Dead City Read Online Free

tapes she had listened to, and self-hypnosis YouTube videos she had watched. Eventually, and without her even noticing, a wave of fatigue washed over her, until she was brought back to the realm of consciousness by a thud.
    Her eyes burst open, wide and alert. The fatigue vanished in an instant, as if it were never there. She sat up in bed and looked around in the darkness for the source of the sound.
    Thud .
    Ashley reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it on. Everything was as it had been in the room before she lay her head down, but she was certain the sound wasn't in her imagination.
    Thud . Thud .
    It was coming from downstairs. She reached for her dressing gown and tried to find a blunt instrument. She had heard stories on the news of people opening their doors and being mauled by new unliving that hadn't been rounded up yet.
    “If only they had the foresight to prepare...” the reporters always seemed to say.
    Thud. Thud.
    'I'm going to be one of those stories...' Ashley said to herself, as she made her way down the stairs, cautiously approaching the door. She flipped open the mail slot and looked out, expecting to find a creature of the night lurking in her garden. There was nothing, just gnomes amidst the grass, and they were carved of stone and solely invested in fishing, which was hardly threatening behaviour.
    Thud .
    She jumped. The door was vibrating from the sound, but there wasn't anyone outside to be causing it. Slowly, and fully aware it was a terrible idea, she flicked the latch off and pulled at the door. It reluctantly opened with a soft squeak and she prepared herself to look out, expecting to be mauled by a monster at any second.
Peeking her head through the gap in the door, Ashley discovered that the garden was empty of undead foes. She tried to push back the internal narration of the emphatic news anchors she imagined reporting her story
    'If only she hadn't stuck her head out the door, the creature wouldn't have bitten right through her dainty, fragile neck. She only had herself to blame, presenting it like an all-you-can-eat buffet.'
    Contrary to her running commentary, her dainty neck was not bitten as she looked around outside, and she closed the door, relieved. She returned to her bedroom, adrenaline subsiding, and hoped that the momentary excitement would wear her out and make the journey into slumber easy and swift.
    Removing her dressing gown, Ashley returned to bed. She tried to clear her mind and started her deep breathing again. Finding stillness. Finding silence.  Thoughts pushed away, she grabbed hold of fatigue and followed it, drifting off bit-by-bit. She barely felt the icy arm wrap around hers. A cold body bringing itself closer, spooning, nuzzling into her.
    “You're cold...” she said, half-asleep.
There was no response. Then the adrenaline was back, her eyes open, she rolled out of bed leaving a figure under the sheets.
    “Who the fuck?” she screamed at the thing lying in the covers.
There was no response. The figure sat up, and as it did, seemed to lose corporeal form, the sheets falling through it, as if nothing was ever there.
    She reached on the dresser for something to hit her intruder with, turning back with a hand mirror, batting it through the air impotently.
    “Who are you? What are you doing here?” she asked, but the thing had no mouth from which to respond, let alone a body to hit.
     
    * * * *
     
    Ashley had never sat through a whole documentary about the many varieties of unliving, and obviously not one about poltergeists.
    If she had, she would know that poltergeists had no mouth, no voice, and when threatened would almost always respond the only way they knew how.
     
    * * * *
     
    One by one, her books flew off the shelves, throwing themselves at the wall opposite in kamikaze leaps. Her cupboard doors swung open and closed, rat-a-tating a drumbeat that matched her increasing heart rate. She ran out of the room, the floating and falling objects