The Fourth Trumpet Read Online Free
was in the kitchen, and that seemed miles away. Thrusting her arms in front of her like a kid playing Blind Man’s Bluff, she shuffled through the darkened living room, past Great Uncle Fred, and into the kitchen. She couldn’t believe how incredibly dark it was. Even in the middle of the night, some light always filtered in. But this? This was more than a normal nighttime darkness, or even a storm-induced darkness. This was the very essence of darkness.
An end-of-the-world darkness.
She scuffed her feet along the floor, making her way to a window, where she peered out on a scene that stole her breath away. Pitch-black outside. No moon. No stars. No light whatsoever. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
“Like being in a subterranean cavern or something,” she murmured. Thor, who’d followed her into the kitchen, whined. She touched the top of his head with her left hand . With her right hand she raked through her own shoulder-length brown hair. “Thor, I don’t know whether you know it or not, but we’re in trouble.” Her eyes looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, Lord, please tell me what’s going on. What’s happening? Is it the end of the world?”
Andrea continued to stare out at the strange scene being choreographed by sinister hands outside her once benign kitchen window. The yard that’d been the setting for so many family games and picnics was now an alien landscape. The thick cloud covering had lowered—if that were possible—and the absence of light was eerie. Last night’s full moon was long gone. No stars twinkled serenely against a velvet background. The oily, staining darkness was a living, breathing entity. It moved, pulsated, slithered in and out, over and under, like some gigantic serpent.
Turning at last from her brooding vigil, Andrea made her way into the walk-in pantry and found the box of candles. Grabbing two flashlights, an unopened package of D batteries—the candle box tucked under her chin—she returned to the living room and dropped the load onto the recliner. She opened the box, took out a big, squat candle, set it on the coffee table and lit it. She was amazed at how much light could be coaxed from one candle. Wrapping the afghan around her once again, she flopped in front of the now-cooling fireplace. Not one ember emitted a feeble glow. The fire was dead.
“Jesus loves me, this I know,” she sang in a childish voice that quivered on the high notes. “’Cause the Bible tells me so.” Not remembering the rest of the words, she hummed the simple tune over and over until her eyelids drooped. She tossed the blanket aside and got more wood out of the wood box. Laying the second fire was easier than the first. She had it roaring in less than a minute.
“Come on, doggie-boy,” she coaxed Thor. “Come sit closer to me. We’ll get some sleep. Maybe when we wake up, everything will be back to normal, and it’ll have just been a terrible, horrible dream. Right, boy? No more eating half a box of Oreos before bed.”
Thor wagged his tail and curled up on the hearthrug. Because he appeared content, Andrea was able to lie down and close her eyes. As sleep wove its mysterious net, she started The Lord’s Prayer. She didn’t like God—had given up on him when her father died, but praying was the only thing she could think to do. She was saying ‘deliver us from evil’ when the net caught her in its tangled weave, and she slipped into nothingness.
FIVE
Andrea screamed as she fell to her knees, her legs feeling like wet spaghetti. The thing was huge—a monster—bigger than she could have imagined. In her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have believed an animal could be this big, this horrific. This was not the way she wanted to die. She screamed again…and again.
“Berry! Uncle Mike! Help me! Oh, God! Someone! Anyone! Help me!”
* * * *
Someone was crying. Andrea burrowed deeper into the folds of her blanket and tried to ignore the intrusion into
An end-of-the-world darkness.
She scuffed her feet along the floor, making her way to a window, where she peered out on a scene that stole her breath away. Pitch-black outside. No moon. No stars. No light whatsoever. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
“Like being in a subterranean cavern or something,” she murmured. Thor, who’d followed her into the kitchen, whined. She touched the top of his head with her left hand . With her right hand she raked through her own shoulder-length brown hair. “Thor, I don’t know whether you know it or not, but we’re in trouble.” Her eyes looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, Lord, please tell me what’s going on. What’s happening? Is it the end of the world?”
Andrea continued to stare out at the strange scene being choreographed by sinister hands outside her once benign kitchen window. The yard that’d been the setting for so many family games and picnics was now an alien landscape. The thick cloud covering had lowered—if that were possible—and the absence of light was eerie. Last night’s full moon was long gone. No stars twinkled serenely against a velvet background. The oily, staining darkness was a living, breathing entity. It moved, pulsated, slithered in and out, over and under, like some gigantic serpent.
Turning at last from her brooding vigil, Andrea made her way into the walk-in pantry and found the box of candles. Grabbing two flashlights, an unopened package of D batteries—the candle box tucked under her chin—she returned to the living room and dropped the load onto the recliner. She opened the box, took out a big, squat candle, set it on the coffee table and lit it. She was amazed at how much light could be coaxed from one candle. Wrapping the afghan around her once again, she flopped in front of the now-cooling fireplace. Not one ember emitted a feeble glow. The fire was dead.
“Jesus loves me, this I know,” she sang in a childish voice that quivered on the high notes. “’Cause the Bible tells me so.” Not remembering the rest of the words, she hummed the simple tune over and over until her eyelids drooped. She tossed the blanket aside and got more wood out of the wood box. Laying the second fire was easier than the first. She had it roaring in less than a minute.
“Come on, doggie-boy,” she coaxed Thor. “Come sit closer to me. We’ll get some sleep. Maybe when we wake up, everything will be back to normal, and it’ll have just been a terrible, horrible dream. Right, boy? No more eating half a box of Oreos before bed.”
Thor wagged his tail and curled up on the hearthrug. Because he appeared content, Andrea was able to lie down and close her eyes. As sleep wove its mysterious net, she started The Lord’s Prayer. She didn’t like God—had given up on him when her father died, but praying was the only thing she could think to do. She was saying ‘deliver us from evil’ when the net caught her in its tangled weave, and she slipped into nothingness.
FIVE
Andrea screamed as she fell to her knees, her legs feeling like wet spaghetti. The thing was huge—a monster—bigger than she could have imagined. In her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have believed an animal could be this big, this horrific. This was not the way she wanted to die. She screamed again…and again.
“Berry! Uncle Mike! Help me! Oh, God! Someone! Anyone! Help me!”
* * * *
Someone was crying. Andrea burrowed deeper into the folds of her blanket and tried to ignore the intrusion into