The Fourth Trumpet Read Online Free Page A

her dream world but it wouldn’t stop. Someone needed help. Lost in her web of sleep, she didn’t know what to do.
    The weeping grew louder. Heart wrenching. The sobbing tore at the soul like cats’ claws tearing a gauzy curtain. Andrea moaned. In her half-sleep, she writhed in discomfort. She wanted to help them, but she didn’t know how. “Who are you? What can I do?” she called out. “What can I give you? How can I help?”
    The wailing stopped.
    Andrea opened her eyes, blinked, and tried to focus. Where was she? Who’d been crying? Was her family back? It was so dark! She couldn’t see anything. Had she gone blind? She raised her hands in front of her face and barely made them out. Beside her, the neighbors’ dog was curled in a tight ball—nose to tail—not moving. She pushed her chilled body against the brute, hungry for any warmth he could spare.
    Then she remembered.
    “Good, doggie,” she whimpered. “Good boy. Don’t leave me, Thor. Please stay with me.”
    Her eyes at last grew accustomed to the impossible blackness. She could make out the humps of furniture, see the burned stub of the candle on the table. You should’ve blown it out before going to sleep she scolded herself. She had to be prudent now. No telling how long this present darkness would last. She needed to practice economy, not be stupid or wasteful.
    “Okay, Thor, first thing we’ve got to do is make better sleeping arrangements. I’m going upstairs and bring down some sleeping bags. Then we’ll see about getting you some proper food. But before I do anything, I really need to use the bathroom.”
    She groped her way to the small restroom in the hall beside the staircase. Finished, she was about to rinse her hands when she remembered their water predicament. Then she thought of the toilet. She’d been able to flush this time, but what about the next…and the next? The tank at the back filled up with water—water brought in by way of the electric pump from their well via all the pipes and things she’d never in her entire life cared about.
    “Okay,” she told Thor as though he were an interested party. “I have to bring in water from the creek. This is going to be a problem.” She made her way back to the living room and shuffled to the big picture window that faced the road. There was no way she’d be able to go outside—at least, not now, not while the evil, coiling, sinuous blackness filled the yard. As she watched, she swore it breathed. It pulsated, swelled and shrank, swelled and shrank, like the heaving chest of an enormous monster. Was it waiting for its prey? She grabbed a drape in each hand and tugged them closed.
    “Okay…we’ll get the water later. I-I’ll get the sleeping bags now and-and then we’ll decide what to do next. How’s that?” Thor just sniffed.
    Clinging to the banister, Andrea went upstairs. For some reason, this was more frightening than she’d expected. Her once familiar home had taken on a demonic personality. It didn’t know her, didn’t even recognize her. It treated her like a stranger. Memories of being five or six and being left upstairs while Berry ran on down ahead of her, turning off the lights as he fled, naughty giggles echoing after him, flooded over her. She didn’t like the upstairs, or the dark. Oh, God, I hope I never need to go down to the basement…
    Without much thought, she dragged out sleeping bags and blankets from the hall closet and tossed them, one by one, over the railing at the top of the stairs. They landed with dull thuds on the foyer floor below. One bag rolled near the grandfather clock. It was hers. It didn’t matter. She’d use Aunt Claire’s.
    Scanning the area for anything else she might need, Andrea went into her own room and gathered an armful of underwear, long sleeved flannel shirts, some sweaters, and another pair of jeans. Then she hastened down the stairs to the relative comfort of the living room. Thor was occupying himself with a