Saturday, September 19, 2015

Shadows Disinterred: Day 17

Word Count: 102,002

Summary of Events:
Dallas decided to try going into the barn again, but got panicked at the sight of Deby playing with a dead chicken before he got there. Later on Deby slid her finger over his neck like she was slitting his throat, and Dallas experienced another wretched nightmare. He overheard another conversation between Shirley and Deby in which Deby sounded eerily different as well. Finally he finished scything around the last building and got into an altercation with Deby . . .

Excerpt of the Day:
""You can't go anywhere," Deby said, a sinister smile curling her mouth.
"Oh I can't?" Dallas challenged. "Why can't I? I have feet."
"You wouldn't dare," Deby replied, her expression darkening.
"Absolutely I would dare," Dallas replied. "Just watch me."
Whipping around, Dallas stalked off along the machine shed, around the corner, and toward the gate.
"What do you think you're doing!?" Deby demanded loudly.
"Leaving," Dallas replied casually.
He climbed over the gate and started walking down the driveway. He walked on, a wave of confidence building in him as he made his way closer to the road; hopefully a vehicle would come by soon and he could hitch a ride — that would help things.
As he walked he heard the clanging of chain metal on other metal and other banging noises. He was about halfway down the driveway when he heard the rev of an engine. He kept walking.
The engine sound continued, and it sounded like driving, Dallas checked over his shoulder and saw the Ford. It was advancing toward him. Dallas kept walking, but kept to the side.
Uneasiness welled up in him as the engine sound increased, finally Dallas turned and looked. The Ford was bearing down on him at a terrifying rate. He started to run until it was close. He leapt to the side and rolled through the stubble.
Getting up, Dallas ran back toward the yard. He needed a vehicle, he needed to get away, and he had just the vehicle in mind, the only vehicle Deby wouldn't dare face — at least hopefully long enough for him to get to that diner in St. Brieux and call in backup.
He heard the truck revving behind him and threw a glance over his shoulder, the Ford was coming back now. Dallas powered over to the fence and vaulted it into the house site. His feet pounded the ground as he went around behind the house and hurried in the back door.
Shirley met him at the back door with a cup of coffee in her hands. "Just in time," she said. "Here, have some coffee."
"No, thank you," Dallas replied. "I don't drink coffee."
"Come, have coffee," Shirley said, holding it out to him. Had she suddenly lost a portion of her memory or something?
"No, I don't drink coffee, I'll just have water," Dallas said insistently.
"Drink it," Shirley said, her expression changing from kindly to cruel.
"No," Dallas insisted.
A hand seized the back of his neck, the next thing Dallas knew the hot, bitter brew was searing its way down his throat. Dallas tried to fight it, but it all went down before he could do anything about it.
He dropped to his hands and knees, tears of pain in his eyes, gasping, his throat raw from the heat of the drink. Another cup was put to his lips right away. Water. Dallas drank thirstily as a fog descended over him, darkness closed around him, then black."

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