The Horror Megapack_ 25 Classic and Modern Horror Stories ( PDFDrive )

corner. Each time Smithers tried to talk to the Germans about Carter, the man
with the broken arm, but they either didn’t understand or weren’t interested in
anything but their immediate task.
There didn’t seem to be much else we could do but make the poor devil
comfortable. Carter seemed in a kind of fever dream, talking or moaning every
now and again, sometimes thrashing about, and I thought that sleep was
probably the best thing for him. He wouldn’t be aware of his pain. We took turns
sitting beside him, talking soothingly if he moaned, trying to make him as
comfortable as we could. He seemed to be growing steadily worse despite
everything we did.
“He’ll be dead by morning,” I heard one of the men mutter.
Smithers shot him an angry look. “None of that,” he said. “He’s a strong lad,
our Carter. He’ll pull through.”
That evening the Germans served the same sort of greasy stew again, and after
we finished, they brought in another three British prisoners. I wondered if that
was a good or a bad sign for my friend Lou.
Darkness fell, and I began to feel sleepy even though I’d spent most of the day
half drowsing out on the straw. I stretched out and began to drift off.
Suddenly Carter thrashed like a crazed mule. His boot struck me in the arm,
and cursing, I sat up and pinned his legs to protect myself.
“Easy there,” I murmured. “Easy.” At last he lay still, panting. I arranged the
straw under his head, then looked at the others.
None of them had moved a muscle to help. I shook my head. Carter was one of
theirs. They should be the ones looking after him, I thought, not me. A few
seconds later Carter lay quietly again. Everyone else was snoring softly. Rising,
I moved to the other end of the boxcar. He wouldn’t wake me up again tonight, I
thought. If he cried out, one of his mates could see to him.
Then I heard the bar on the door lift, and rollers squealed as the door moved
aside. A dark shape stood silhouetted in the opening. It moved forward, snuffling
the air like a pig. At once it drifted to the injured man, hunched over him, and a
soft lapping sound began.
I had to be dreaming, I thought. I rubbed my eyes, but the door still gaped and
the creature still crouched over Carter. Everyone else still seemed to be asleep. I
touched my sore arm. I would have been asleep, too, I thought, if Carter hadn’t
kicked me.
Moving as softly as I could, taking great care not to rustle the straw, I crept up
on the stranger. At the time I thought he must have heard me, but now I know he