Crunch

A Horror Short Story

We thought it was just an old, haunted house. Turns out, it’s something much worse.

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Creak.

The cycle starts again. I clamp my hands over my ears, knowing what dreadful sounds come next.

Growl.

The creaking floorboard has alerted the monstrosity that stalks the halls of the abandoned house. With just one hint, the creature knows the precise location of the trespasser who dared move from his hiding place. It wastes no time in its pursuit.

Scream.

The throaty, cracking shriek of a teenager pierces the air. Who is it this time? Which of my friends is running for his life from that thing? How far will he make it before—

Crunch.

My stomach turns, and I move my hands to my mouth to smother a retching sob. I can’t allow any sound to escape me, or I’m next.

It’s unfair. We didn’t do anything to deserve this. It’s just a stupid, old story about a stupid, old house.

The wet, crackling noises coming from the floor above me finally stop. I place my hands on my knees and breathe out slowly, silently. My thighs are quivering from crouching so long in this spot behind a half-wall of crates in the cellar. The floor is unfinished and made of dirt, so I’m probably safe to shift, but I can’t will myself to move.

I didn’t even want to come. The guys called me names and ragged on me until I caved. Once they get on something, they never let it go. One of the guys still gets called Charlotte because of a dumb slip of the tongue in the third grade when we read “Charlotte’s Web,” so there was no chance I’d give them any ammo against me. Not like it matters now. I said yes, and now we’re all screwed.

It started the moment we stepped into the ruined foyer. I was the last one in, and I had to jump out of the way when the front door slammed shut. Some of my friends laughed, others yelled, and I yanked with all my might on a door knob that wouldn’t budge. A second later, we all fell silent.

It was perched right above the door. Poised like a spider observing all the little flies it had ensnared.

Ricky went first. He stepped back from the thing, like any of us would have, and a creak came from the floorboard beneath his sneaker. The creature snapped its ugly, eyeless head in his direction. Its big, batlike ears vibrated as it growled at Ricky.

Ricky screamed, turned to run, and made it two steps. The monster flung itself through the air, its pallid, spindly limbs spread wide, and it landed on him with a thud. It grabbed him in thin hands and huge jaws, and with a wrenching crunch, it broke something vital in him. The guys scattered as it went to work, snapping and crushing each bone in Ricky’s poor, limp body.

Creak.

No, no, no, not again, not another one.

Growl.

Don’t move, whoever you are, just hold still, and whatever you do, don’t—

Scream.

Please, no more.

Crunch.

My tears flow freely. I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been in this hell house. How many of my friends have fallen. No, not fallen. Call it what it is. Died. My friends are dead. Butchered by that hideous thing because we were curious and bored.

And that really is all there is to it. We’re a gang of bored guys with nothing better to do. And the word “gang” isn’t even accurate. It’s not like we do drugs or beat people up. Well, not all of us do drugs and beat people up.

The neighborhood started calling us a gang because we travel around in a pack and occasionally tag a brick wall with some cool pictures. And even that’s only when one of us can afford some spray paint (or if Mace can nick some from his dad’s hardware store).

When all else fails, we come to this old house and test the urban legend. All kids have tried it at least once. We’ve all thrown rocks through the windows to see if the stories of rocks flying back out were true. And this time… it was. Like the house was getting revenge for all the disrespect, a rock whistled through the air and hit Forrest right in the nose. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t also been creepy.

But the guys wanted to see who was inside, who dared to mess around with us. None of them believed it could be anything other than a prank.

We could never have imagined it would turn out like this.

My legs can’t take it anymore. I slip forward onto my knees and wince, but the impact is silent. I can’t bring myself to be thankful for it considering the circumstances.

I reach up to feel the lump on my forehead and my fingers come away tacky. The tangy smell of blood mixes with the mustiness. When we all ran from the foyer, we were in a blind panic. Several of us got stuck in a long corridor, ripping open doors along the hall to find an exit or a place to hide.

Stu always was unlucky, and his end was proof. He opened a door and ran headfirst into a closet full of mops and brooms. He tumbled backward onto the hall floor in a tangled heap, clattering and cursing. I leapt over him and made a beeline for the next door.

I closed my hand over the doorknob at the same moment my foot creaked on a floorboard. The growl that came from down the hall stopped me cold, but Stu continued to struggle against the mop and broom handles. The idiot flailed and screamed, begging me to come help him. He didn’t realize the huge favor he’d just done for me. When the creature set upon him, I wrenched open the door and dove in, only to pitch head first down a flight of wooden stairs to the cellar.

I scrambled across the dirt floor to my hiding spot, and I’ve crouched here since.

That was two of my friends in quick succession. I think there’s been four since then. There were eight of us who came in here.

Two left. Just me and someone upstairs. A horrible thought pries its way into my mind.

What if it’s just me? I could have miscounted the number of guys I’ve heard bite it upstairs. Or maybe one of the fellas found an exit, made it out… left me here.

And there’s no question that if one of us made it out, we’d leave the rest to rot. It’s been an unspoken understanding. If the cops show up, if the parents find out, if anything hits the fan, then it’s every man for himself. There are no loyalties amongst us.

So no help is coming. My best chance is that one other guy is still up there, closer to that thing, able to buy me time. Worst case scenario, it’s just me and that monster, and I’m trapped down here.

What even is that thing? It looked like a pale, naked old man at first glance, which would be freaky enough. But it’s worse than that.

No eyes or nose, and I don’t remember it having any private bits. A huge, gaping, red mouth with too many teeth. Thin but strong limbs, strong enough to snap bones without a care.

The urban legends we all grew up hearing about this house didn’t say anything about a monster. Just that it was haunted. But that thing is no ghost. Ghosts don’t grab you, bite you, break your—

Creak.

There’s someone else upstairs. One more guy. I’m not sure if I’m relieved to not be alone or heartbroken for what’s about to happen. Except the next sound isn’t the growl I’ve grown to expect.

Creak.

What’s happening? Where’s the growl-scream-crunch? Not that I wish that on anyone. But something in this change of pattern sends a prickling sensation across my skin, like an army of sharp-footed ants swarming over me. Silence passes, then another creak. Then another. Is someone sneaking through the house?

Or is the creature doing it? An image flashes into my head of the monster lurking in an alcove, reaching out a slender, clawed hand to press purposefully against a floorboard. To lure a little fly from his hiding place. It’s clever, no doubt about that. Clever and cruel.

I wipe my nose and barely stop myself from sniffling. I look around, peeking over the crates, and notice boxes and broken furniture scattered about the cellar’s edges.

Wait. I can see my surroundings? It’s been pitch dark down here this whole time, but I can now distinctly see around me. I slowly look around, afraid that the thing will hear the stiff turning of my neck.

Bluish light is leaking in from windows caked in grime. Hope is raised and dashed all at once as the windows are those small ones just barely above the ground. No way can I fit through those.

My heart sinks into my gut, and it all churns threateningly. Wouldn’t that be a great way to die? Betrayed by a bodily function, doomed by a fart. That would be just about right.

I just want to go home. Sure, home isn’t great, but anything is better than this. I’d even apologize to my old lady for stealing from her, and to my brother for wailing on him all those times. Anything to get me out of here.

Creak.

The creaking comes again, but closer. It’s looking for me. I want to spew every curse word I know. I bite down hard on my lip instead.

Growl.

Confusion whirls around my brain. There were a bunch of creaks before, but no growl. Now a closer creak, followed by a growl… does that mean…

Scream.

But this scream is different, horrible, earsplitting. It’s inhuman, like nothing I’ve ever heard before.

Laugh.

That laugh! I know that laugh! That nattering, obnoxious laugh has to be Hughey, the toughest guy I’ve ever known. He’s the primary reason for our bad reputation. Of course he’s alive, nothing could kill that crazy sonofa—

Scream.

A scream of terror. No, Hughey, no, if any of us can make it out, it has to be you, run, run, run!

The next sound I hear is the door to the cellar flying open, feet striking upon the wooden steps, and each of those steps groaning under Hughey’s weight. He hits the floor and looks around desperately, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth hanging open.

Hughey looks straight at me. Our eyes lock. Then the thing flies down the stairwell and lands on him.

Crunch.

They thrash, Hughey putting up the fight of his life despite his injuries. The monster throws him around like a ragdoll, knocking down crates and crashing against the junk strewn throughout the cellar. It finally pins Hughey down, and the growing light reveals a bloody gash on the thing’s head. Hughey must have surprised it somehow, fought back, hurt it.

That must be why it decides to take its time with him.

I can’t help him. But I can use this as a chance to escape. In their struggle, they knocked down the boxes and crates across the room from me, and light leaks in a vertical line between what must be a pair cellar doors. Bless you, Hughey!

It takes all the courage I can muster to stand up and sidle around the edge of the room. The monster is hunched over Hughey’s body, exacting a languorous revenge with snaps, cracks, and crunches.

I make it past the midway point. I have to take huge steps over the debris, tears returning as I am so close to freedom yet only a few feet away from oblivion.

My foot nearly slips in a puddle of blood. I have to hold back a titter of insane laughter than tries to burst through my lips.

I hike my leg up over a broken table, and my foot comes down on the other side with a clatter.

I freeze. But then another crunch comes from poor Hughey, and the beast continues to pay me no mind. Go, go, go!

I’m at the stairs and nearly weeping at my good fortune: they’re concrete. My shoes make no noise as I creep up the steps to the pale blue line of early morning light. I see no chains keeping the cellar doors shut, no latch. Just two large, wooden flaps bar me from survival. One good push, and I can make it out of here.

As I reach my hand forward, a little alarm rings in my head. There’s no more crunching. It is silent as a grave in the cellar behind me as my hand presses against the door and makes a resounding

Creak.

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Hey, you! Thanks for reading. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you being here spending some of your time and attention on something I created.

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