The Radio, 1936


The windows were painted black.

When I found the house tucked away off a small cut road, I drew both Colts and eased the hammers back. The paint on the windows looked fresh, for there were splashes of black on the faded trim and warped clapboard sides. Whoever had painted the glass had done so in a hurry.

The front door was locked and barred from the inside, and I was forced to go ‘round the back to see if I could force my way in. I had better luck with the kitchen door, which was cracked down the center and offered little as a barrier.

Still, I didn’t holster the Colts. Instead, I kicked the door in off its hinges and listened to the sound of something large and heavy scurry through another room.

I followed the noise into a rough parlor and found a curious radio. It was attached to a battery, and a soft, hissing static came from the radio’s speaker.

There were words hidden in the static, spoken in a language I didn’t know and didn’t like the sound of.

There was something wrong with it, and it made me want to kill the person uttering the foul words.

I settled for ripping the connections off the terminals and knocking the radio onto the floor. I hesitated only a moment before I stomped both the radio and the battery beneath the hills of my boots.

A whisper of sound caught my ear, and I spun around, dropping to a crouch as I caught sight of a large shape rushing toward me.

The Colts roared in my hands, the .44 slugs slamming into the vampire’s chest and throwing him backward. He struggled to his feet, and I shot him through both knees and then his elbows. The bullets blew the joints apart, and I kicked the severed limbs off to the separate corners of the room while the vampire screamed and spat at me. He bucked and twisted on the floor while I reloaded the Colts.

Holstering the revolvers, I drew my knife, squatted down, and cut the head off. I stuffed his mouth with garlic, tossed the head into my rucksack, and took out a stake.

The sound of my mallet driving the stake home was warm and soothing in the dank and foul atmosphere of the house.

I doubted Virginia would be so easy to kill.

#fear #horrorstories #paranormal

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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