Salem's Lot

5

‘Wait. Stop.’

Ben pulled over and they got-out together. They had been driving slowly down the Brooks Road, at the bottom of Marsten’s Hill. The wood-road where Homer McCaslin had spotted Susan’s Vega. They had both caught the glint of sun on metal. They walked up the disused road together, not speaking. There were deep and dusty wheel ruts, and the grass grew high between them. A bird twitted somewhere.

They found the car shortly.

Ben hesitated, then halted. He felt sick to his stomach again. The sweat on his arms was old.

‘Go look,’ he said.

Mark went down to the car and leaned in the driver’s side window. ‘Keys are in it,’ he called back.

Ben began to walk toward the car and his foot kicked something. He looked down and saw a.38 revolver lying in the dust. He kicked it up and turned it over in his hands. It looked very much like a police issue revolver.

‘Whose gun?’ Mark asked, walking toward him. He had Susan’s keys in his hand.

‘I don’t know.’ He checked the safety to be sure it was on, and then put the gun in his pocket.

Mark offered him the keys and Ben took them and walked toward the Vega, feeling like a man in a dream. His hands were shaking and he had to poke twice before he could get the right key into the trunk slot. He twisted it and pulled the back deck up without allowing himself to think.

They looked in together. The trunk held a spare tire, a jack, and nothing else. Ben felt his breath come out in a rush.

‘Now?’ Mark asked.

Ben didn’t answer for a moment. When he felt that his voice would be under control, he said, ‘We’re going to see a friend of mine named Matt Burke, who is in the hospital. He’s been researching vampires.’

The urgency in the boy’s gaze remained. ‘Do you believe me?’

‘Yes,’ Ben said, and hearing the word on the air seemed to confirm it and give it weight. It was beyond recall. ‘Yes, I believe you.’

‘Mr Burke is from the high school, isn’t he? Does he know about this?’

‘Yes. So does his doctor.’

‘Dr Cody?’

‘Yes.’

They were both looking at the car as they spoke, as if it were a relic of some dark, lost race which they had discovered in these sunny woods to the west of town. The trunk gaped open like a mouth, and as Ben slammed it shut, the dull thud of its latching echoed in his heart.

‘And after we talk,’ he said, ‘we’re going up to the Marsten House and get the son of a bitch who did this.’ Mark looked at him without moving. ‘It may not be as easy as you think. She will be there, too. She’s his now.’

‘He is going to wish he never saw ‘salem’s Lot,’ he said softly. ‘Come on.’