As the warm alcohol seeped into the carpet, he blinked his eyes and rubbed his head. Looking around the room, he realised it was daytime. The sun was streaming in through the windows. He scooped up the glass, and yawning, rubbed his hands over his bristly chin. What had woken him? There were noises coming from the stairwell: running footsteps, shouts, cries, and screams. “What now?” he said and sighed. The sunlight had warmed the bar and he padded across the thick carpet to pour himself another scotch. As he did so, he heard a bang against the door to the stairwell. “Who’s there?” he said. Leaving his drink on the granite bar, he walked over to the door. “Who’s there?” he said again. He listened but heard nothing. The footsteps and shouting were inaudible now. In the distance, he heard very faint noises, but nothing to worry him; the screaming had stopped. As he stood with his hand on the door handle, a soft tapping came.
What do You think about Devouring The Dead (Book 1)?
