Read Christmas Eve on Haunted Hill Online
Authors: Bryan Smith
The blonde girl said,
“Just burn it, for fuck’s sake.”
Greg looked at her.
“What’s your name?”
“Simone Barclay. The
dead guy upstairs was my boyfriend, Spence. The other dead guy is Bradley,
Karen’s boyfriend. Karen’s the bitch in your jeep. Oh, and there’s Terry, the
guy who lost his head in the hallway.”
Greg frowned at the
slight note of irreverence in her voice. “Who was Terry to you? A friend?”
Simone smiled. “Sort
of. More like a pet. He sacrificed himself to save me. It was actually kind
of heroic. A little, anyway.”
Greg and Luke exchanged a
look.
Luke knew they were
essentially thinking the same thing.
This girl’s a piece of
work
.
Greg cleared his throat.
“If we burn this place, what will you tell the police about us?”
Simone shrugged. “Some
strangers driving by saw the fire up on the hill and came up here and rescued
us. Couple of black dudes in a truck. They didn’t give their names.”
Luke frowned. “Think
your friend will back up that story?”
“She’s not my friend, not
anymore. But, sure, she’ll back it up. Why wouldn’t she? No one will believe
us anyway if we told them what really happened here. We’ll say we were in
there goofing around the way kids do when we were attacked by a psycho who
later set the place on fire. The cops around here are lazy and stupid.
They’ll buy it.”
Greg grunted. “You seem
pretty sure about that. What makes you such an authority on the subject?”
“I’m
not
an authority
on the subject.” Simone rolled her eyes. “But what other play is there? I
mean, unless you’d rather leave this fortress of evil standing.”
No one wanted that. In
the end, they agreed to take the chance.
The house went up fast,
the flames already rising high into the evening sky as the Wrangler made its
slow way down the treacherous narrow drive.
Luke popped open a beer
and passed another one to Greg, who drank while driving one-handed. When
Simone asked for one, Luke’s impulse was to say no, but then she made some
obnoxious remarks about her memory getting clearer. Maybe, she said, the guys
who rescued her were actually a couple of old white dudes. And maybe they’d
been driving a Wrangler instead of a truck.
Greg groaned. “Bitch is
ruthless. Give her a beer.”
Luke tossed a can into
the back, smiling when Simone yelped at the abrupt appearance of the aluminum
missile.
They were nearly to the
bottom of the hill when Luke glanced at his friend and said, “If I tell you
something, will you promise not to laugh?”
Greg glanced at him,
arching an eyebrow. “Of course not, but tell me anyway.”
Luke sighed. “I kept
wondering earlier if running into you at Sal’s was some kind of divine
intervention. Like maybe you were sent by, I don’t know, God or something to
steer me out of the darkness.”
Several moments went by
before Greg responded. He shifted a little in his seat. Somewhat nervously,
Luke thought. “Well, now that you mention it…it’s the strangest thing. I
never go out to Sal’s anymore. Not often, anyway. And sure as hell not on a
night like Christmas Eve. But I had this weird idea in my head that I
had
to go there tonight. More of a compulsion. Didn’t know why, but it was
bugging the shit out of me. So I hopped in the Wrangler and drove out there.”
Luke glanced out the
passenger side window at the swirling snow. “And there I was.”
Greg made an affirming
noise. “And there you were, my old buddy back in town for the first time in
ten fucking years.”
A derisive snort came
from the back. “Gosh,” Simone said, with what they were now realizing was
characteristic sarcasm. “Hallelujah. God be praised. It’s a motherfucking
Christmas miracle. Except for, you know, the dead people. But never mind
them. I’m okay. That’s what matters.”
Greg and Luke exchanged
another look.
She’s kind of a
terrible person, but what can you do
?
Greg turned on the radio
when they reached the road, tuning it to an AM station. The reception wasn’t
great as the voice of Burl Ives crackled out of the Wrangler’s speakers. Greg
left it there and started humming along anyway. Soon they all were, even the
girl named Karen, although in her case the sound was emerging between muffled
sobs.
The song was “Holly Jolly
Christmas.”
Humming transitioned to
singing.
Four voices rang out,
filling the jeep’s interior as the survivors of that night drove away from
Haunted Hill forever.
THE
END
Spotify playlist for CHRISTMAS EVE
ON HAUNTED HILL: “Drinkin’ with Luke and Greg on Christmas Eve.”
https://open.spotify.com/user/bryandsmith/playlist/4IoEIZKlvp1xEk0B2nZm1B
Bryan Smith is the
author of numerous previous novels and novellas, including Slowly We Rot, All
Hallow’s Dead, 68 Kill, The Reborn, Depraved, The Killing Kind, Strange Ways,
House of Blood, and The Freakshow. Bestselling horror author Brian Keene
described Slowly We Rot as, “The best zombie novel I’ve ever read.” 68 KILL is
set to become a motion picture directed by Trent Haaga and produced by Snowfort
Pictures. Bryan lives in Tennessee, where he spends the bulk of his
non-writing time reading, binge-watching things on Netflix, and having the
occasional beer or two.
Visit his home on
the web at
www.thehorrorofbryansmith.blogspot.com
.