry way to the old house offered us shelter from the rain, but the screams of the wind were still there to send shivers down our spines like the wail of a banshee, and the cold seemed to drop another 15 degrees inside the house. As soon as I had my back firmly planted to the inside of the door and my eyes adjusted to the light I knew I had made a mistake. Nothing was visible save the few scant pieces of furniture left behind, wearing a wedding veil of gossamer cobweb. The whole of the interior looked like a fantastic winter wonderland with graceful drifts of snow covering all that sat in its path. This I could only make out from the faint light emanating from the turn at the top of the stairs.

Blinked in disbelief. Yes a light!

Normally when one seeks a light to aid them in the darkness there is a sudden relief, a kind reassurance like a warm reminder of the suns loving warmth coming to caress you. But in the cold darkness of this foreboding house, a house with so many tales of terror and dread, that stark light that dim blue glow.. seemed to be a beacon from the very pit of hell itself. It was then, as I turned to grab my brothers arm and twisted doorknob to grant us an egress, wet and cold salvation from unspeakable horrors that would make any ice cold rain feel as a warm embrace from a mothers arms, that I came to realize my brother Adam was not there.

"Adam!" I called softly to the darkness. But there was no reply.

"Adam, come on!" I cried a little louder, but I dared not scream too loud for fear of waking the demons which were surely waiting to pull me into the cracks between the floorboards, down into a hell of flame and razor sharp teeth. But no reply came again.

Gathering resolve, and with a grip firmly on the doorknob behind me I cried out "Adam!" as loud as I could. At that moment I wasnt sure if the wind had all but died down, or if the keen of the hags had purposely quieted to focus all my senses on the stark silence of the house, interrupted only by the increasing force of the beating of my own heart. The minute of silence that followed felt like an eternity as I strained my ears to hear any sound, and gathered all my resolve to keep from bolting through that front door.

"ADAM!" Came the scream, and then a million times "Adam!", swirling from all angles around me, and voices too innumerable to count. Screaming down at me from nowhere, echoing my own cries, and instilling a terrible malice with each cry. I covered my ears and dropped to the floor, but I could not drown out the voices. It was as if they spoke not to my ears, but to my mind. And in turn my stomach felt as if it seeked to burst from my mouth, to erupt from my mouth in a spray of blood and bile, desperate to get away from the neighboring heart which was tearing in two as it sank lower into my abdomen. What had I done?

After what seemed a lifetime of anguish the voiced receded, and all that was left were faint snickers of derision, taunts that came from varying angles to remind me of the horrible outcome my hubris had caused. But what was that outcome? Was I dreaming this all, or had my brother really vanished? As I looked to the floor in front of me I noticed the dust and cob webs were disturbed in the pattern of tiny footprints leading into the house. Adams footprints.

I steeled my resolve and started to follow them.

Deeper into the house I went, closer to the spot where the ghoulish acts that every kid hears as tales at night to keep them from roaming the streets had occurred. I was certain the decapitation had happened at the very spot I stood, and I was to be next. But I had to press on. Was this where the girl had been disemboweled? That table, was it where the family feast took on a whole new literal meaning? I had to block this out, had to focus on the footprints and follow them to my brothers salvation.

They turned slightly and headed for the steps. Panic flooded my mind. It was not the stairway I was approaching, my mind had blocked al physical reality from my senses, it was only the blue glow of hell that beckoned me forth, and the faint voices laughing almost imperceptibly at my stupidity, but I had to press on. For Adams sake.

I ascended the stairs, carefully and reluctantly, but that was the path the small footprints led me, and then I noticed them. Almost imperceptible, but more prominent with each step, a second set of footprints were appearing next to Adams. With each new rising plateau they were more definite, more pronounced. They were the bare feet of a giant of a man, and it seemed the left foot was almost a full 3 inched longer than the 13 inch right foot. One of the many mutations rumoured of the once master of this abode, and they were appearing next to my brothers own prints!

It was only 2 or 3 more steps, on the planks where I noticed my brothers own prints fading, that I turned and ran. I dont remember opening the door, nor do I remember the rain, or the wind, or the entire run home. My mother was frantic as I ran past her into the house, and right to my bedroom, the room I shared with my brother Adam. I see the image in my mind of her screaming, her face contorted and anger welling up as I pushed past her to climb under my covers and cry myself to sleep. I dont recall the conversation we had when she tore into my room, and the entire week following is a blur. Only those footprints burned into the back of my retina like a brand on my mind come to the surface when I think of that day, that week.

That and the laughter in the back of my mind!