Above them they hear the shuffling, the halting steps over the rough boards. There is nothing they could do but wait them out.
A small, soft whimper escapes the lips of the smallest child. A hand roughly flattens itself across the offending mouth, startling her even more. A louder cry is somewhat muffled by the fingers but it’s too late.
They’ve heard and are trying to locate the source of the noise.
Panic spreads quickly through the bodies cramped into the space, a palpable feeling that sets more nerves on edge and creates additional nervous energy.
The energy translates into more panic, and more panic into noise. They clamour from above is deafening as the dead scramble to get at the living.
There is nowhere to go but up. Their earthen cellar nothing but a tomb they now want to escape.
And then it is quiet. No sound, no scraping. Just the absence of noise.
It is the calm before the storm. The moment before the fall.
With a resounding crack, the wooden planks overhead crumble downward, pinning some, killing others. Pandemonium ensues as the living try to fight, but they have been relegated to the bottom of the food chain now.
All Rights Reserved © 2013 Julianne Snow
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