"Terence West - Phantoms" - читать интересную книгу автора (West Terence)

Chapter 1

The clock read 12:50, but that meant little to him. At his age he had, at best, a vague conception of time.
Rolling onto his back, he jostled his little legs and kicked off the covers. It was warm tonight, even for
him. Looking to his left, he stared at his fluffy brown teddy bear. It had fallen from a sitting position to a
crumpled mess next to his pillow. Reaching over, he snatched up the stuffed animal and held it tightly in
his arms. Charlie Grant would turn eight years old tomorrow.

Charlie was small for his age. The other kids he played with were much taller than he was. As he lay
quietly in bed, he wondered if he would ever grow up. He touched a small scratch on his left cheek and
winced. He would show those other kids once he grew up. He knew the cut was an accident, but they
didn't have to laugh at him. He didn't mean to cry, it just hurt so much. Next time, he would remember to
be much more careful as he slid into second base. Running his hand over his messy blonde hair, he tried
to think about something else.

Looking over at the nightstand next to his bed, he began to reach for his glass of water, but stopped. It
was empty. Pushing his bear aside, Charlie swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He wasn't supposed
to be up right now. It was way past his bedtime. He didn't want to make his parents mad, but he really
needed a drink. Sliding off the edge of the bed, he snatched the empty glass from his nightstand and
began to walk toward the door.

He stopped. Something didn't feel right. His wide innocent eyes quickly scanned his room. It was the
smallest room in the house, but his parents assured him it was just his size. To his left, there was a small
window that looked out onto the front yard of their two story house, and in front of him, he could see his
toy box, still heaped with action figures from the previous day's adventures. To his right was the closet.
Always closed at night. Always.

A small round nightlight was plugged into the outlet next to his door. He didn't really like the light. It
always seemed to cast strange shadows across the room; mean outlines of things he didn't like, but
Charlie was brave. Clenching the glass tightly in his small clammy hands, he pulled his attention away
from the shadows and walked briskly to get some water. His heart began to pound. It felt like something
was watching him. Charlie froze. The room seemed to become still almost instantly. He could hear his
heart pounding in his chest, but then came another sound. A sound so terrifying, it shook him to his very
bones. Slowly turning his eyes to the right, he could see his closet door slowly opening. It creaked and
groaned as its old hinges rubbed against each other. In an act of sheer will, Charlie slowly craned his
head to look at the closet. The door had been partially opened and was starting to close again. Looking
into the closet, Charlie could only see darkness, but then terror gripped him. He wasn't sure how, but
before he could even register the thought to run, he was already out of his room and charging toward his
parents. Bursting out of the room, Charlie dropped the glass to the floor and dove head first into his
parentsтАЩ bed. The bed shook hard, then stopped.

Charlie's father shot straight up out of bed. Groggy and dazed, he looked frantically around the room.
His boxers were hanging down slightly exposing the small gut he had been cultivating over the past few
months. Rubbing his hands over his eyes to wipe the sleep from them, he looked down to see Charlie
cocooning himself in his blankets. He let out a soft sigh of relief, then sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Charlie," he said softly. He could hear his only son breathing heavily, almost frantically. "Charlie," he
added a little more sternly. Reaching over slowly, he pulled the blankets away from Charlie's face. He
recoiled slightly when he saw the fear in his eyes. "What's the matter, boy?"

"What's going on?" his wife asked as she sat up in bed.