The Beast House

The Beast House

Richard Laymon

Dear Mr. Hardy,

I am writing to you because I have just read your book, Horror at Black River Falls, which I know was a best seller and must have made you a fortune. As the book is supposed to be a true story, I am wondering whether or not you might want to write a story I know of. It is also a true story. It is even more horrible than what you wrote in your other book. Let me tell you, it makes my hair stand up just thinking about it, and I don’t scare so easy.

It is about a haunted house in the town where I live, except the house isn’t literally haunted if you mean ghosts. It is haunted by some kind of thing that’s slaughtered maybe fifteen or more people over the passed hundred years. I mean slaughtered. It makes mincemeat out of them.

I think it would make a terrific book for you to write.

If this sounds interesting to you, please let me know right away as I’ll find someone else otherwise. I happen to think this is right up your alley. You can call it Horror at Malcasa Point, which is where I live and where the house is that the monster lives in, which is known as Beast House. Maybe you have heard of it.

Here is where I come in. Last Summer, I got my hands on this really ancient diary that was written in 1903 by Lilly Thorn. I work at my parents’ motel, and found the diary under mysterious circumstances in one of the rooms I was cleaning. Nobody knows I have it. (Except now you know. You must promise to keep this a secret, as I would be in deep sh trouble if words of it got to certain people. I mean seriously. We are talking here about my life.)

Anyhow, this diary I found is hot stuff. Lilly Thorn, the woman that wrote it, was the very first person ever to live in Beast House, and she goes into all kinds of details about where the monster came from, and what it’s like, and everything. I mean everything. If you can believe this, she even had sexual intercourse with it. I don’t mean once, but constantly like she was obsessed. It’s steamy stuff, as you can see from the xerox of the page I’ll attach. The diary also goes into the first murders and let me tell you, this sure is not the way they tell it on the tour!

So if you are interested in another best seller, I think you should let me know and maybe we can split the take.

Sincerely,

Janice Crogan

The Welcome Inn

Malcasa Point, CA 95405

P.S.: This thing here makes your ghost in Black River Falls look like a sissy.

From Diary I Found

He moved behind me. His claws pierced my back, forcing me to my knees. I felt the slippery warmth of his flesh press down on me, and I knew with certainty what he was about. The thought of it appalled me to the heart, and yet I was somehow thrilled by the touch of him, and strangely eager.

He mounted me from behind, a manner unusual for humans as it is customary among many lower animals. At the first touch of his organ, fear wrenched my vitals, not for the safety of my flesh but for my everlasting soul. And yet I allowed him to continue. I know, now, that no power of mine could have prevented him from having his will with me. I made no attempt to resist, however. On the contrary, I welcomed his entry. I hungered for it as if I somehow presaged its magnificence.

Oh Lord, how he plundered me! How his claws tore my flesh! How his teeth bore into me! How his prodigious organ battered my tender womb. How brutal he was in his savagery, how gentle his heart.

I knew, as we lay spent on the earthen cellar floor,

P.S.: See what I mean?

GORMAN HARDY

PO Box 253

Cambridge, Mass. 03138

June 3, 1979

Miss Janice Crogan

The Welcome Inn

Malcasa Point, CA 95405

Dear Janice,

I must begin by offering an apology for the lengthy delay in answering. Unfortunately, my publisher was rather slow in forwarding your letter of March 31.

Since the publication of Horror at Black River Falls, I have been bombarded by fan letters, not a few of which offered ideas to inspire another blockbuster. Most such suggestions, of course, were utter tripe. Yours, however, did arouse my curiosity.

Unfortunately, my preliminary research has turned up very little about “Beast House.” I was able to determine, through various traveler’s guides of California, only that such a place does exist in the town of Malcasa Point, that several murders allegedly took place there, and that guided tours of the house are available. While this information is rather paltry, it does substantiate several of the claims made in your letter.

I found myself most intrigued by the photocopy you enclosed of the diary page. If the diary proves to be authentic and if it contains sufficient material along the lines you suggest, it might very well provide a launching pad for a study of “Beast House.”

Naturally, I must read the diary in its entirety before making any commitment. Enclosed find my check in the amount of twenty dollars to cover copying and mailing expenses.

Very truly

Gorman Hardy

June 11, 1979

Gorman Hardy

PO Box 253

Cambridge, Mass. 03138

Dear Mr. Hardy,

Enclosed is your check for twenty dollars. I am really glad you are interested and I am sure your not trying to pull something, but no way am I going to send you the whole diary because where does that leave me? Maybe I am paranoid, but I need to have an agreement about my split before you can see any more diary. I think fifty-fifty would be fair, as its all my idea and you can’t do anything without the diary.

Sincerely,

Janice Crogan

GORMAN HARDY

PO Box 253

Cambridge, Mass. 03138

June 16, 1979

Miss Janice Crogan

The Welcome Inn

Malcasa Point, CA 95405

Dear Janice,

Naturally, I am disappointed by your response concerning the diary. I do, however, understand your reluctance to place trust in a total stranger. As a professional writer for nearly twenty years, I have frequently been “stabbed in the back,” not only by strangers but by those I deemed friends. One can never be too cautious.

While I do not feel that the situation, at this time, warrants an agreement of any kind, I want to assure you that I remain interested in pursuing the project.

During the last weekend in August, I will be addressing a convention of the National Library Association in San Francisco. If you are agreeable to the arrangement, I will visit Malcasa Point following the convention, prepared to discuss terms with you, read the diary, and embark on such research as will be necessary to get the project under way.

Very truly,

Gorman Hardy

CHAPTER ONE

“What you need,” Nora said, “is a good fucking.”

“I see.”

“Look around you, take your pick. You’re the bestlooking gal here.”

Tyler didn’t look. Instead, she took a sip of her Baileys.

“I’m serious,” Nora said.

“You’re plastered.”

“Plastered but lucid, hon. You need a good fucking. You’ve been pissin’ and moanin’ ever since we got to San Francisco. Shit, if you didn’t want to come to the convention, you should’ve stayed home.”

“I didn’t know it’d be this bad,” Tyler said.

“What’d you expect, Ringling Brothers? These things are always a drag. What do you want from a bunch of librarians?”

“It’s not that.”

“What is it?”

“The city.”

“What’s wrong with the city? It’s gorgeous.”

“I know.”

“You pissed ’cause the cable cars aren’t running?”

“Sure,” Tyler said. She tried to smile, but couldn’t.

“Come on, what’s wrong? Cough it up.”

“I just feel rotten, that’s all.”

“Rotten how?”

“Rotten lonely.” Tyler lowered her gaze from Nora’s shadowy face. She stared at the candle in front of her. Its flame streaked and blurred as tears came to her eyes. She backhanded the tears away, and took a drink of her Irish cream. “It’s this damn city,” she said. “Being here again. I thought I’d be okay, but…everywhere I go, everywhere I look, they’re all places I’ve been with him.”

“A guy.”

Tyler nodded. “He even brought me up here once to see the revolving bar. We had margaritas. Then we walked down to North Beach and went to the City Lights and that second-hand bookstore across the alley I showed you yesterday.”

“When was all this?”

“About five years ago. I was a senior at San Francisco State. Dan—that was his name—Dan Jenson. He lived in Mill Valley, over in Marin. I met him on the Dipsey Trail.”

Nora made a face. “The Dipsey Trail?”

“It goes from Mill Valley, up into the hills around Mount Tam, and finally ends up at Stinson Beach. Anyway, that’s where we met. I was hiking it with my roommate, and he was running it to get in shape for the annual race…”

“And it was love at first sight?”

“He knocked me on my can,” Tyler said. The memory of it forced a smile. “I gave him hell for running me down. Not exactly love at first sight. That came later—five, six minutes later.”

“Was it one-sided?”

“I think he loved me, too.”

“So what went…oh no.” Nora suddenly looked stricken with pity. “He died?”

“Hardly. I was accepted for graduate school at UCLA and he had a job in Mill Valley. I wouldn’t give up grad school, he wouldn’t give up his job. Simple as that.”

“Jesus, I don’t believe it. You just threw each other away like that?”

“We both wanted our careers. I told him he could be a cop anywhere, but…he was very stubborn. So was I.”

“That was the end of it?”

“I wrote him a letter. He never…The way he looked at it, the whole mess was my fault. I was supposed to drop everything and marry him.”

“Oh Christ, he actually proposed to you?”

“He actually did.”

“Brother.”

“And you know what else?”

“What?”

“I’m twenty-six, I’ve got a job half the people at this convention would kill to get, and I’m thinking I made the biggest mistake of my life when I left Dan.”

“This just occurred to you?”

“It occurred to me a long time ago. I just figured, you know, I’d meet someone else.”

“And you haven’t.”

“Nobody I love.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

“What can I do? I made my choice five years ago. I just have to live with it.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Yeah. There’s always the Golden Gate. Conveniently located.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Nora said.

“I really feel…oh shit,” she muttered as she started weeping again. “I really feel…sometimes…like I threw my life away.”

“Hey, hey.” Nora reached across the table and took her hand. “It’s not the end of the world. What I was gonna suggest—you feel so strongly about this, why not give him another shot? We’re how far from Mill Valley? Not very far, are we?”

Tyler shrugged and sniffed. “I don’t know, half an hour.”

“So drive over tomorrow and look him up.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s been five years! He’s probably already married…He might not even live there anymore.”

“If that job was so important he let you slip out of his fingers, he’ll be there.”

“I can’t, Nora.”

“Why not take a shot? What’ve you got to lose? For all you know…”

“No.” The thought of it made her sick with dread.

“If you need some moral support, I’ll come with you.”

Tyler said, “We have to drive back tomorrow.”

“What for? We’ve got two more glorious weeks of summer vacation before the rat race starts. What’s so important you have to get home? ’Fraid your house-plants’ll croak? Let’s drive over to Marin, first thing in the morning, and try to find this Dan of yours. If it doesn’t work out, what’ve we lost? An hour or so? We can still make it to LA by dark.”

“I don’t know. I want to think about it.”

“What’s to think about? Go for it.”

“I don’t know.” Tyler finished her Baileys. She rubbed her face. “I…feel so confused. I’m going back to my room. Are you gonna stay here?”

Nora nodded. “Night’s young. I’ll leave the connecting door unlocked. Wake me up at first light, okay?”

“First light? Sure thing.”

In her room on the sixth floor, Tyler flopped onto the bed. The ceiling seemed to be revolving slowly like the bar she’d just left.

She’d had too many drinks.

How many? Let’s see. Three vodka tonics at the cocktail party before the banquet. God knows how much wine with dinner. Three or four glassfuls, maybe. Then two snifters of Baileys Irish Cream in the bar with Nora. No wonder the ceiling wouldn’t stand still.

No wonder she’d blabbed.

If she’d been sober, she would’ve kept all that about Dan to herself. Nothing like a few drinks to loosen the tongue, make you say things you wish you hadn’t.

Let Nora put down a few more, maybe she won’t remember and they can drive on back tomorrow the way they’d planned.

Fat chance.

I can always tell her no. Put my foot down.

Her legs were hanging off the side of the bed. Her feet, resting on the floor, felt cramped. With an effort, she lifted one across her knee and pulled the shoe off. She sat up to take off the other, then remained motionless while a wave of dizziness passed.

At least she didn’t feel nauseated. Just a little tipsy.

Tipsy’s the word for it, all right, she thought, and let herself tip over. She drew her legs up and lay on her side, a bent arm cushioning her head.

What’ll I do?

Stir your bones and take some aspirin and a few glasses of water or you’ll really feel like hell in the morning.

The morning. God, the morning. What’ll I do?

Tell Nora no. No, no, Nora, I don’t want to go.

Why not?

Because, damn it, it would hurt too much to see him again—even to try. He’ll have a wife, and she could’ve been me. You don’t know he’s married. He might be single and lonely. He might still want you.

Sure thing.

Why did I open my mouth to Nora? Because I drank too much. And if I fall asleep like this, I’ll be sorry.

Rolling onto her back, she drew up the skirt of her sheath dress. She raised a leg, and started to unfasten a stocking from her garter belt.

Dan hated pantyhose. To please him, she’d stopped wearing the things. She’d never gone back to them.

She’d never gone back to smoking pot, either.

And she still wore her hair short, the way he liked it. Makes you look like Peter Pan, he’d said. Peter Pan’s a boy, she’d reminded him, and added that perhaps the hairstyle appealed to his latent homosexuality. Oh yeah? he’d said. Come here and we’ll see if I’m a fag.

Big macho cop.

God, she missed him.

She pulled the garter belt out from under her. She slipped her panties down, and kicked them off. Then she stretched, enjoying the feel of the cool bedspread against her buttocks and legs. She could doze off right now, so easily. With a deep sigh, she sat up. She struggled with the zipper at the back of her dress, pulled the dress over her head, and removed her bra. She climbed off the bed and started to gather her clothes.

While she’d kept her hair the same, stayed away from pantyhose and pot, changed very little about herself since leaving Dan, there was one major difference. She’d been chubby, then. In her first term at UCLA, she’d dropped fifteen pounds. As if she’d left her appetite with Dan. Though the appetite had eventually returned, she’d had no trouble keeping the weight off.

She took her nightgown from the suitcase, but didn’t put it on. She stepped in front of the mirror. Her eyes looked a little funny. That was the booze. She drew a forefinger over her cheekbone. For all Dan knew, she didn’t have cheekbones. Or a waist. Or hipbones.

She grinned at the Tyler Moran he’d never seen.

He’ll go ape, she thought.

Her heart started thudding, for she suddenly realized she would be making that trip tomorrow. No matter the pain no matter the outcome. If she didn’t, she would always wonder about Dan, about the second chance thrown away and she would never stop regretting it.

Her racing heart made her head throb.

She put the nightgown on. In the bathroom, she took three aspirin and drank three full tumblers of cold water.

Then she went to bed.

She lay in the darkness, remembering the look and feel and voice of Dan Jenson, wondering how he might have changed, worrying about what she might find tomorrow in Mill Valley, hoping.

Tyler smiled the next morning when she saw the Mill Valley bus depot through her windshield. “That used to be the best place for paperbacks in the whole town,” she said. “Wish I had a buck for every hour I spent in there.”

“How’re the nerves?” Nora asked, grinning at her from the passenger seat.

“Holding out. But just barely.” She wiped her sweaty hands on the legs of her corduroys. The nerves, in fact, were not good. Her heart was beating fast, her mouth was dry, and the armpits of her blouse felt sodden.

“A quaint little burg,” Nora said.

“It used to be quainter.” She drove slowly along Throckmorton, past brightly painted shops. The road curved. To the left was a wooded area. “Here’s where the old mill used to be. The Dipsey Trail starts over there.”

“The famous Dipsey Trail.”

She turned right onto a sideroad, and stopped at the curb.

“This it?”

“This is it,” Tyler said. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s that apartment house across the street.”

Ducking, Nora looked out of the window. “Rustic,” she said.

“Quaint and rustic.”

“Can you hack it?”

“We came this far,” Tyler told her, and tried very hard to smile.

“Do you want me to wait here?”

“Are you kidding?”

They climbed from the car. While Tyler waited, Nora took her sweater off and tossed it on her seat. “Won’t be needing that,” she said. She stepped around the rear of the car. She was wearing short culottes and tennis shoes, and without the sweater it was plain that she wore no bra. The powder blue T-shirt clung to her breasts. Her nipples made the fabric jut as if fingers were pushing it out. Tyler wished Nora had kept the sweater on, and she had second thoughts about her friend coming along.

What if Dan…? No, that’s ridiculous.

He probably doesn’t even live here anymore.

They crossed the street and climbed a slanted walkway toward the weathered wood-frame apartment house. Nora’s breasts jiggled slightly with each step.

Dan won’t notice. Of course he will.

Even dressed modestly, Nora drew men like iron filings to a magnet. Her size must be part of it. She was five eleven barefoot. She dwarfed most other women, Tyler included. She was slender, but not at all gawky. Though her face was a bit too long, her teeth too prominent, her chin not quite prominent enough for real beauty, her blue eyes had an intensity that made the imperfections less noticeable. And there was something erotic about her wide mouth, her full lips.

Nora radiated sexuality. Not only men noticed it. So did women, and many seemed to resent it.

Tyler was not very happy about it herself, as they stepped into the shadowed entryway.

Don’t worry, she told herself. I’m the one Dan loved. Besides, Nora won’t try anything. She’s my best friend. She knows how I feel.

Yeah. Outclassed.

Forget it.

Tyler stepped close to the panel of mailboxes. “He was in number four,” she said.

The name, embossed on a strip of red plastic above the mail slot, was B. Lawrence. They checked the other labels. “No Jenson,” Nora said. “You sure you’ve got the right building?”

“Positive.” She felt a tug of disappointment, but it was mixed with relief. Her voice sounded shaky as she said, “I knew it’d be a waste of time.”

Nora squeezed her shoulder. She looked determined. “It’s not over yet, hon. You’re with Nora Branson, ace reference librarian. What I don’t know, I find out. Just a matter of research. First we check on B. Lawrence, then the manager. If they don’t pan out, there’s the telephone directory. If that doesn’t work, we’ll pay a visit to the local constabulary. If Dan’s not with them anymore, they’ll probably know where he went. He’ll have friends in the department, not to mention a personnel file that’ll tell where they sent his references.”

“Maybe we should just forget it.”

“No way. This is your life we’re talking about. You obviously love the guy. One way or another, we’re gonna find him for you. Where’s number four?”

Tyler sighed. “Upstairs.”

She followed Nora up the wooden stairway to a balcony that stretched the length of the building front. They stopped at the first door to the right. Five years ago, it had been stained wood. Since then, someone had applied bright, lime green paint. The trim was orange. A windchime of clay pipes, suspended just above the door, clinked softly in the breeze.

Tyler knew that Dan didn’t live here anymore, but her heart thudded wildly when Nora rang the doorbell. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

The door opened. A short, chubby woman in a muumuu and curlers smiled out at them. “Greetings,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

Before Tyler could answer, Nora said, “We’re looking for Dan Jenson. Apparently he used to live here.”

“Righto. Steely Dan the cop. My old bud. You friends of his?”

Nora darted a thumb at Tyler. “They’re old buds.”

“Ah ha!” Nodding, she studied Tyler with one eye half shut, and shook a forefinger at her. “I knew it, knew I’d seen your face. Knew it the minute I looked at you. You’re the girl in the picture. That eight by five he kept over the fireplace. Sure. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Tyler shrugged. She didn’t know the picture, but Dan had always been snapping photos of her. He liked to catch her unaware—for the “natural look,” as he called it. He’d even taken a shot, once, as she stepped out of the shower. She blushed at the memory. Obviously, that hadn’t been the picture he’d blown up for the mantel.

“The girl he called Tippy, am I right?”

Tyler nodded.

“Tippy?” Nora asked.

“Short for Tippecanoe,” she explained. “Tippecanoe and Tyler, too.”

“That’s Dan. Always one for the nicknames. I was always Barbie Doll. I lived down in number one, back when he was here. He used to have me up for pizza. Oh, he made luscious pizza.”

“My recipe,” Tyler muttered. She felt an ache like homesickness. “I showed him how to make it.”

“Oh, I’m drooling at the thought of it. How I miss his pizza.”

“I could send you the recipe.”

“Would you?” She snatched Tyler’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re such a dear. It’s no wonder at all Dan was that stuck on you. He’ll be tickled to death to see you again. You will be…?”

“Then you know where he is?” Nora asked.

“Why, sure.”

Tyler’s heart lurched.

“He left here…oh, better than two years ago. I moved right in. My old apartment was so cramped, it was like living in a closet. This is two bedrooms, you know. Gives me some space to spread out. A girl needs her elbow room.”

“Is Dan still in Mill Valley?” Nora persisted.

“Oh no. He took a job on the force up at Malcasa Point. Said he wanted to get out of the Bay Area, though I can’t imagine why. You know Malcasa? No? Let me tell you, it’s the sticks. I can’t feature anyone living there. But different strokes, am I right? Not even a decent restaurant, much less a movie theater. I doubt there’s a shopping mall within fifty miles. When I say sticks, I mean sticks. But that’s what he wanted and that’s what he got.”

“Malcasa Point?” Nora asked.

“Hang on a sec, I’ll get the address.” As she stepped over to a lamp table, she kept talking over her shoulder. “I’ll admit, now, I haven’t heard from him in a year or better. Got a card from him last Christmas—no, that was two Christmases ago, not long after he moved. Seemed to like it fine up there.” She took an address book from the lamp-table drawer, and came back. “I sent him a postcard from Naples this past December. Spent the holidays there. Oh, a marvelous city, Naples.” She flipped through the pages of her book. “Ah, here we be. Jenson, Dan. Ten Seaside Lane, Malcasa Point.”

Tyler’s hand trembled badly as she scribbled the information on a notepad. “Why don’t you give me your name? Is it Lawrence?”

“Righto. Barbara Lawrence. That’s Barbara with three a’s, not like Streisand. Can you imagine, Barbra? Sounds like a steel brassière, am I right?”

“When Dan wrote to you,” Nora said, “did he say anything about being married?”

“Not a word. Single, far as I know.” She winked at Tyler. “Now you will send me that recipe, won’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“How far is this Malcasa Point?” Nora asked.

“Oh, you can make it in, I’d say, maybe three hours. That’s if you don’t dawdle. You go straight up the Coast Highway, on a good piece past Bodega. You have a map?”

“In the car.”

“Well, you can’t miss it. Now, make sure you give Dan regards from Barbie Doll.”

“We’ll do that,” Tyler assured her.

“And for the love of Mike, whatever you do up there, don’t miss the Beast House tour. Tacky tacky. You’ll love it. It’s a scream.”

CHAPTER TWO

After five minutes on the narrow, twisting Coast Highway with its cliff only yards away and the ocean far below, Tyler fastened her seat belt.

“Might be better off without it,” Nora told her.

“You’re right.” She opened the buckle. “It’d hinder my leap.”

“I’m just glad we’re on the inside lane.”

“We won’t be, coming back.”

“Let’s take an inland route.” Nora picked up the map and studied it for two or three minutes. “Maybe take one-twenty-eight over to one-oh-one.”

“Whatever,” Tyler said. “We can worry about it when the times comes.”

“I think we’d better plan on spending the night in Malcasa. It’ll be mid-afternoon by the time we get there.”

“Let’s just play it by ear.”

“Wonder what it’s got in the way of motels.” She opened the glove compartment and pulled out the Automobile Club tour guide for California and Nevada. “Let’s see here. We already know there’re no decent restaurants, much less a movie theater.” She flipped through the pages. “Here we go. Los Gatos, Madera, Mommoth Lakes. Whoops, no Malcasa Point. Maybe we won’t spend the night.”

“Every town has a motel. There must be at least one.”

“I hope so. Nothing Triple-A-approved, though. Maybe a fleabag or two. Let’s see what the little burg’s got in the way of attractions.” She turned toward the front of the book. “Malcasa, Malcasa,” she mumbled as she searched. “Ah-ha! It’s actually here, can you believe it? Malcasa Point, altitude thirty-four feet. Such height! Hope I don’t get nosebleeds. Only one entry for the place. Beast House. Not to be confused with Animal House.” She chuckled at her little joke, then began to read aloud from the guide book. “Beast House, 10 Front Street. Claimed to be the scene of several grisly murders, this Victorian relic was built in 1902 by the widow of the notorious outlaw, Lyle Thorn. Featured are displays of the murder scenes with lifelike wax figures depicting the victims. Tours daily ten till four; closed holidays. Adults four dollars, under twelve, two dollars.’ Maybe we can take it in while we’re there.”

“Barbie Doll thought highly of it,” Tyler said.

“Right. Tacky tacky.”

In the rearview mirror, Tyler saw a Porsche closing in fast. She held her breath as it swung out and roared alongside. It shot by. It swerved back into the lane, missing their front bumper by inches, just in time to avoid a head-on with an approaching station wagon.

“Asshole,” Nora muttered. “Porsches, VW bugs, and pickup trucks. Gotta watch out for ’em. They’ve all got maniacs behind the wheel.”

“Not to mention the big rigs,” Tyler said. “At least there’s none of them along here. Nothing like an eighteen-wheeler tailgating you.”

“They’re murder. Somebody ought to build a truckers museum and fill it with wax figures depicting their victims.”

“Call it Peterbilt House.”

They stopped for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the water of Bodega Bay. Nora drank Dos Equiis with her plate of fried clams. Tyler, nervous about the twisting road ahead, had a glass of Pepsi with her cheeseburger.

“Look familiar?” she asked, nodding at the expanse of glinting water beyond the window.

“Should it?” Nora asked.

“Remember The Birds?”

“The film?”

She nodded, and bit into her burger. Juice dribbled down her chin. She mopped it off with a napkin. “Yeah,” she said. “Way across there? That peninsula’s where Rod Taylor lived.”

“No kidding?”

“Remember? Tippi Hedren took a motorboat across to it, and that bird divebombed her?”

“Sure. So that’s where it happened. I’ll be damned. I saw that film three or four times.”

“The schoolhouse is around here someplace, I think.”

“How about the Bates Motel?”

“Wrong movie.”

“That’s probably up at Malcasa Point. The one Triple A won’t approve.”

“Actually, it’s at Universal Studios.”

“I know that, dimbo. Just making a little joke.”

On the way out of Bodega, they drove past a small, wood-frame schoolhouse. “Bet that’s the one they used,” Tyler said.

“Where’s the jungle gym?”

Tyler shrugged.

“They probably had to junk the thing after all those birds crapped on it.”

They left Bodega behind. In a short while, Nora was asleep, slumped down in her seat with her knees against the dashboard, her head tilted sideways, her mouth drooping open. Tyler felt a little groggy herself. She lowered he window to catch the fresh ocean breeze on her face.

Thoughts of Dan filled her mind, memories of their time together. She could hardly believe that in just a couple more hours she might actually be seeing him again.

He’d kept a photo of her above the fireplace. He wouldn’t have done that unless he still cared. And he’d talked to Barbie Doll about her.

Barbie Doll. What an awful nickname.

He used to invite her up for pizza. Had they…?

Tyler felt a tightness inside.

Not Barbie Doll. Why not? Because she’s a good ten years older than Dan, and fat? I wasn’t exactly svelte and it didn’t bother him. At least he never complained.

And so what if Dan did have something going with Barbie? Why not?

Hell, they were probably just friends.

Five years. Face it, he’s been with plenty of women since me. Some of it must’ve been serious.

She wiped her sweaty hands on the legs of her corduroys.

What’s the good of thinking about it?

But she couldn’t stop. With a sick feeling of despair, she wondered how many women he’d taken to bed. Who were they? Did some remind him of her, and make him miss her? Maybe he never thought about her at all anymore, her image erased by a new love.

Stop this!

At least he’s not married. Or he wasn’t as of two Christmases ago. Or he had been married by then, but didn’t mention it in his card to Barbie. Anything was possible. He might even have moved again. Might’ve left Malcasa. Wouldn’t that be…

She was shocked from her thoughts as she rounded a curve and faced a green pickup truck. It was just ahead passing an RV, speeding straight at her. She hit the horn and brakes.

Nora lurched awake. “Holy shit!”

Tyler swung wide to make room, her right-hand tires spraying up dirt and gravel on the road’s shoulder.

The driver of the pickup smirked and saluted the brim of his cowboy hat as he shot past.

Nora gave him the finger. “Asshole!” she yelled.

Tyler steered her car back onto the road.

“Christ,” Nora gasped. She clutched her chest as if to keep her heart from jumping out. “Fuckin’ redneck scum-butt!”

Tyler took a deep breath. Her own heart was sledging. Her legs felt hot and weak.

“Fucker woulda killed us,” Nora said. “What’d I tell you? Pickup trucks! Put a bastard in a pickup, he thinks he’s King Shit.”

Moments later, a green pickup appeared in the rearview mirror. Tyler groaned. “He’s coming back.”

“You’re kidding.” Nora looked over her shoulder. “Oh, shit.”

“Maybe it’s not him.”

“It’s him. Oh, shit. Guess I shouldn’t have flipped him the bird.”

The truck bore down on them. Then it was tailgating, speeding along no more than a yard from their rear bumper, its horn blasting. Nora faced forward and shrank down in her seat. She made a sick-looking smile at Tyler. “What do you think, is he pissed or horny?”

“I don’t want to find out,” Tyler said. She searched the area ahead. For as far as she could see, the two-lane strip of road was bordered by brown, desolate hills and a slope dropping away to the shoreline. No gas stations where she might stop for help. No shops or cafés. No dwellings of any kind.

“Where’s the highway patrol when you need it?” Nora muttered.

“Where’s civilization when you need it?”

Tyler eased down on the gas pedal. The pickup fell away as the speedometer needle climbed from fifty-five to sixty to sixty-five. Then she was pushing seventy. She was on a straightaway, but she could see a bad curve in the distance—maybe a mile ahead. And the pickup was gaining fast.

“No way,” she muttered. She took her foot off the accelerator. Their speed dropped quickly. She gazed at the rearview, trying to fight her growing panic as the truck raced closer. It didn’t seem to be slowing. She braced herself for the impact. At the last instant, the pickup swung into the southbound lane and pulled alongside. Its horn blared like someone screaming into Tyler’s ears. Instead of passing, it kept even. The road ahead was clear, at least for now. She half expected the pickup to swerve and bump her, sending the little Omni careening into the hillside. Her foot hit the brake pedal. The pickup shot by, cut in front, and slowed. She mashed the brake. With a glance at the rearview mirror, she saw a Mustang bearing down fast. She was doing twenty, then fifteen, the pickup blocking her way.

“Oh, Christ!” she cried. She pulled onto the bumpy shoulder and stopped. The pickup swung over. The Mustang to the rear crossed the center line and sped past. The pickup backed up until it almost touched the Omni’s front bumper.

With a trembling hand, Tyler cranked her window. She elbowed the lock button. Through the rear window of the pickup’s cab, she watched the man take off his cowboy hat.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a gun handy?” Nora asked.

“Oh, sure.”

“I didn’t think so.”

The man scooted across the front seat. He opened the passenger door and climbed down. He didn’t look at them. He scowled at the ground as he ambled closer.

He was a big man, maybe thirty years old, with eyes that seemed too small for his massive face, and thick bulging lips. His jaw looked broader than his forehead.

“Fucking Neanderthal,” Nora muttered.

He suddenly looked up. His tiny eyes flicked from Nora to Tyler. His lips curled into a grin. He raised his middle finger and twisted his hand slowly as if screwing it in. Tyler pressed her knees together.

“Pig,” Nora said.

Using his middle finger, he gestured for them to come out.

Nora leaned close to the windshield. “Not on your life, shithead!” she yelled.

“For Christsake!” Tyler gasped.

Smirking, the man snapped off the Omni’s radio antenna. He swung it like a riding crop. Tyler flinched as it lashed the windshield.

“Shove it up your ass!” Nora yelled.

Tyler punched her shoulder. “Stop that! It’s bad enough! Christ, don’t antagonize him.”

He struck the windshield again. Tyler rammed the shift to reverse and sped backward, the car bouncing over the rough ground of the shoulder. She wanted to swing out onto the road, but a huge camper van was rushing in from the rear. Steering away to avoid it, she felt the car tip. She hit the brakes. The RV roared past, close enough to make the Omni shudder with its buffeting wind. She shifted to first, stepped on the gas pedal and let out the clutch. She heard a rear tire spin. But the car didn’t move.

The man, jogging toward them, stopped to pick up a rock the size of a softball.

Nora shoved her door open. She leaned out and glanced back and shut the door and locked it. “We’re hanging over the ditch,” she reported.

“Oh, great.”

“That rock, he can bash his way in.”

“I know, I know!”

The man hurried closer, rock in one hand, antenna in the other.

Tyler tried again to make the car move.

“Look,” Nora said, “he’ll just demolish a window and get in anyway.” She opened her door again.

“Don’t!”

She climbed out and stepped toward the front of the car.

“Nora!”

She leaned back, rump against the hood, and folded her arms across her chest. The man stopped jogging. One side of his mouth twisted up. He tossed the rock away, shifted the antenna to his right hand, and walked slowly toward her, switching the air.

With a groan, Tyler turned off the engine. She set the emergency brake and got out. Her legs felt rubbery as she walked to the front of the car. She rested against the hood, shoulder to shoulder with Nora.

About four feet away, the man stopped. His gaze roamed slowly down Nora’s body, then slid over to Tyler. She felt cold and sick inside. She tried not to squirm.

Nora said, “Like what you see, liver-lips?”

With a snarl, he whipped the antenna. It whistled by their faces.

“I’m shaking,” Nora said.

He pointed the antenna at a cluster of bushes beyond the ditch. “Get going,” he said.

“It can talk,” Nora said.

“Move!”

“What’ve you got in mind?”

“Gonna fuck your asses.”

“No fooling. With what?”

He lashed her shoulder. She flinched and gritted her teeth. “I’m gonna take you down, buddy,” she muttered, and lunged at the man. He rammed a knee into her belly, doubling her, and flung her sideways. As she tumbled into the ditch, Tyler drove a fist at the man’s face. She felt his nose smash under her knuckles. He blinked and shook his head. Blood gushed from his nostrils. Snarling, he clutched Tyler’s throat and shoved her backward. The front of the car collapsed her legs. He slammed her down on the hood. His other hand tore at her blouse. Blood spilled onto her face. She punched the side of his head. She kicked, but he was between her legs, leaning down on her, mashing her against the hood. Blinking his blood out of her eyes, she saw his fist rise like a hammer about to strike. Then he looked over his shoulder. He thrust himself off her and whirled around. Raising her head, Tyler saw his pickup racing toward them.

“Hey!” the man yelled.

Tyler sat up, slid forward, and got her feet on the ground as the truck skidded to a stop. She glanced to the side. Nora was scurrying up out of the ditch, hair in her eyes.

The truck’s passenger door flew open. A lean man in white pants and a polo shirt jumped down. He nodded to someone inside. The truck rolled forward. It veered to the right. The other door door swung open. A man leaped out, windmilling as he caught his balance.

“No!” the big man roared as his pickup nosed down the slope of the ditch. It stopped abruptly with a crunch of metal, a tinkling shatter of headlights. The man covered his ears. He fell to his knees as Nora, coming up behind him, lashed his back with the antenna.

Now that the truck was out of the way, Tyler saw a blue Mustang parked a distance up the road.

Nora tossed the antenna aside. She nodded at the pair of strangers who were standing just in front of the cowering man. “Are you ladies all right?” asked the one in the polo shirt. He looked from Nora to Tyler.

Tyler pulled her blouse shut, and nodded.

“Too bad about the truck,” said the one who had crashed it, shaking his head and sounding extremely sincere as he stared at the man. He was shorter than his friend, with a crewcut and a chubby boyish face. His neck was thick. His T-shirt was stretched taut over his broad shoulders and bulging chest. The brass buckle of his belt read Colt. He wore blue jeans that looked brand-new. Their cuffs were rolled up about three inches. He wore scuffed cowboy boots with pointed toes. Tyler figured he must be gay. That would mean his friend was, too.

The friend squatted down, bringing his face close to the kneeling man. “Now here’s the plan,” he said in a calm voice. “You get to your feet and apologize to the ladies. You pay them for the antenna. Then you go back to your pickup and stay there.”

“What if I don’t?” he muttered.

The man patted his shoulder. Gently, he said, “I’ll let Jack rip your face off.”

They stood up. The big man turned to Nora and Tyler. He kept his head down. He rubbed a sleeve across his mouth to wipe the blood away. He made gasping, sobbing sounds as he reached into a rear pocket and took out his wallet. He pulled out a tendollar bill and held it out to Tyler with a shaking, redstained hand. Jack leaned in close, and eyed the bill. “Cheap bastard,” he said. He snatched away the wallet. He plucked out a twenty, took the ten from the man, and gave them both to Tyler. Then he handed the wallet back.

“Now apologize,” said the lean one.

“Sorry,” he murmured without looking up.

“It’s quite all right,” Nora said. She took a step toward him, arms stiff at her sides, and shot a fist into his groin. His breath exploded out. He dropped to the ground clutching himself, and Nora slammed a knee into his bleeding nose. The blow knocked him backward. The lean man hopped out of his way. The blocky one named Jack ginned at Nora and began to clap.

CHAPTER THREE

“Nora Branson.” She offered her hand to the muscle-bound man.

“Jack Wyatt,” he said, shaking it.

“Tyler Moran,” Tyler said, and shook hands with the lean one.

“Abe Clanton.”

“Names like a couple of gunslingers,” Nora said, shaking with Abe as Tyler squeezed Jack’s hand. She was surprised by his gentle grip.

“Yup,” Jack said. “We’re mean hombres.”

Looking past Abe, Tyler saw the big man stagger down the side of the ditch and climb into his pickup.

“I guess this was our lucky day,” Nora said.

“We saw him force you off the road,” Abe explained. “We were right behind you.”

“Good thing. That was great of you guys to stop. A lot of people would’ve kept on going.”

“Yes,” Tyler said. “We sure appreciate it.”

Abe nodded slightly. He looked into her eyes with a steady, probing gaze. It made her nervous. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. “Did he hurt you?”

Tyler shook her head. “Not much.”

“That’s his blood, I hope.”

“I think so.”

“Look,” Nora said, “you guys are heading north? Why don’t we all stop somewhere, we’ll buy you a drink?”

The suggestion made Tyler’s pulse quicken. She glanced down at her torn, bloody blouse. “I can’t go in anywhere like this.”

“So change,” Nora said.

“I guess I could.”

“How about it, fellas?”

“Fine by me,” Abe said.

Jack rubbed his hands together. “All right.”

“Why don’t you follow us?” Nora asked. “First decent place we spot, we’ll pull in.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Whoops,” Nora said. “One second. We’re stuck here.” She nodded toward the rear of the car.

“Gotcha,” Jack said.

Abe leaned over the driver’s seat. He released the emergency brake. He gripped the steering wheel and open door, and pushed while Jack shoved the rear end. The little Omin rolled away from the ditch. Abe reset the brake. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll wait up ahead for you.”

“See you in a bit,” Nora said.

As the men started toward their car, Tyler knelt on the passenger seat and took a plastic container of Wet Ones from the glove compartment. She crawled out. Plucking one of the moist towels from the pack, she scrubbed her face. The paper came away smeared brown-red. “Did I get it?”

“Most of it.”

“God.” She gave the pack to Nora.

They went to the rear of the car. While she opened the hatchback and unfastened her suitcase, Nora cleaned herself. Her arms were dirty and grass-stained and scraped from her fall into the ditch. The knee she’d driven into the man’s face was smudged with his blood.

Tyler waited for a car to pass, then took off her blouse. She stuffed it into a corner of the trunk. “Damn,” she muttered, seeing the blood spots on her white bra. Well, she couldn’t change into a clean one—not here by the road. Her skin, too, was stained as if sunburnt in splotches. Taking a towelette from Nora, she cleaned most of it off her shoulders and chest and belly. She turned to Nora. “Is that it?”

“Under your chin.”

“God.” She rubbed.

“That’s got it. Shit, he bled like a stuck pig.”

“Pig is right,” Tyler said. She made sure her hands were clean, then took a fresh yellow blouse from her suitcase and put it on.

“How am I?” Nora asked, turning round.

Tyler brushed some dirt and bits of weed from the back of Nora’s T-shirt. “Okay,” she said.

She shut the suitcase and hatchback. They hurried to the front and climbed in. A van sped by. Then the lane was clear. She pulled out and glanced at the pickup as they passed it. The cab was low in the ditch, blocked from view by the tailgate. She was glad she couldn’t see the man inside.

“Asshole’s gonna need a tow truck,” Nora said. “Not to mention a new set of nuts.” She waved at the Mustang as they drew alongside it.

Abe nodded. He was at the wheel. He pulled out behind them.

“Not bad, huh?” Nora asked. “An escort.”

Tyler picked up speed. The blue Mustang kept pace, staying several car lengths back.

Nora rubbed her shoulder.

“Hurt?”

“Not like the knee in the guts, the bastard.”

“You got him pretty good.”

“We both did. Scares me, though. If Jack and Abe hadn’t come along, he would’ve had our asses on a plate.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“That Jack’s a hunk, isn’t he?”

“He must lift weights,” Tyler said.

“You suppose they’re gay?”

“They’re nice guys, regardless.”

“Yeah. Well, there’s nice and there’s nice.”

“I don’t think they’re gay. I mean, I sort of wondered at first…”

“Yeah. But that Abe sure looked you over.”

Tyler felt heat rise to her skin.

“Still, two guys travelling together.”

“We’re traveling together.”

“Right!” She snorted. “They’re probably wondering right now if we’re a pair of dykes. Ha ha.” She rubbed her belly. “How about that Abe? I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, either. Did you hear how he talked to that bastard? ‘Now here’s the plan. First you apologize…’ Sounded like Dirty Harry, didn’t he? More to that guy than meets the eye, I tell you that much right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a way you don’t get in ballet school. Hard eyes. They both had hard eyes, did you notice that? Except when old Abe was checking you out. Then they got very soft.” She chuckled. “And maybe someplace else got unsoft, if you know what I mean.”

“Nora.”

“You’re right. I don’t think they’re fags. God, I hope not.”

“I don’t see what difference it makes,” Tyler said. “It’s not like we’ll be dating the guys. We’re just gonna buy them drinks, right? We’ll probably never see them again.”

“You never know, hon. You just never know.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Wonderful! Fabulous! Swing over, Brian, get some shots. Too good to be true, wouldn’t you say? Beast House. What do you think?”

“Nice,” Brian said.

“Nice? It looks positively dripping with evil.”

The Mercedes moved slowly past the small, roadside shack that appeared to be a ticket booth. On its wall, a sign weathered to the dirty gray of the driftwood read beast house in crimson block letters that dripped as if recently painted with blood. Looking over his shoulder, Gorman Hardy saw a girl inside the booth’s open window, a blonde of fourteen or fifteen. She held an open paperback on the counter shelf.

Gorman, who had celebrated his fifty-sixth birthday by hurling an empty bottle of Chivas Regal into his mirror to destroy the fat, gray-haired man looking back at him, still had eyes sharp enough to spot his own book covers at a hundred paces. The book in the girl’s hands was Horror at Black River Falls.

Several cars were parked along the walkway fronting the grounds. Brian eased into a space between a Datsun and a grimy station wagon with a tail end like a family album of stickers. Glancing over the array of red hearts, Gorman gathered that the clan had loved Hearst Castle, the Sequoia National Park, Muir Woods and the Winchester Mystery House. It had left its heart in San Francisco, and it wanted the world to know that one nuclear bomb could ruin the entire day. That one, he thought, should sport a bleeding heart. A Beast House bumper sticker, if such were available, might very well add a dripping valentine to the collection.

“You getting out?” Brian asked.

“I’ll wait here. Try to keep a low profile.”

“Just a tourist with a Nikon,” he said, and climbed out.

As the door thumped shut, Gorman opened the glove compartment. He took out his Panasonic microcassette recorder. Holding it near his lap, out of sight in case someone might be watching, he said, “Preliminary observations on Beast House, August 1979.” He turned and stared out the open car window as he spoke.

“The house, set back about fifty yards from the main street of Malcasa Point, is surrounded by a seven-foot fence of wrought-iron bars, each bar tipped with a lethal point to keep intruders out, or perhaps to keep the beast inside.” He smiled. “Good one. Use that.” In ominous tones, he repeated, “Perhaps to keep the beast inside.

“The only access appears to be through an opening behind the ticket booth, where a lithe teenaged girl is engaged, even now, in reading my previous book, Horror at Black River Falls.” Why not? he thought.

“In contrast to the lush green of the wooded hills that rise up beyond the fence, the grounds of Beast House appear singularly flat and dreary. No trees or flowers bloom inside the fence, and even the grass is mottled with brown patches as if the earth itself has been poisoned by the evil contagion of the house.”

Now we’re cooking, he thought. Lay it on, lay it on!

“Though the day is cloudless and bright, a sense of insufferable gloom chills my heart as I gaze at the bleak building.” He nodded. Not bad. Rather Poe-ish. The Victorian structure seems a monument to things long dead. Its windows, like malevolent eyes, leer out at the quiet afternoon as if seeking a victim.” Nonsense, of course. The windows were simply windows. From the rather rundown appearance of the house, Gorman was surprised that none was broken. The owners, obviously, were taking some care of the place. The lawn could use more water, and the weathered wooden siding could use a good coat of paint. Such improvements, however, would take away from the aura of deterioration they probably wished to cultivate.

“Especially unnerving,” he continued, “are the small, attic windows that look out from three gables along the steeply slanting roof, draped in shadow from eaves like brooding eyelids. Peering up at them, wondering what might lurk inside, I feel a chill creep up my spine. If I don’t look away soon, I know that a dim, ghastly face will appear at one of the windows.” Such eloquence, he thought—such nonsense. But he suddenly found himself staring at the farthest attic window. A chill had indeed crept up his spine. The skin at the back of his neck felt tight and tingly. If I don’t look away soon…

He lowered his eyes to the gray metal recorder. He listened to its quiet, reassuring hum for a few moments, then looked again toward the house, taking care to avoid the high window.

“At the far end of the roof,” he said, “is a tower. It has a cone-shaped top. A widow’s peak…no, a witch’s cap, that’s what it’s called. There are windows under…” He switched off the recorder.

Twisting around, he eased his head out the car window and looked back. Brian wasn’t in sight. He pulled in his head, turned the other way, and spotted the younger man through the rear window. Camera to his eye, Brian was standing on the other side of the road directly across from the ticket booth. Gorman reached to the steering wheel. He gave the horn a quick beep. Brian lowered the camera, nodded, and returned to the car. Instead of opening his door, he ducked and peered in at Gorman.

“Are you about finished?”

“Any time. I got some sweet ones. Found out they’re running another tour in forty-five minutes.”

The news didn’t please Gorman; it gave him a chilly, liquid feeling in the bowels. “Not today,” he said. “I’d prefer to wait until we’ve talked to the girl.”

“Fine by me,” Brian said, and climbed in. “The motel’s just a couple of miles up.” He swung out from behind the station wagon. “The gal said it’s on the right, we can’t miss it.”

“The girl in the ticket booth?”

“She’s the one. Name’s Sandy. Very cooperative.”

“Have you ever met a young woman who wasn’t?”

“Very few,” Brian answered. A smile creased his lean cheeks, and he gave Gorman a sample of the sincere, penetrating gaze that made him such a hit with the ladies.

“Watch where you’re driving,” Gorman said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. After four years of almost daily contact with Brian, he still found himself, at times, seething with envy. The thick blond hair, the pale blue eyes, the flawless skin and trim young body seemed to mock Gorman, make him look by comparison like an aged and overweight bulldog. It hardly seemed fair.

“Wonder what they do for kicks in this burg,” Brian said.

“Our friend Janice will provide you with some distractions.”

“Hope she’s not a dog.”

“Dog or not, you’ll abide by the game plan.”

“Sure, sure.

After a few blocks of souvenir shops, cafés, sporting-goods stores, bars and gas stations, they reached the far end of town. The road curved into a forest. Gorman looked back, wondering if they’d somehow passed the Welcome Inn.

“Don’t worry, Brian said. “We didn’t miss it.”

“Sandy told you we couldn’t.”

“Should be just ahead.”

And it was.

On the right, looking cool in the shade of pines, stood the Welcome Inn’s Carriage House, a quaint-looking restaurant with bright white siding and green trim, an antique buggy adorning its lawn. A walkway led from the entrance to an auto court where a dozen bungalows surrounded a parking area. Except for two cars, the lot was deserted.

“Looks like they’re not full up,” Brian observed.

“Very astute,” Gorman said.

Just beyond the entrance to the court, the road flared out for parking in front of the office. Brian slowed and swung over. He pulled up close to the front porch. “Want to wait in the car?” he asked.

“I hardly think that would be appropriate.”

“Thought you might want to make notes.”

While Gorman put his recorder into the glove compartment, Brian twisted the rearview mirror and patted down the sides of his windblown hair. Then they both climbed from the car. They mounted the wooden steps to the porch. Gorman pulled open the screen door and entered first.

With light pouring in from the door and windows, the office seemed bright and cheerful. He saw no one, but through the half-open door behind the registration desk he heard the voices and music of a television. Stepping up to the desk, he tapped the plunger of a call bell. He turned around. Brian had wandered over to a rack of travel brochures.

“If there’s a Beast House, grab a few.”

Brian nodded without looking back.

Gorman scanned the calico curtains, the pine paneling of the walls, the glossy green and yellow body of a fish mounted above the entry, the couch resting beneath one of the windows, its tweedy green fabric faded from the sunlight. A few magazines were neatly stacked on an end table.

Hanging on the far wall was an enormous map labeled malcasa point and its environs, vacation paradise with oversized cartoon characters enjoying the various activities: a little man surf-fishing; a family sunbathing and swimming at a beach; a boat offshore full of cheery anglers one of whom had managed to hook a scuba diver. The diver had exclamation points trapped inside his air bubbles. Back on land, the map depicted an array of hikers and campers in the wooded hills, a man in waders fly-fishing in a stream, rafters riding the rapids. At the center of the map loomed the Welcome Inn, shown in detail and larger than the entire town of Malcasa Point. Gorman’s eyes followed the main road downward to a drawing of Beast House. Over its roof hovered a white apparition twice the size of the house. In spite of fangs and claws, the creature bore a marked resemblance to Casper the Friendly Ghost. The word “BOOO!” was scrawled across its belly.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Turning, Gorman smiled at the girl. “Quite all right,” he said.

She pushed the door to the living quarters shut. The latch clacked into place. She glanced toward Brian, then fixed her eyes on Gorman. “Mr. Hardy,” she said.

“Janice?”

Her head bobbed a bit.

She was not a dog, which must please Brian. Nor did she appear to be underage, a possibility which had worried Gorman. From the correspondence, he had assumed her to be a teenager but had never pinpointed her age. He guessed, now, that she must be eighteen or close to it.

She was slim and attractive, with golden bangs brushing her forehead, hair flowing down the sides of her face to her shoulders. The white of her bra showed through the thin white cotton of a T-shirt that read WELCOME TO THE WELCOME INN.

Brian, he thought, must be quite pleased indeed.

The girl glanced over her shoulder as if to reassure herself that the door was firmly shut. Then she looked again at Brian, who was staring at her. In his hand were a few brochures.

“He’s with me,” Gorman explained.

He came forward as if summoned.

“Janice, I want you to meet Brian Blake—my research assistant, photographer, chauffeur.”

He reached over the counter. Janice, her face puzzled and wary, shook the offered hand. From the letters, she must have assumed Gorman would come alone. Was she wondering if this man’s presence would affect her share?

In rich, sincere tones, Brian said, “Pleased to meet you, Janice.” He kept his hold on her hand. “Very pleased.”

A blush tinted her cheeks. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Bri…the Brian Blake?” she blurted. Her stunned expression brought a smile from Gorman. She looked as if she were gawking at a movie star, awestruck and a little frightened. “My God,” she muttered.

“Nothing to be afraid of,” Brian said. “I left the spook back in Wisconsin.”

“God, I don’t believe this.”

Brian relinquished her hand. It dropped, limp, to the counter. She continued to stare at him.

“As you may remember,” Gorman said, “Mr. Blake and I worked very closely together on Horror. He not only recounted the tragedy during our tape sessions, he also was responsible for the photographs used in the book. I’ve kept him on as an associate ever since. He’s really an invaluable asset.”

Janice nodded. She still looked a trifle dazed. “Must’ve been awful for you,” she said, her eyes fixed on Brian’s.

“It’s like Nietzsche says.”

“Huh?”

“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

“Besides, it was a long time ago. I suppose I’ll never be over it completely, but…I’m coping.”

“Well…”

“This,” Gorman interrupted, “is probably not the ideal place to talk.” He nodded toward the closed door behind which, he assumed, her parents were busy with other matters. “Why don’t you check us in to our rooms? Then we’ll make arrangements to meet later, after we’ve had a chance to rest up from the drive.”

“Good idea,” she said. She made a shaky smile and licked her lips. “Will you be together or…”

“Separate rooms,” Brian told her.

“Very good.” She snapped a pair of guest registration cards down on the counter. “Would you each fill out one of these?” she said in a firm, practiced voice. Obviously embarrassed by her earlier loss of composure, she was trying to appear businesslike. This delighted Gorman. From the tone of her letters, he’d been prepared to face a rather tough, cynical bitch, an operator. Now, he realized she wouldn’t be the obstacle he had feared. The toughness was no more than a thin shell, easily cracked.

He finished filling in his card.

“All our units,” Janice said, “are equipped with queensized double beds, color TV, and complimentary coffee.”

“Magic fingers?” Brain asked.

A slight frown drew her brows together. She studied him as if trying to figure something out, then seemed to give up. With a shake of her head, she told him, “I’m afraid not.”

“Well, shit.”

A grin split her face.

“I could just shit, couldn’t you, Gorman?”

Now she was softly laughing.

Brian gave her a pitiful look. “I can’t sleep without Magic Fingers.”

“Aw, poor boy.” One of her hands lifted as if to pat him on the head. She caught herself, and lowered the hand behind the counter. “You’ll just have to suffer,” she said. She smiled at Gorman. “Is he always this way?”

“Just around beautiful women.”

Her face went red as if magically sunburned. “Anyway.” She took a deep breath. “How long do you expect to be staying with us?”

“I believe two nights should be sufficient, don’t you?”

“Depends, I guess. What’re you planning on?”

“Why don’t we discuss that in the privacy of our rooms?”

“Yeah, that’d be better.” She glanced at Brian, and quickly looked away. She picked up the two registration cards. “Will this be cash or charge?”

“Do you take Visa?”

“Yes, we do.”

Gorman used his card to pay for both rooms. After he signed the receipt, Janice turned over the card to compare signatures. “I’m no imposter, young lady.”

“Huh? Oh. Just force of habit. I know you’re Gorman Hardy.”

“The paperback edition didn’t have a photo.”

“I saw you on the Today show.”

“Ah. Am I even more handsome in person?”

“Oh yes. A lot more handsome.”

“Why, thank you. You have an endearing quality about you, Janice.”

She shrugged, muttered thanks, and reached under the counter. She came up with two keys, each attached to a tab of green plastic. “I’ll put you in five and six. They’re together with a connecting door.” She swung an arm out behind her. “Just drive through, they’re the third duplex on the left. The ice machine’s just outside the office here, and there’s a soft-drink vending machine beside it.”

Gorman nodded. Leaning against the desk, he asked in a quiet voice, “When would you be able to join us?”

“I can usually get away. Mom’ll be over at the restaurant most of the time, and Dad’s pretty loose. I just tell him I want to go out, and he takes over the office.”

“Excellent. Now, as I understand it, they know absolutely nothing about our purpose here.”

“Right. Nobody knows but me.”

“It’s imperative that we keep it that way. At least for the present,” he added.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Janice said. “Are you kidding? It’s my neck.”

Brian peered closely at her neck. She met his eyes, blushed and looked back at Gorman.

“Would one of our rooms be a convenient meeting place?” he asked.

“Sure. Good as any. I’ll bring in some clean towels, just in case, but nobody’s even gonna notice me.”

“Very good. Say room six, then, in an hour?”

“I’ll be there.”

“And bring the diary along.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Voilà!” Nora blurted, startling Tyler. She jabbed a finger against the windshield.

Just ahead, on the left, was a white-painted adobe restaurant with a red tile roof. The sign in front, hanging from a miniature lighthouse, read Lighthouse Inn.

Tyler checked the rearview. The Mustang was a hundred yards back. She signaled for a turn. A moment later, the Mustang’s turn light began to flash. She swung across the road, into the paved parking lot.

Nora leaned over, twisted the mirror and studied her reflection. She started brushing her hair. Tyler pulled into a space and stopped the car. She waited for Nora to finish, then turned the mirror toward herself. Her blonde hair was slightly mussed, but she thought it looked all right. She checked her face for blood. She couldn’t see any.

The Mustang eased in beside them. Tyler grabbed her handbag off the backseat, and climbed out. The ocean breeze felt cool and good. It tossed her hair. It flipped open the bottom of her untucked blouse as she stepped around the car, exposing her tanned belly to Abe’s stare. She had neglected to fasten the last button. She closed it now, and Abe lifted his gaze to her face.

Not hard eyes, she thought. But probing, maybe a little amused.

“Bet you’re surprised we found a place,” Nora said.

“I was beinning to wonder.”

“Boondocks, USA.”

Jack hurried ahead and pulled open the dark wood door. He held it while the others stepped into the dimly lighted foyer. A blond girl in a turtleneck and kilts came forward, clutching menus to her chest. Abe told her that they’d come in for cocktails, and she led them through a nearly deserted dining room to a table by the windows. Abe pulled out a chair for Tyler. Jack did the same for Nora. “A waitress will be by for your orders,” the girl said, and left them.

“Nice joint,” Jack said.

“We picked it special,” Nora told him.

“Come here often?” Abe asked, raising an eyebrow at Tyler.

“Whenever we’re in the neighborhood.”

“We’re from LA,” Nora said. “How about you?”

“Here and there,” Jack said.

“These are a couple of very evasive guys,” Nora said. “What are you, bank robbers?”

Jack grinned. “Now there’s a thought, huh, Abe?”

“I guess you might say we’re itinerants.”

“Farm workers? What do you hear from Caesar Chavez?”

Jack laughed. It was more of a giggle, high-pitched and quiet, an odd sound to come from such a power-fully built man but, Tyler thought, somewhat appropriate to his baby face.

A waitress came. Nora ordered a vodka martini, Tyler a margarita. Abe asked for a Dos Equiis, was told there was no Mexican beer in stock, and settled for a Michelob. Jack ordered the same.

“So,” Nora said, “you’re not on the lam?”

Smiling slightly, Abe shook his head. “Actually, we just got ourselves mustered out of the Marine Corps.”

“Ah-ha! Leathernecks.” She grinned at Tyler. “What’d I tell you? Tough guys.”

“You just got out?” Tyler asked.

“We’ve been civilians since Monday.”

“In since sixty-seven,” Jack added.

“Holy shit. That’s what, twelve years?”

“We liked it,” Jack said.

“But not enough to re-up again,” Abe added.

Jack wrinkled his nose, shook his head. “Gets to be a drag when you haven’t got a shooting war.”

“Are you kidding?” Nora asked.

“Not that we particularly enjoy combat,” Abe said.

“Speak for yourself,” Jack told him.

“But the peacetime corps is a lot of dull routine, and after the last fiasco we’re not going to see any real commitment of ground forces for some time. Not much point being a soldier without a war. So we thought we’d get out and see how the other half lives.”

“What’ll you do?” Tyler asked.

“As little as possible,” Jack smiled.

“Right now, we’re busy playing tourist. Left Camp Pendleton on Monday, took the Hearst Castle tour at San Simeon, came up through Monterey and Big Sur, stayed a few days in San Francisco. Just seeing the sights.”

“Hanging loose,” Jack said.

The waitress brought the drinks.

“To fortunate encounters,” Nora toasted.

“Hear, hear,” Jack said.

“And thanks for helping us,” Tyler said.

Abe smiled. “Our pleasure.”

They drank. After a few swallows, Jack sighed loudly. “Ah,” he said. “That do hit the spot.”

“You ladies are from Los Angeles,” Abe said. “What brings you up here?”

“Just…” Tyler started.

Nora broke in. “We’re hunting up one of Tyler’s old flames.”

Why did she have to say that? Tyler felt herself blushing. “Well, we were in the area anyway for a conference in San Francisco. We just thought we’d look him up, see how he’s doing.”

Abe looked at her. Was that disappointment in his eyes? Or just interest, curiosity?

Tyler shrugged. “We used to be…very good friends. I haven’t seen him in five years.”

“Hoping to rekindle things?”

She stared down at her margarita. “Something like that, I guess.”

“He’s supposed to be living up in Malcasa Point,” Nora said. “That’s about an hour more up the road. We’ll be spending the night there.”

“Now there’s a coincidence,” Jack said. “So are we.”

Abe looked at his friend and raised his eyebrows.

“Remember in the car? Not half an hour ago. I say, ‘How about stopping the night at that Malcasa Point?’ And you say, ‘Sounds good to me.’”

“That’s right,” Abe said.

“Maybe we’ll run into you gals up there.”

It was Abe’s turn to stare at his drink. He turned the bottle slowly, looking down its neck.

“Who knows?” Jack continued, grinning broadly. “It’s a small world.”

“And a very small town,” Nora added.

“If we just should happen, somehow, to run into you gals, maybe we might buy you dinner.”

“Maybe they’d rather we didn’t,” Abe said.

Tyler scooted down in her seat. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I might…have other plans. I mean, if I find Dan.”

“If she finds Dan,” Nora said, “I’ll be all alone in a strange town with nothing to do.”

“We’ll take care of that,” Jack told her.

Nora squeezed his thick forearm. “You’ve got a deal. Look, why don’t you guys follow us up so you won’t get lost, and we’ll have us a fancy Marine escort if we run into more weirdos?”

“You bet,” Jack said.

CHAPTER SIX

Brian, sitting on the edge of a bed, saw Janice stride past the front of the rented Mercedes. She saw him watching through the window, and smiled. She had changed into a sleeveless yellow sundress, sashed at the waist, its breeze-blown skirt pressed to her thighs. She carried a stack of white towels. From the crook of her elbow hung a tote bag. “Here she comes,” he said, and took a sip of his martini.

Gorman rushed to open the door. With a slight bow, he said, “Entrez.”

Janice stepped in. Balanced on one foot, she used the sole of a white sneaker to push the door shut behind her. Gorman lifted the towels from her arms. He set them on the dressing table, and smiled at her like a gracious host. “Pull up a bed, my dear.”

“Thanks,” she said in a thin voice. She sounded very nervous. She gave Brian a quick, tight-lipped smile, and sat on a corner of the other bed, her knees pointed away from him. After lowering her bag to the floor, she sat up straight and rigid. She smoothed the skirt against her thighs. She licked her lips. “Is…are the rooms okay?” she asked, glancing from Brian to Gorman.

“They’re charming,” Gorman said. “Would you care for a cocktail?”

She nodded, her bangs stirring against her forehead. “Sure, okay.”

“Should we card her?” Brian asked.

She let out a quiet, uneasy laugh. “I confess. I’m only eighteen.”

“Close enough,” Brian said. “Just don’t tell on us.”

This time her laughter was not so strained. She turned her head to watch Gorman pour two fingers of martini into one of the motel tumblers. He set down the glass shaker, skewered an olive with a cutlass toothpick, and plopped it into her drink. He handed the glass to Janice, freshened Brian’s drink and his own, then swung out a chair and sat facing her. He raised his glass to eye level. “Let me propose a toast. To Beast House, our partnership, and our imminent prosperity.”

They clinked the rims of their glasses, and drank. Janice took a small sip. She grimaced and smiled, then tried another sip and nodded as if this one was an improvement.

“Too much vermouth?” Gorman asked.

“No, it’s fine. Just fine.”

“Now shall we, as they say, talk turkey?”

“Fine.”

“I’ve given much thought to your proposal of a fifty-fifty split and while it does seem rather steep, there would, as you pointed out, be no book without your cooperation. It is, after all, your idea. And you are the one, after all, in possession of the diary. Therefore, I’ve concluded that your request is reasonable.” Her eyebrows lifted, disappearing under the curtain of bangs. “That means you’ll go for it?”

“That means I’ll go for it.”

“Great.”

“Brian?”

Brian set aside his drink and snapped open the latches of an attaché case beside him on the bed. He raised the top, removed a manila file folder, and slipped out two neatly typed papers. He handed both sheets to Janice.

“I took the liberty,” Gorman explained, “of writing up an agreement. It spells out, basically, that I’ll be sole owner of the copyright, that you’ll be free of any liability in connection with the proposed work, and that you’ll receive a fifty percent share of the proceeds from any and all sales. It also stipulates that your participation in the project shall be kept secret. I added that for your benefit, since you seemed to believe you might be in some danger if your involvement became known.”

Nodding, she read the top sheet. When she finished, she slipped the other one over it.

“They’re identical,” Gorman said.

She scanned it. “Well, they look fine to me.”

Leaning forward, Gorman held out his gold-plated Cross pen. “If you’ll sign and date both copies…”

She pressed the papers against her thigh, and scribbled her signature and the day’s date at the bottom of each contract. Both had already been signed by Gorman Hardy two weeks ago.

“One’s for you and one’s for us,” Brian said. She handed one of the sheets to him. She returned the pen to Gorman. She folded her copy into thirds, and slipped it into her tote. Reaching down beside a folded sweater, she pulled out a thin, leatherbound volume. A brass lock-plate was set into its front cover, but the latch hung loose by the strap on the back.

“The diary?” Gorman asked.

“It’s all yours.” She gave it to him, and took a hefty swallow of martini.

Gorman opened the book to its first page. “‘My Diary,’” he read aloud, “‘Being a True Account of My Life and Most Private Affairs, Volume twelve, in the year of our Lord 1903. Elizabeth Mason Thorn.’ Fabulous,” he muttered, and riffled through the pages.

“It’s pretty boring stuff till you get into April,” Janice said. “Then she gets into it pretty hot and heavy with the family doctor. Around May eighteenth is when she starts with the beast. She called it Xanadu.”

“Xanadu? As in Kubla Khan? ‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree, where Alph the sacred river ran through caverns measureless to man—down to the sunless sea.’”

“I guess,” Janice said. “That’s what she called him, anyway. Xanadu. It gets pretty far out, the diary, and I would’ve figured she made it up, you know, but it pretty much explains what’s behind the killings in Beast House. I mean, those murders really happened, no question.”

“Mmhmm.” Gorman opened the diary at random, and began to read. “‘His warm breath on my face smelled of the earth and wild, uninhabited forests. He lay his hands upon my shoulders. Claws bit into me. I stood before the creature, helpless with fear and wonder, as he split the fabric of my nightgown.’”

Brian whistled softly.

Janice glanced at him, and made a slightly lopsided smile. The drink, he figured, was getting to her.

“‘When I was bare,’” Gorman continued, “‘he muzzled my body like a dog. He licked my breasts. He sniffed me, even my private areas, which he probed with his snout.’”

Janice eased her knees closer together.

“Well,” Gorman said, shutting the book, “it appears that this little memoir does, indeed, live up to your reports. How exactly did it come into your possession?”

“Like I said in my letter, I found it in one of the rooms here.”

“Could you be more specific?”

She drained her martini, and nodded.

“Refill?” Gorman asked.

“Sure, okay,” She opened her eyes wide as if to test how well the lids were still working. Gorman took her glass, poured in an inch of the clear liquid, and handed it back to her. She took a small drink. “Anyway…”

“Would you mind if I record you?”

A puzzled look crossed her face. “Aren’t I not supposed to be in the book?”

“That’s true. None of what you say need find its way into the work, but we’ll be on safer ground with a statement regarding the manuscript’s origin. You may not be aware of it, but there were accusations regarding the veracity of our previous book.”

“Huh?”

“Horror at Black River Falls,” Brian told her. “Some people accused us of making up the whole damn story.”

Janice frowned. “No, you didn’t do that. Did you?”

“No way,” Brian said. “But we didn’t have much proof to back up our claims. That’s why we want to tape what you say. Then, if somebody gets on our case, we’ve actually got a recorded statement to prove the conversation happened.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “I see. Okay.”

Gorman lifted his small recorder off the dresser top. He switched it on. “The following is a statement by Janice Crogan of Malcasa Point, California, in which she explains how she came into possession of the diary of Elizabeth Thorn.” Leaning forward, he placed the device on the bedspread by her hip.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m Janice Crogan. My folks own the Welcome Inn here in Malcasa, and I help them with it. I found the diary in room nine, one day last summer. In June. Late June. We haven’t got any maids here. Dad says that’s the kind of overhead that kills you. Me and my mom—my mom and I—we do all the cleaning. That’s how I found the diary. It was under one of the beds. In room nine. Did I already say that? Anyway, it was in nine. One of the guests must’ve lost it there.”

“Do you have any idea who that might have been?” Gorman asked.

She shook her head. Her left cheek bulged out as she pushed it with her tongue. She frowned at her drink and took another sip. “Could’ve been under there a while. I don’t know. But there was a woman and her kid in nine a couple days before. That was when…uh…this guy…”

Suddenly, Janice’s face crumpled. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth twisted into a parody of a smile as tears spilled down her cheeks. Sobbing loudly, she pressed one hand across her eyes. Her other hand shook, sloshing her drink up the walls of her glass.

Brian took the glass from her. She hunched over, burying her face in both hands. He sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her quaking back. “Hey, it’s all right,” he said in a soothing voice. “It’s all right, Janice.” He squeezed her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted between sobs. “You must…”

“Shhh.” Gently, he stroked her hair. He caressed her back. It bounced under his hand, but he liked the warm feel of her skin through the fabric.

Slowly, she regained control of herself.

Gorman gave her a Kleenex. She blotted her wet cheeks, wiped her eyes, blew her nose. Then she sat up straight and took a deep breath that sounded shaky as she let it out.

“Better?” Brian asked.

“Better.” She sniffed. She shook her head as if ashamed of her behavior. “I’m sorry. I…I thought I was over it. Guess I’m not, huh?” She made a feeble smile. “See…This guy I was telling you about, he…God.”

Brian’s hand slowly roamed her back. “It’s all right,” he said.

“I caught him trying to break into one of the cabins,” she said quickly, as if to get it over with. “He had this girl with him, a little kid named Joni. He’d killed her parents and kidnapped her, and—God, the awful things he did to her! We found out all about it later. But this guy, his name was Roy, he grabbed me and he tied us both up in one of the rooms and…messed with us. Raped us.”

“How awful,” Gorman said.

“Yeah. He…he was a…so horrible.” She shut her mouth tightly, jaw muscles bunching, and took a hissing breath through her nose. “Anyway, that was two days before I found the diary. I don’t know if it has anything to do with it. Joni got loose, and ran off, and the guy took off after her. That was the last I ever saw of him. He just vanished, and so did four of our guests. All five of them…” She shrugged. “Like they fell off the face of the earth.”

She lifted her glass off the floor, and took a sip. “Something else strange, too. These people—they were in nine and twelve—they left all their luggage and stuff behind. A car, too. That stuff was still around that night. But when morning came, everything was gone. Except the diary, which I found the day after. Whether they left it or not, I haven’t got the slightest idea. It could’ve been under that bed for days, a week, no telling how long. Anyway, that’s about all there is on how I found the diary.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone about finding it?” Gorman asked.

“No. I was alone in the room. Vacuuming. I looked inside the thing, and knew right away it had to do with Beast House. I recognized the woman’s name—Thorn. She’s the one that built the place, and her kids and sister were the first victims. She wound up in a nut-house someplace. I knew all of this from the tour. I used to go on the tour all the time. Not that I enjoyed it much, but I mean it’s kind of a major attraction around here so whenever we had visitors from out of town—like relatives and stuff—it’s a place we always took them to. So I was pretty familiar with the story you get on the tour and my eyes nearly fell out when I read the diary. Anyway, I hid it in my room and read the whole thing later on. It gave me a pretty good scare.”

“Why is that?” Gorman asked.

“Read it, you’ll find out. I mean, I knew someone had murdered all those people, but I figured it was…I don’t know what, but not a monster, for Godsake. I figured that was all bullshit till I read the diary. Then also I got a little nervous about just having the thing. If certain people found out…”

“Which people?”

“Well, like Maggie Kutch. She’s the old bag that owns the place. Beast House. You’ll see her if you take the tour. And there’s this slime, Wick Hapson. He’s like her flunky. He’s the one sells the tickets.”

“A young lady,” Gorman said, “was in the ticket booth when we stopped there earlier this afternoon.”

Janice shrugged. “I don’t know who she’d be. I’ve been trying to keep my distance from the place. I mean, you can’t help going by it sometimes, but I haven’t been on the tour since I read the diary. And I don’t intend to, either. Maybe they hired some kid. I wouldn’t know.”

“After reading the diary, what did you do?”

“Nothing. I kept it hidden. I thought a lot about throwing it away. It made me nervous just having it around. But then I got to thinking it might be valuable. When I read your book last March, that’s when I realized there might be a book in it. That’s when I decided to write you a letter.”

Leaning forward, Gorman picked up the recorder. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

“That’s about all, I think.”

He switched it off.

Janice drank the remains of her martini. She set the empty glass on the bedspread. “What now?” she asked.

“Now,” Gorman said, “I shall read the diary. Tomorrow, we’ll take the tour. Would you care to join us?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Pacific Coast Highway had curved inland soon after they left the Lighthouse Inn. Now they were passing through an area of wooded hills. The briny, fresh smell of the ocean was gone, replaced by a sweet scent of pine. The blue Mustang vanished as they rounded a bend. Tyler eased off the gas until it reappeared in the rearview mirror.

“There,” Nora said.

A sign reading malcasa point, 3 mi, pointed at a side road to the left. Tyler slowed and signaled the turn, and swung sharply across the empty lane.

“Wait for ’em,” Nora said.

She slowed to a crawl until the Mustang made the turn, then picked up speed again. The road curved along a shadowy hillside, sloping gradually downward. Not far ahead, a squirrel scampered over the pavement, bushy tail up like a question mark. Tyler touched the brake. The squirrel finished its crossing in plenty of time.

As the hill to the left fell away, she glimpsed the ocean through the trees along its crest. The breeze coming in her window suddenly turned slightly cool and smelled again of the sea.

“Almost there,” Nora said.

Tyler’s stomach lurched. Almost there. Her hands were slippery on the wheel. She rubbed them, one at a time, on the legs of her corduroys. “Let’s find a place to stay before hunting Dan up,” she said.

Nora agreed.

At the foot of the hill, the road curved to the right. A sign by the ditch read welcome to malcasa point. pop. 400. drive with care. Tyler took a deep breath. Her lungs seemed to tremble.

She gazed ahead. The road led flat and straight through the center of town. The town ahead was small, no more than a few blocks long, with shops lining both sides of the street before the road turned in the distance and vanished into the woods.

“The sticks, all right,” Nora said. “I hope it does have a motel. And I hope that isn’t it,” she added, looking to the right.

Tyler glanced that way. Through the bars of a wrought-iron fence beside the road, she saw a two-story Victorian house with weathered sides, bay windows, a peaked tower.

Nora said, “Here, we thought the Bates house was at Universal Studios.”

“Maybe they moved it.”

“Gee, should we stop for the tour?”

“That’s just what I’d like to do,” Tyler said, and kept on driving. The Mustang stayed a short distance behind them as they moved through town.

Nora, leaning toward the windshield, studied the roadside businesses. “Where’s the Holiday Inn?” she asked. “Where’s the Howard Johnson, the Hyatt?”

“There’s gotta be some kind of motel.”

“I sure don’t see one. Maybe you’d better pull in at this gas station and we’ll ask.”

“We can use a fill-up anyway,” Tyler said. She signaled well in advance, then swung over and eased the car up beside the row of full service pumps. Killing the engine, she looked over her shoulder. The Mustang stopped at the self-service island, and Abe climbed out. He nodded a greeting, then turned away to open his gas tank.

Tyler pulled her hood release as a lean, sour-looking man stepped around the front of her car. He crouched by her window. The name patch on his shirt read Bix. He peered inside as if sizing them both up, and one side of his mouth stretched over. “Ladies,” he said.

“Hi. Fill it up with unleaded, please.”

He gave the window sill a pat, then ambled around to the other side.

“Guess I’ll make a pit stop,” Nora said. “Go while the goin’s good.” She left the car, eased past the pumps, and headed for the station building.

Tyler climbed out. She stretched, feeling good as her muscles strained. The breeze off the ocean smelled fresh. Mixed with the subtle aroma of pines was a faint, pungent odor of gasoline. The breeze chilled the sweaty back of her blouse. Reaching around, she plucked the clinging fabric away from her skin.

Abe was watching the pump as he filled his tank.

She turned to Bix as he approached.

“Check under the hood for you?” he asked.

“Please.”

He nodded. His eyes strayed to her breasts and paused there for a moment before shifting away. Then he stepped past her. He bent over the hood and felt under its lip for the catch.

Tyler glanced down to make sure her blouse was buttoned. It was. “Is there a place to stay around here?” she asked.

“A motel, like?”

“Yes.”

He licked his lower lip. He stared at her breasts as if the answer were written there. “Only one,” he finally said. “That’d be the Welcome Inn, about half a mile up the road, on your right.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He raised the hood. Tyler was glad to be hidden from his view. She considered asking the location of Seaside Lane, but wanted as little as possible to do with him. She could find Dan’s place without the help of this lech.

Abe was still bent over the rear of his Mustang, pumping in gas. She walked over to him. He looked at her and smiled. “What’s up?” he asked.

“The guy says there’s a motel about half a mile up the road.”

“I was starting to wonder if we’d find one.”

“Apparently there is only one. The Welcome Inn.”

“Clever.”

“He says it’s on the right.”

“Fine. We’ll follow you in.” The feed clicked off. He pulled the spout out of his tank and stepped backward, holding it away from himself so gasoline wouldn’t drip onto his Nikes. He hung up the nozzle. Then he sniffed his fingers. He caught Tyler grinning. “Stinky,” he said.

She laughed. “We’ve got some Wet Ones in the car.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m a big boy. I can live with it.” He screwed the gas cap on.

“Oil’s half a quart low,” Bix said, coming up behind her.

“Thanks,” she said. “See you later,” she told Abe, and returned to her car. Watching from the window, she saw him pay cash. He pushed the wallet into his rear pocket. It made a small bulge. The other pocket apparently empty, curved smoothly over his right buttock.

The passenger door swung open. “Hi ho,” Nora said, climbing in.

“Everything come out all right?” Tyler asked.

“Right as rain. Did you ask Clyde about a motel?”

“Bix. Yeah. Dead ahead.”

“Terrific.”

Tyler found her credit card as Bix approached.

“Eleven-fifty,” he said.

She gave him the card. He left with it. “What a turkey,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Like this.” She leered at Nora’s breasts, wiggling her eyebrows and running her tongue across her lips.

“Ask him for a date. Definitely.”

“Right.”

A moment later, he stepped in front of the car. He jotted down the license plate number and came back to Tyler’s window. She took the plastic clipboard from him, and started to sign the receipt.

“You with those guys?” he asked.

Tyler didn’t answer.

“They’re our Secret Service escort,” Nora said.

“Yeah? Who you trying to shit?”

Tyler plucked her card from its slot.

“You don’t recognize Amy Carter when you see her?”

She ripped off the top copy of the receipt.

“Well, now,” Nora went on. “I guess you wouldn’t. She’s incognito.”

Tyler handed out the clipboard. Bix yanked it from her hand. He crouched and stared in at Nora. “You’re a real laugh.”

Tyler started the engine. She released the emergency brake and shifted to first.

“Wi—”

She popped the clutch. The car lurched forward.

“I didn’t catch that!” Nora yelled, turning in her seat.

“I did,” Tyler said.

“What did he call me?”

“A wise-ass cunt,” Tyler said, and pulled onto the road.

“Did he?”

“Please. Don’t flip him the bird. He knows where we’ll be staying.”

“Ah. Well, all right. Coward.”

“That’s me.”

“Seaside?” repeated the pleasant, bald man behind the registration desk. “Did you come in by way of town?”

“Yes,” Tyler said.

“What there was of it,” Nora added.

The man chuckled. So did Jack Wyatt, who was waiting behind them with Abe.

“Well,” the man said, “you want to head back through what there is of town. Just this side of the monster palace, you’ll see a dirt road on your right.”

“Just this side of Beast House?” Tyler asked.

“Yep. The monster palace. The road’s called Beach Lane. It’ll take you to the beach parking, but you don’t want to go that far. Just about a hundred yards in, you’ll come to Seaside. That’ll be to your right. Doesn’t go to the left.”

“Thank you,” Tyler said.

“Where’s the best place for dinner?” Nora asked.

“You’re there. Right next door. The Carriage House. Of course I’m partial as I run the place. But you can’t do better. Fine steaks and seafood and ambience at moderate prices.” He checked his wristwatch. His arm, unlike his head, was matted with hair. “If you’re after something to cut the thirst, our Happy Hour’s just started. Two drinks for the price of one, and free hors d’oeuvres. Runs till six.”

“Hey, all right!” Nora said. She turned around. “Maybe see you guys there. Say in an hour or so?”

“I’ll be there,” Jack assured her.

Abe nodded. He met Tyler’s eyes. “Are you going off now to look up your friend?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Good hunting,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He frowned at his shoes, then looked again into her eyes. “That offer for dinner’s still open. Have him join us.”

“Right,” she said. “He and his wife.”

“The eternal pessimist,” Nora said.

“Anyway, good luck.”

“I’ll need it.”

Abe and Jack stayed in the office to check in. Nora followed Tyler outside. “You sure you still want to find Dan?” she asked.

“What does that mean?”

“Looks to me like our friend Abe is more than a little interested in you.”

Tyler trotted down the porch stairs and got into the car. Nora climbed into the passenger side. “He’s gorgeous,” she added.

“I hardly know him.”

“Ah, but admit it, he makes your little heart go pitty-pat.”

“You’re imagining things,” Tyler said, and started the engine. She headed for the courtyard entrance. “You don’t have to come along. If you’d rather stay here and clean up, or…”

“Do I smell?” Nora sniffed her armpits.

“I don’t want to keep you from the Happy Hour.”

“No sweat,” she said. “Hey. Ritzy clientele.”

“Yeah.” Tyler drove slowly past the gray Mercedes, and pulled to a stop in front of the next duplex over. “Really,” she said, “you don’t need to come.”

“You telling me I’m not wanted?”

“No. I just thought you might prefer to stay behind, that’s all. The way you were trying to talk me out of it.”

“I was only pointing out there’s no law you have to go looking for Dan. It’s obvious you’re nervous about it, and it’s also obvious you’ve got eyes for Abe.”

“I don’t have ‘eyes’ for anyone,” she protested.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Come on, let’s get our stuff in the rooms.”

A few minutes later, after throwing her suitcase onto one of the beds, washing up, putting on fresh lipstick and brushing her hair, she stepped to the connecting door. “Ready,” she called.

“Meet you at the car,” Nora answered.

She left her room. Abe’s Mustang was parked in front of a bungalow just across the courtyard.

As she stepped around the front of her Omni, Nora’s door opened. Tyler watched her friend hop down the steps, breasts jiggling inside her T-shirt. For just a moment, she felt threatened and wary.

A faint scent of perfume entered the car with Nora. “Loins all girded?”

“My loins are fine,” Tyler said.

“You okay?”

“Just a little nervous.”

“Let’s went, Queeksdraw.”

Rounding a bend, they left the wooded hills behind. The service station appeared just ahead.

“Pull in,” Nora said. “I want to give Clyde a piece of my mind.”

“Bix.” Tyler glanced to the left, saw the man crouching to check the air in a Honda’s tire, and pressed harder on the accelerator.

“Wonder if he’s related to the asshole we met on the road. You oughta see the welt that sucker raised on me with that aerial.”

“Must have hurt.”

“He’ll think twice before he pulls that kind of shit again.” A few minutes later, Nora said, “Better slow down, here comes the monster palace.”

Tyler glanced ahead at the old house. Its windows, catching the late afternoon sunlight, looked plated with gold.

“This might be it.”

She took her foot off the gas pedal. As the car lost speed, she swept her eyes along the roadside to the right. Just past a five-and-ten was a vacant, wooded lot. The trees stopped at a dirt road. She flicked the arm of her turn signal.

“That’s it,” Nora confirmed. “Beach Lane.”

Tyler eased down on the brake, and swung onto the narrow, rutted road.

“Your Dan believes in roughing it.”

“So it seems.” The area to the right, where his house must be, was thick and shadowy with trees. By comparison, the rolling, weed-choked field to the left looked bare. Off in that direction stood a two-story house of red brick, alone except for a separate garage.

“That’s unusual,” Nora said.

“What?”

“How many actual brick houses do you ever see in California?”

“Maybe it was built by eas—”

“I’ll be damned. Look at that. No windows.”

Tyler looked again. Sure enough, the only visible wall was an unbroken expanse of brick. “Maybe on the other sides…”

“Guess they’re not very view-conscious.”

Tyler laughed.

Nora shook her head and faced the windshield. “Ah, here comes Seaside.”

Tyler stopped by a row of mailboxes lined up along a raised shelf. The gray metal hoods were labeled two, four, eight, and ten. She rolled past them, and peered down the narrow lane. “Maybe we’d better walk,” she said. “Can’t be too far.”

“You don’t want to block traffic,” Nora said, flashing a smile.

“God forbid.”

Tyler drove past the entrance to Seaside. Not far ahead, the road widened into a parking area. She stopped against a log. A wedge of ocean glinting sunlight showed through a break in the low hills ahead. A footpath curved along one of the slopes.

“Nuts,” Nora said. “We should’ve brought our suits.”

They climbed from the car. A stiff breeze tugged at Tyler’s hair, molded her blouse to her body. When she turned away from the ocean, it pushed at her back as if urging her to rush.

Nora met her behind the car. She was slipping her arms into the sleeves of her red sweater. Her face was wrapped with tendrils of blowing hair. As they walked along, she buttoned the sweater.

Thank you, wind, Tyler thought.

Then hurried to Seaside. There, the trees shielded them from the wind but also kept out the sunlight. They walked in silence through the deep shadows.

Tyler shivered—partly from the chill, mostly from the knowledge that she might, in minutes, be face to face with Dan Jenson. What were the chances, after five years, that he would welcome her, that they could pick up where they left off? Slim, she thought. Minuscule. But she had come this far. There was no turning back. She clenched her teeth to stop her jaw from shaking.

From a cottage on the left, a dog began to yap. A gaunt man appeared behind the screen door. Nora raised a hand in greeting. The man stood motionless, a dim shape through the screen, staring out at them.

“Charming,” Nora muttered. “Let’s hear some ‘Dueling Banjos.’”

They passed a clapboard shack with boarded windows, then came upon a wheelless bus propped up on cinder blocks. They paused to stare at the mural painted on its side: a ghost ship with tattered sails becalmed on a glaring sea. A human skeleton clung to the helm. A giant albatross floated before the ship, an arrow in its breast. Above the bus’s door hung a sign carved in driftwood: captain frank.

“Interesting neighbors your Dan has,” Nora said.

They continued down the gloomy road to its end, where a path led toward a small, green-painted cottage with a screened porch.

“That must be it,” Nora said.

Tyler’s heart pounded hard. “I don’t see a car anywhere.”

“Maybe he’s not home yet.”

They walked down the path. Tyler followed Nora up the porch steps. Nora knocked on the door, then pulled it open. Except for a swing suspended from its ceiling, the porch was empty. That seemed odd to Tyler. Similar cottages she’d known as a child while vacationing with her parents always had porches cluttered with gear: fishing rods, a tackle box and minnow bucket, a fishnet, an old Coleman lantern, a refrigerator well stocked with soda and beer, hooks on the walls draped with rain slickers and beach towels. There was none of that.

“No doorbell,” Nora whispered. “I’ll let you do the knocking.” She stepped away from the door and sat on the swing. Its chains creaked and groaned as she pushed it into motion.

Tyler rapped lightly on the door. She waited, then struck harder. “I don’t think he’s home.”

“It’s only about four thirty,” Nora said from the swing.

Tyler cupped her hands to a glass pane in the door, and peered inside. She could see no more than the kitchen. “Maybe Barbie Doll gave us the wrong address,” she said.

“I doubt it. She was flaky, but not stupid.”

“Well, nobody’s home.”

“Shall we wait, or try again some other time?”

Tyler shrugged. Though disappointed, she also felt relieved; her eagerness to meet Dan was mixed with such anxiety that she was almost glad they had failed. “It might be a long wait,” she said. “Cops have weird hours. He could’ve just started a shift, or something.”

“Then you want to leave?”

“We don’t want to keep you from the Happy Hour.”

“I’m perfectly willing to wait.”

“No, let’s go.”

They left the porch and walked up the path to the dirt road.

“Maybe,” Nora said, “we can check a phone directory when we get back, make sure we do have the right address. You might even give him a ring, unless you’re intent on making a surprise appearance.”

“Yeah, that’s an idea.” A phone call, she thought, would be much easier on the nerves. That way, at least, she might find out how he stood. They could arrange to meet, regardless. Even if he was married or engaged or there was some other reason not to renew their relationship, she still would like to see him again.

“Ahoy there!” a man called.

Seated on a lawn chair atop the strangely painted bus, a beer can raised in greeting, was a white-bearded man. He wore a ragged straw hat, a Hawaiian shirt, and plaid Bermuda shorts.

“Captain Frank?” Nora asked.

“At your service, mateys.”

“We’re looking for Dan Jenson,” Tyler called up to him. “He lives at the end of the road?”

“Not anymore.” Captain Frank chuckled softly. “No indeed.”

“He moved?”

“You might say that.”

“Do you know where we can find him?”

“Can’t find him anywhere tonight. Try tomorrow, if you’re of a mind.”

“Where?”

He tilted the beer can to his mouth, then crumpled it and tossed it down. It landed on the layer of pine needles beside his bus. “Oh, Dan’s not far off. No, indeed. Just down the road a spell. Can’t miss it. A place called Beast House.”

“He lives there?” Tyler asked.

“I wouldn’t say that, not exactly. Go on by in the morning. Tell him Captain Frank sent you, and give Danny boy my regards.” He waved them away.

“Thanks,” Tyler called.

They started walking.

“He must work as a guard there,” Nora said.

“Yeah. I suppose. But he must live someplace.”

Nora shrugged. “You can ask him all about it tomorrow.”

“I guess this means we’ll have to take the tour.”

“You’ll love it. Tacky tacky.”

“I can’t wait,” she muttered.

“Let’s get back to the inn and get tanked.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tyler pulled to a stop in front of their bungalow at the Welcome Inn. “It’ll take me a while to get cleaned up and changed,” she said. “You can go on ahead to the restaurant, if you’d like.”

“Fine,” Nora said. “Meet you there.”

They climbed from the car.

Alone in her room, Tyler checked a drawer of the night stand between the beds. She found a Gideon Bible and a telephone book. She looked up Jenson, Daniel in the directory. The address listed after his name was 10 Seaside Lane.

According to Captain Frank, he didn’t live there now. Not anymore. No indeed.

She flipped the directory shut. The date on its cover was February 1978, making the book more than a year and a half old.

She considered dialing information.

Maybe later. Right now, she had neither the energy nor the desire. She sat motionless on the edge of the bed, the phone book resting on her thigh, and stared into space. She felt weary. Her mind seemed out of focus. In the pit of her stomach was a tiny knot of fear.

She wished that she was home in her own apartment, her life untouched by Barbie Doll, the horrible man on the highway, the leering Bix, the man who stared out like a specter from his cottage on Seaside, or Captain Frank on top of his grimly painted bus. Give Danny boy my regards.

And then she thought, Why not leave in the morning? First thing. As Nora pointed out, there’s no law you have to go looking for Dan.

Just get in the car, tomorrow, and bid farewell to all this. Tyler suddenly felt better, as if realizing she could leave had lifted an oppressive weight from her spirits. The knot of fear in her stomach loosened. She could leave. Nobody would force her to seek out Dan. Nobody would force her to take the Beast House tour.

If I don’t want to, she thought, I won’t.

She put away the telephone directory, pulled the curtains across the windows, and took off her clothes. Inspecting her bra in the dim light, she doubted she could ever remove the bloodstains entirely. Even if she succeeded, she would never forget this was the bra she had worn when the man attacked her. It would always be a reminder. So she took it into the bathroom and dropped it into the waste basket.

Standing by the road, she had cleaned most of the blood from her skin. But she hadn’t taken off her bra. Some blood had soaked through it, leaving faint rust-colored blotches on her breasts.

In the shower, she lathered her body with a thin bar of motel soap and used a washcloth to scrub her face and neck, her shoulders, her arms, her breasts—every inch of skin that had been touched by the man or his blood. She rinsed. She turned her back to the spray and looked down. Her breasts were tawny to the tan line, then creamy white to the darker flesh of her nipples. No trace of the blood stains remained. Nevertheless, she soaped the washcloth and scoured herself once more before leaving the tub.

The bath towel was threadbare and half the size of her towels at home. After drying herself, she wrapped it around her waist and left the steamy bathroom. She turned on a lamp. The towel pulled loose as she sat down at the dressing table. She left it draping her lap and brushed her hair. Only the fringes at her neck were damp from the shower. With the short length, she had no trouble fixing her hair up enough to look presentable.

Leaning against the table’s edge, she studied her face in the mirror. Her eyes needed help. Definitely. They looked haggard and slightly dazed. With a conceal stick from her makeup bag, she covered the smudges under each eye. She darkened her feathery lashes with mascara, then brushed her lids with light blue shadow. A vast improvement.

As she put on lipstick, she wondered why she hadn’t bothered to do all this before driving out to look for Dan. Well, she’d been in a hurry. And nervous. Maybe it was something else, though. Maybe it was simply that she thought he wouldn’t mind her scruffy appearance. Or maybe, deep down, she had somehow known she wouldn’t find him.

She got up from the table. Its edge had left a crease like a long red scar just below her rib cage. She rubbed it as she carried the towel into the bathroom.

She had already decided what to wear. Though she would have preferred slacks because of the chill outside, she’d made up her mind to wear a skirt instead. Rummaging through her suitcase, she took out what she needed. She stepped into fresh panties, hooked her garter belt around her hips, and sat on the bed to put on her nylons. She’d selected a blue tweed skirt. It wasn’t very summery but then, neither was the weather. Not at night, anyway. With the skirt on, she slipped into a wispy bra. Its silken feel made her nipples rigid. She drew a white cashmere sweater down over her head. It wasn’t thick enough to hide the jut of her nipples completely, but her only other white bra was in the bathroom waste basket. A black one might show through the sweater.

“What the hell,” she muttered.

With Nora at the same table, who would be looking at her anyway?

Abe, that’s who.

She felt a rather pleasant, nervous tremor. It stayed with her as she stepped into her heels, put a few necessities into a clutch purse—including her room key—and approached the connecting door.

“Nora?” she called. “Left yet?”

“Five minutes ago,” came the answering voice, followed by a guffaw. “Want to come through? My side’s already open.”

Tyler pulled open her door. The room was a twin of her own. Nora was seated at the dressing table, changing her earrings. “I’m just about set,” she said. She had on the same green gown she had worn to last night’s banquet. With her low neckline and spaghetti straps, she looked considerably more formal than Tyler.

“Going to a prom?” Tyler asked.

Nora eyed her, grinning. “My, don’t you look preppy. Going to a frat dance?”

“Call me Muffin.”

“I just figured I might as well give the boys something to look at.”

“Where’s Jack going to pin your corsage?”

“To my boobie, darling.” Finished with her earrings, she took a white, cable-knit shawl off the bed, wrapped it around her shoulders, and picked up a purse that matched her gown. “Shall we be off?”

Outside, the breeze was mild. The sun felt much warmer than Tyler had expected. It hung above the distant treetops, blazing into her eyes. She lowered her head and watched her shoes move over the courtyard’s asphalt. “What time is it?” she asked.

“About five thirty. The tail end of the Happy Hour.”

“I hope Abe and Jack are the patient type.”

“We’re well worth waiting for.”

“Right.” She hesitated. “I’ve been thinking.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure about all this business…looking for Dan, digging up the past. Maybe it’d be better to call it off.”

“Getting the jitters?”

“I’ve had the jitters all along. But nothing’s been going right, you know? It’s almost as if I’m not meant to find him.”

“Meant? That’s a cop-out.”

“And if I do find him, and if he’s not married or something, who’s to say we’re still…I don’t know, the same people? I know I’m not. He’s probably changed, too.”

“No harm in giving it a shot.”

“Isn’t there? I don’t know.”

Nora frowned at her, looking concerned. “What is it?”

“I just…it didn’t seem like such a bad idea, last night. But after everything today…” She shook her head. “I have this kind of sick feeling about it.”

“Just nerves.”

“No, it’s more than that. I have this feeling that if I do find Dan, I’m going to be very sorry. I’m going to wish I hadn’t.”

They crossed the entry drive to a shaded walkway.

“It has been one hell of a day,” Nora agreed. “I can’t blame you for feeling a bit down. But maybe you’ll feel different in the morning.”

“Maybe,” Tyler said.

Nora pulled open one of the double doors, and they entered the restaurant. The hostess’s desk, with a goose-neck lamp shining down on the reservation list, was deserted. No one was seated in the dining area to the right, but the tables were set. A woman in an ankle-length dress was bent over one, lighting the chimney candle of its centrepiece. From the left came the sounds of quiet conversation and clinking glass.

They stepped past the desk, past the partition behind it, and entered the cocktail lounge. Several people were seated at the bar: a lone man joking with the bartender, a middle-aged redhead with her hand on the thigh of the man beside her, a husky gray-haired man sitting with a blond fellow. Tyler turned her eyes to the tables. She spotted Abe and Jack in a corner booth, and Jack waved. “They’re over…”

“That’s Gorman Hardy,” Nora said. She was leaning sideways as if to get a better look at someone down the bar.

“The one with the other guy?”

“That ‘other guy’ is Brian Blake.”

Tyler could only see the back of the older man, but the blond one was talking, head turned enough to show the side of his face. “You might be right,” she said.

“Of course I’m right. Let’s go over and say hi.”

“Must we?”

“He’s not such an asshole.”

“I never said he was.”

“Effete, arrogant, and slimy—same difference. Come on, don’t abandon me.”

“What the hell.”

Nora waved at Abe and Jack, then lifted a forefinger to signal they would be over in a minute. Tyler, smiling toward Abe, shrugged and shook her head like an unwilling accomplice. She followed Nora down the bar.

The younger man looked over his shoulder as they approached. He was indeed Brian Blake, whose ghastly experiences had been the subject of Hardy’s bestseller. He didn’t appear to recognize either Tyler or Nora, but then, his eyes had barely settled on their faces before sliding down to check out the rest. Apparently pleased by what he found, he bestowed a smile.

Hardy swiveled himself sideways. “Ladies?”

“Mr. Hardy,” Nora said. “We met you at the NLA.”

For just an instant, he looked wary. He covered it quickly with a smile. “Oh, yes. Certainly.” His gaze shifted from Nora to Tyler. “We spoke briefly at the cocktail party, I believe.”

“I didn’t have the pleasure,” Blake said.

“I’m Nora Branson. This is Tyler Morgan.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, and shook hands with both of them. “I didn’t attend the party, but I suppose you caught my talk.”

“It was fascinating,” Nora said. “Horrifying.”

“Thank you.”

“You almost made a believer out of me.”

He looked amused. “Almost?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever quite believe in ghosties till one goes bump into me.”

“Touché,” said Hardy. He laughed and picked up his martini. “I suppose you were also skeptical of the book. You did read the book?”

“I don’t know anyone who hasn’t.”

“Neither do I, my dear, neither do I.”

“Could we buy you ladies a drink?” Blake asked.

“No, thank you,” Tyler said. “We’re with some others. In fact, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Nora snapped her fingers. “You’re the Mercedes, I’ll bet. We’re neighbors.”

“In that case, perhaps we’ll be seeing you again.”

“Are you just passing through, or…” Her eyes suddenly widened. “You’re here for Beast House! You’re going to do a book on it. That’s the ‘secret project’ you referred to at the party.”

“Oh, no,” Hardy said. “Not at all. We’re on our way up to Portland for another speaking engagement.”

“We do plan to take a look at the place,” Blake added.

“Of course. We could hardly pass through this area without stopping in for the famous Beast House tour.”

“When’ll you be doing it—tomorrow?”

“First thing in the morning,” Blake said.

Nora grinned. “Maybe we’ll see you there.”

Tyler’s stomach tightened. “We’d better get going,” she said.

“Yeah, we’d better.”

“Our loss,” Blake said, and winked at Nora. Winked.

“Ciao,” Hardy said.

Tyler winced. “Bye,” she said.

“See you later,” said Nora.

Finally, they were heading for the corner booth. “Isn’t that incredible!” Nora said in a hushed voice.

“Brian Blake?”

“Him, too. No, I mean that they’re gonna be doing Beast House.”

“They aren’t.”

“That’s what he said, but that doesn’t make it true. They just don’t want word getting out, or some damn rip-off artist will beat them to the punch with a Beast House book.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? I’d bet on it. And we can be there when they take the tour. It’ll be like being part of literary history. We were there when Gorman Hardy first stepped inside Beast House!”

“You were there.”

“Aw, you’ll…”

“Sorry we kept you waiting,” Tyler interrupted.

“No problem,” Abe said, rising to his feet. He had changed into gray slacks and a blue blazer. He wore no tie. His yellow shirt was open at the throat. “Did you run into some friends?”

“Not friends,” Tyler said. She slipped into the booth and sat down beside him.

Nora sat across the table. She patted Jack’s forearm through the sleeve of his flashy plaid sport jacket. “Those two at the bar,” she explained, “are Gorman Hardy and Brian Blake.”

“Brian Blake?” Jack asked. He looked at Nora with the eagerness of an enthralled child. “Sure. The middleweight contender out of Pittsburg.”

“No,” Abe said. “That’s Byron Blake.”

“Well, who’s this guy?”

Abe signaled to the barmaid. As she approached, Nora said, “Do you know that book, Horror at Black River Falls?”

“Saw the show.” He looked at Abe. “They ran it at the post last month. That haunted house flick where blood came out of the faucets and the gal ended up opening her wrists.”

“I saw it,” Abe said. He didn’t sound impressed.

The barmaid arrived. After they gave their orders, she cleared off the table and left.

Leaning forward, Jack peered at Nora. “This Blake, he’s the pretty one? I don’t remember him in the movie. Who’d he play?”

“He wasn’t in the movie,” Nora told him. She spoke cheerfully, without any hint of reproach. “It was about him. It was his house in real life, and his wife’s the one who committed suicide.”

“Bullshit,” Jack said.

“What’s bullshit?”

“It never happened. Who are they trying to kid? Okay, maybe the guy’s wife pulled the plug on herself, but ghosts? Blood spurting out of the faucets? All those dirty words showing up on the walls? An ax flying at the guy? All that stuff really happened? No way.”

“You could ask him,” Nora suggested.

“Do you believe it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard him talk on the subject, and he sure sounded convincing.”

“Nobody sounds more convincing than a guy with a good con.”

“The other fellow,” Abe said. “He’s actually Gorman Hardy, the author?”

“He is,” Tyler said.

“I’ve read some of his books. Including his ghost story.”

“Did you believe it?”

“I didn’t disbelieve it.”

Jack’s face contorted. “For Chistsake, Abe.”

“More things in heaven and earth, Horatio…”

“Ghosts?”

“Remember Denny Stevens?”

“Not Denny Stevens again. You were hallucinating.”

“The whole platoon was hallucinating?”

“Mass hysteria.”

Abe arched an eyebrow at Jack, then glanced from Nora to Tyler. His hands were folded on the table. He looked down at them. “Stevens was on point. This was in the jungle near the Vu Gia River, back in ’67. He stepped on an anti-personnel mine. When we got to him, his right leg was gone. He was already dead from loss of blood. The femoral artery…” He shook his head. “A couple of hours later, we came to a village. According to our intelligence, the VC had cleared out. The village was supposed to be safe, right? We stayed on our toes, just in case, but we didn’t expect trouble. We were about fifty yards from the first huts when Denny Stevens came walking out from behind one. He came walking right toward us, just as if he had both legs.”

“Which he did,” Jack added.

“He was carrying his right leg. Had a hand under the boot, the thigh propped against his shoulder.”

“God Almighty,” Nora muttered.

“We were all…slightly stunned. We just stood there, gazing at Stevens. He used his free hand to wave us off, then he kind of melted into a puddle and vanished. We took cover as if every one of us knew for a fact that he’d come back to warn us. Just about then, all hell broke loose. We got chopped up pretty good, but it would’ve been a wipe-out except for Stevens.”

“You’ll have to forgive Abe,” Jack said. “He’s usually not insane.”

“Every survivor of that firefight will tell you the same story.”

“You oughta tell that guy Hardy about it,” Jack said. “Maybe he’ll put you in a book.”

The barmaid came with a tray of drinks. There were two of each. She distributed them, and Abe paid. “I’ll be right back with more hors d’oeuvres,” she said and took away the tray.

Abe twisted his fingers around the lip of a Dos Equiis to clean it and raised the bottle. “Which is why,” he said, “I don’t disbelieve Hardy’s book. But I don’t necessarily believe it.”

“Nora thinks he’s in town to write about Beast House.”

“He denies it, of course,” Nora said. “But I’m onto him. I’m gonna be there tomorrow when he goes on the tour. Even if I have to go alone.”

“Want company?” Jack asked.

“You betcha.”

Abe looked at Tyler. “Did you have any luck finding your old friend?”

“No. Well, we went to his place, but he doesn’t live there anymore.”

“We found out he works at Beast House,” Nora said. “Hey, maybe if we play our cards right he can get us in free.”

“I don’t know,” Tyler said.

“Butterflies,” Nora explained.

CHAPTER NINE

Alone in his room, Brian Blake picked up the telephone and dialed the office. A man answered, but he was prepared for that. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I don’t seem to have an ice bucket.”

“I’ll send one right over to you.”

“Appreciate it,” he said and hung up.

He went to the connecting doors and opened his side. Gorman, rereading the diary, looked up at him.

“She’s on the way,” Brian said. “I hope.”

“Excellent. Enjoy yourself, but handle her carefully. We certainly don’t wish to alienate her.”

“Trust me.”

“Do I have a choice?”

Laughing, Brian shut the door. He removed a tan jacket from his suitcase, and slipped his arms into the sleeves. He was fastening the buttons when he heard a gentle knock. “Room service?” he called.

“Your ice bucket.” Janice’s voice. Brian smiled.

He opened the door.

“I filled it for you,” she said.

“Thank you.” He took the plastic container. “Come on in for a minute.”

She stepped inside, and looked around the room as if expecting to find Gorman. She had changed into blue jeans and a powder blue sweatshirt.

“How are you feeling?” Brian asked as he shut the door.

“You mean the gin? I’m okay now, but I sure conked out. I almost missed supper.”

He belted his jacket. “How about an adventure?”

She looked intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“Gorman asked me to check on something. You want to come along?”

“Where to?”

“I won’t tell.”

“Do we walk or ride?”

“Ride, then walk.”

“How long’ll it take?”

“An hour or so. It all depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether we get lucky.”

“It sounds so mysterious.”

“You game?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I got nothing better to do. I’ll tell Dad I’m going for a walk.”

“Will he buy that?”

“Sure. I take a lot of walks. Just pull off the road and wait for me.”

Brian gave her a head start, then took his camera out to the Mercedes. He drove slowly through the courtyard, turned toward town, and stopped along the roadside. There was no traffic. He killed the headlights. Looking back, he saw Janice leave the motel office and trot down the porch stairs. She walked quickly with a bounce in her step as if eager to run. As she crossed the road, Brian flipped a switch to unlock the passenger door.

“All set,” she said, climbing in. As she swung the door shut, Brian noticed a pleasant, faint scent.

He smiled. He hadn’t noticed this aroma in the room. Had she actually taken time to put on cologne for their “adventure?”

“ Now will you say where we’re going?” she asked.

He put on his headlights and eased onto the road. “Beast House,” he said. He watched her mouth fall open.

“Not me. At night? You’re out of your tree.”

He laughed.

“You are kidding, right?”

“Right. Half kidding.”

“Only half?”

“We’ll stay outside the fence. What I want to do is go around behind the place and scout around.”

“What for?”

“The hole.”

“The beast hole? For Godsake, what for?”

“To see if it’s there.”

“Oh, man, I’m not sure about this.”

“Do you want me to take you back?”

She sighed. “You weren’t kidding about an adventure, were you?”

“Should be fun, huh?”

“Jesus.”

“Chances are, we won’t find the thing anyway. If it exists at all, it’s probably well hidden. It may have even collapsed by now. But if we do find it, you know what that means?”

“I guess it means the diary’s not a fake.”

Rounding a bend, they left the dark stretch of road behind. The main street of town was lighted with lampposts.

“It might also mean,” Brian said, “that we would have access to the house.”

“Now I know you’re crazy.”

He slid his gaze down her slim body. “You might be just about the right size…”

“No way, José.”

Brian laughed. “Actually, I only want to locate the hole and get some shots of it. The tunnel to the house is probably blocked by now, anyway. Unless the beast still uses it.”

“You just had to say that, didn’t you? You’re having a great old time.”

“Wonderful.”

She laughed softly as she stared out the windshield. Then she looked at him. “I guess you must’ve read the diary, huh? What did you think?”

“That Thorn gal either had a very active fantasy life, or she ran into something a bit odd in her cellar.”

“A bit odd?”

“More than a bit.”

“I’ll say.”

“It’s too bad she didn’t describe the thing in more detail.”

“As far as I’m concerned, she described more than enough.” Janice pressed her knees together. “Look, there’s the Kutch house.” She nodded to the right.

Brian glanced at the brick house set back a distance from the road.

“See anything funny about it?”

“No.”

“No windows. That’s where Maggie lives. The one who owns Beast House? They say she built it without windows to keep the creature out.”

“Seems excessive,” Brian said. Turning his head, he watched Beast House as he drove slowly by. Its windows caught the moonlight. Its dull gray walls were smudged with shadows. “Must be pleasant in there at night.”

“It’s bad enough in daylight. Are you sure that wouldn’t be a better time to go looking for this hole?”

“We don’t want to attract attention.”

“The thing’s nocturnal, you know.”

“Worried?”

“I just think you’d have a better chance finding the hole in daylight.”

“Well, it’s worth a try.”

“How come Mr. Hardy didn’t come along?”

“He’s chicken.”

“Smart man.”

“I’ll protect you,” Brian said, and patted her knee.

“Gee, thanks.”

He steered around a bend, and the distant lights of Malcasa’s main street vanished from the rearview mirror. The road curved upward through wooded hills. He drove farther than he wanted, looking for a shoulder wide enough to accommodate the Mercedes. When he found one, he turned out and killed the headlights.

“Oh, man,” Janice muttered.

“What?”

“It’s dark.”

“All the better for sneaking around, my dear.” He slung the camera strap around his neck and climbed out. While Janice scooted across the seat, he opened the back door. He lifted a blanket and flashlight off the floor.

“What’s the blanket for?” Janice whispered.

“In case we want to make out.”

She looked at him. She said nothing.

They started across the road, Janice staying close to his side. “Actually,” he said, “it’s in case we do find the hole. I’ll want to get some shots of it, and we can use the blanket to shield the flashes.”

“Clever.”

“Disappointed?”

“Oh, sure.”

They walked along the edge of the road, heading down the slope toward town. Janice’s cowboy boots sounded loud on the pavement. When the wind rushed through the trees, it seemed to Brian like the noise of an approaching car. He often looked over his shoulder.

“Nervous?” Janice asked.

“I don’t want to get run over.”

“Fat chance of that.”

“You get careful,” he said, “after you’ve had a close one.”

“Did you…?” she suddenly turned her face to him. “My God, that’s right. I forgot about that. Must’ve been pretty hairy.”

“You see your own car speeding at you without anyone at the wheel—yeah, I’d say it’s pretty hairy.”

“Awful,” she said. “God, you’ve been through a lot. I don’t know how you stood it.”

He shook his head slowly. “I came very close…to taking Martha’s way out. When I found her in the tub, and all that blood…”

Janice patted his forearm, gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Well,” he said, “it was a long time ago.”

“You must still miss her.”

“Not a day goes by when I don’t…Hey, let’s not get maudlin here and spoil the fun.”

“Fun?”

“I’m all right. Honest.”

She let go of his arm, and nodded. Her face was a dim blur in the darkness. Brian brushed her chin with his forefinger. “Let’s find that hole,” he whispered.

Near the bottom of the road, with the corner of the Beast House fence in sight, they crossed a shallow ditch and started along the slope. Brian led the way through the underbrush, ducking beneath low branches, climbing or descending to bypass trees and thickets, always staying roughly parallel to the fence. When he came to a cluster of rock, he climbed onto it and found a smooth surface. He sat down to rest. Janice settled down beside him. He put a hand on her back. “How you doing?”

“Okay.”

With no trees blocking the view, Brian could see the rear corner of the fence not far below. The lawn of Beast House was pale with moonlight. Just in back of the house stood a small enclosure of latticework. “The famous gazebo,” he said, “where Elizabeth and Dr. Ross had their ‘blissful delights.’”

“Guess so,” Janice said. “Do you really think we’re gonna find that hole?”

“Should be over there,” he answered, pointing toward the hillside directly behind the house. “Just outside the fence.”

“It could be anywhere.”

“Elizabeth wrote that the tunnel came out just beyond the property line.”

“But I don’t remember she said in which direction. It might’ve been along the back, or it might’ve been along this side. For all we know, we already passed it.”

Brian grinned. “Or it might be right behind us!”

“Creep,” she muttered, and nudged him with her elbow.

He struck back, tickling her side. She squirmed and yelped.

“Shhh. It’ll hear you.”

She clamped her arm down, pinning Brian’s hand against her side. “Gotcha,” she said. “No more tickling, okay?”

“I promise.” He slipped his hand free. “Why don’t you wait here and relax a minute? I’ll be right back.”

“Not a chance. Where you go, I go.”

“Fine with me. Pick a tree.”

“Oh. In that case. Stay close, though, okay?”

He climbed over the top of the outcropping. After only a few steps, he turned around. The back of Janice’s head was a shaggy silhouette in the darkness. “Don’t peek,” he warned.

“I won’t.”

He unzipped his pants and relieved himself. Then he climbed over to Janice. “Ready to go?” he asked

“All set.”

He picked up his flashlight, tucked the folded blanket under one arm, and led the way down the rocks. The hillside slanted down to a shallow ravine, then curved as if to follow the line of the fence. Though there were few trees here to give them cover, Brian felt certain that they couldn’t be spotted from the distant road. Only someone looking out a rear window of Beast House would be able to see them crossing the slope.

The windows were all dark.

He waited for Janice. “Anyone in there at night?”

“I doubt it.”

“Just the beast, huh?”

“Very funny.” She didn’t sound amused. “As a matter of fact, they say it wanders the house at night.”

“Looking for Elizabeth?”

“Looking for victims.”

“Let’s hope it stays away from the windows.”

Janice lagged behind, staring at the house, then hurried to catch up. “Maybe we ought to get out of here,” she whispered.

“We haven’t even started searching for the hole.”

“C’mon, what are the chances we’ll find it? You said yourself that we probably wouldn’t.”

“What’re you so worried about?”

“I’m not worried, I’m scared shitless.”

“What for?”

She waved toward the house. “It can see us.”

Turning to Janice, he shook his head. He let the blanket and flashlight fall to the ground, and put his hands on her shoulders. He could feel her trembling. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said.

“I’m sorry. Really. But…”

“That business with Elizabeth was more than seventy years ago,” he said in a calm, soothing voice. “Even if the stuff in her diary is true, which I strongly doubt, that creature would be ancient by now. Decrepit. Probably dead. At any rate, nobody’s been killed since that kid almost thirty years ago.”

“What do you mean? It killed three people last summer.”

Brian frowned. “There’s nothing about that in the travel brochure.”

“Well, it’s outdated.” She glanced at the house. “They were killed up there, in a corridor on the second floor.”

“The police must’ve investigated.”

“Sure, but they couldn’t come up with an answer. They don’t think the beast had anything to do with it—at least that’s what they say. They said it must’ve been a nut.”

“They’re probably right.”

“They just said that. They can’t admit there’s some kind of a goddamn monster in the house.”

“There is no monster, Janice. I mean, that’s nonsense.”

“No, it’s not. You read the diary.”

“Thorn was crazy.”

Janice stared up at him. She smiled slightly. “If she was crazy, what the hell are we doing out here looking for the goddam hole?”

Brian let out a quick laugh. “Touché,” he said.

“Let’s leave.”

“Gorman thinks there might be a hole. He’s more gullible than me.”

“Let him come and look for it.”

“What’ll I tell him?”

“Just say we couldn’t find it.”

“That would be fibbing.”

She glanced to each side. “I don’t see the hole. Do you see the hole?”

Brian laughed. “You’re really something, Janice.”

“Am I?” She put her hands on his sides, and stared into his eyes. “What kind of something?”

“Later. We’ve got to get out of here, remember?”

“No. Come on, you started it.”

“You’re funny,” he said. “And crafty. And cute.”

“Cute? Hamsters are cute.”

“Okay, how about beautiful?”

She tilted her head. “That’s nice. Now we can leave.” But her hands didn’t leave Brian’s sides.

He eased her close and she pressed herself tightly against him, arms wrapping his back, mouth opening, sucking in his tongue. She squirmed and moaned in his embrace.

Brian slid his hands under the back of her sweatshirt. Caressing her, he pictured himself gloating as he described it all to Gorman. Nothing to it, really. I just worked on her emotions, played on her fears till she needed some reassuring, gave a comforting pat here and there, a little wit to break the tension. Worked on her sympathy by leading into some sad talk about my poor departed Martha. Tried to keep a sexual undertone going, joked that I’d brought the blanket for making out, even took a leak out there so she’d have to think about my dick. Stayed close enough so she could hear the piss splatter.

Masterful job, Gorman would say.

He unhooked the back of Janice’s bra. She didn’t object. On the contrary, she stepped back enough to make a space between their bodies so Brian could lift the cups away and caress her breasts. Her nipples felt like rubber posts. She arched her back as he thumbed them.

“Shouldn’t we leave?” he asked.

Her mouth hung open, but she didn’t speak. She shook her head wildly from side to side, making her hair fly.

He slid the sweatshirt up above her breasts, crouched, and used his tongue. Her trembling fingers pushed through his hair, urged his mouth hard against her breast.

Actually, Gorman, it was a cinch. She was as hot to trot as they come.

No, he shouldn’t admit that. Let Gorman think he’s a superstud.

Which, of course, I am.

As he sucked first on one breast, then on the other, his hands plied her firm rump through the seat of her jeans.

I took it slow, he would say. Didn’t want to spook her.

He brought a hand to the front. The crotch of her jeans felt warm and moist. He pressed against it, feeling the jut of her mons through the heavy fabric. She writhed on his rubbing fingers as if she wanted them in.

Straightening up, he pulled her sweatshirt over her head. The bra came off with it. He caressed her bare neck and shoulders as she feverishly unfastened his jacket and shirt. When they were open, she squeezed herself against him. Her breasts, slicked with Brian’s saliva, felt cool at first, then warm. Her hands went to his shoulders. They pulled the shirt and jacket down his arms. The chilly night air made him flinch, but her hand took his mind off the cold as it pushed inside his pants and curled around his erection.

“Let’s put the blanket down,” she whispered, her fingers gliding. “That’s what you brought it for.”

“It is?”

Grinning, she gave his scrotum a gentle squeeze. Then she took out her hand. They spread the blanket nearby. It was puffy from the weeds beneath it. She walked on the blanket, her moonlit breasts jiggling as she stomped it down.

Lying on her back, she crossed each leg to pull off her boots and socks. She opened her jeans, lifted her buttocks off the blanket long enough to tug the pants out from under her, and raised her feet. “Give me a hand?”

Brian gripped the cuffs and slid the jeans off her legs. The panties were around her thighs, very white below the dark triangle of her pubic thatch. Crouching beside her, Brian drew the flimsy garment down to her ankles and off.

While he shed the rest of his own clothes, he watched Janice squirm slowly, caressing herself. She had her knees up, her heels dug in to keep her from sliding down the gradual slope.

Her legs spread wide for him when he knelt. He kissed her inner thighs, nibbled and licked, easing lower until his mouth found her wet center. She jerked as his tongue darted. “God, Brian,” she murmured. He pushed his tongue deep into her hugging warmth. She thrust against him, moaning.

Then he moved up her body. His tongue flicked into her navel while his hands glided up cool skin to her breasts. He squeezed and massaged them. Then he let them go and braced himself above Janice and kissed each breast and eased higher until he met her mouth.

As she sucked his tongue into her mouth, Brian slid his penis into her.

Mission accomplished, he thought.

Half accomplished, but the rest would be easy after this. Just get her into his room tomorrow night for round two and keep her busy. Talk her into showering with him so Gorman would have a chance to snatch her key. Gorman would have the tough part, sneaking into her place to find the contract and exchange it for the phoney that gave her nothing. Brian’s part would be a cinch. And fun.

Better than this.

In spite of the blanket, the ground was brutal on his knees. But he kept at it, kept driving into Janice. She was going wild, thrashing around and shoving up to meet his thrusts and tugging his buttocks to force him deeper.

She would drool at the chance for an all-night fucking session.

Why don’t you sneak over after your folks are asleep?

She would absolutely drool. At both ends.

She was gasping under him, eyes squeezed shut, head jerking from side to side. A few more good thrusts…

Something cold and slippery smashed down on Brian’s back. His knees shot out from under him. He slammed flat against Janice. Her breath blasted against his face.

Brian thought, Who in hell…?

Then the teeth clamped his neck.

CHAPTER TEN

Tyler took Abe’s hand as they left the Carriage House. “That was a delicious dinner. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“So,” Jack said, “should we try that place?”

“The Last Chance sounds like a dive,” Nora said.

“We could look for someplace else,” Abe offered.

“The waitress seemed to think it’s fine,” Tyler said.

“Hell, I love dives.”

“Nora’s an expert on dives.”

“Especially the triple back somersault.”

Jack nudged her with an elbow. Giggling, she stumbled sideways toward the hedge. Jack grabbed her, and she wrapped an arm around his back.

“Anyhow,” she said, “I am inappropriately attired for a dive of any ilk and must therefore retire to my boudoir for a change of habiliment.”

“She wants out of her prom dress,” Tyler translated.

“Need a hand?” Jack asked.

Nora swatted his rump.

“I’ll want to get a jacket,” Tyler said.

They agreed to meet at Abe’s car in five minutes, and left the men. Tyler entered the room after Nora. Even as she shut the door, Nora’s gown swirled to the floor. “Aren’t they great?” she asked. Stepping out of it, she staggered and dropped onto the bed, her breasts bouncing.

“Are you all right?” Tyler asked.

“Fine and dandy.” Flopping backwards, she smiled at the ceiling. Her pubic hair was matted flat by her pantyhose.

“You aren’t going to pass out on us, are you?”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Hardly. I’m fine. Are you fine?”

“I’m fine.”

“So am I.” With a sigh, she sat up and started to pull her shoes off.

Tyler went through the connecting doors and slipped into her windbreaker. She brushed her hair and put on fresh lipstick. When she returned to Nora’s room, her friend was on the mattress, legs hoisted in the air as she pulled on a pair of white jeans. The pantyhose lay on the floor. “So what do you think?”

“About what?” Tyler asked.

“My lily-white ass. Abe. Honest Abe.”

“I like him.”

She raised her bare rump and pulled up the jeans. “Like him a lot?”

“Very much.”

Nora sat up. She started to put on socks and loafers. “So, gonna fuck him?”

“For godsake.”

“Take your mind off Dan.”

“Sure. Let’s have a foursome.”

“I could go for that.”

“You’ve got sex on the brain.”

“And proud of it.” Laughing, Nora stood and slipped into a plaid shirt. She buttoned it only halfway up, and tucked it into her jeans. “If I were you,” she said, “I’d go for it.”

“I know you would.”

“You only go around once.”

“My life is not a beer commercial.”

With a laugh, Nora zipped her fly. “Let’s went, Queeksdraw.”

“Jacket?”

“And hide my considerable charms? Bite thy tongue, wench.”

They went outside. Abe and Jack were waiting in the Mustang. Leaning across the seat, Abe opened the door. Nora climbed in back with Jack.

“You look good in your dive habiliments,” Jack told her.

“I look better without ‘em.”

“Bet you do.”

Tyler slid onto the bucket seat and pulled her door shut.

“No funny stuff back there,” Abe said as he started the car.

“Far be it from us,” Nora said with a giggle.

“Are you sure you two are librarians?” he asked.

“Nora’s a librarian. I’m a media specialist. That’s their five-dollar term for a school librarian.”

“I’m a school librarian,” Nora protested.

“Don’t look like one,” Jack said.

“She’s college,” Tyler said. “I’m high school. They don’t fool around that much with projectors and…”

“Just when I’m horny,” Nora said.

Though there were no other cars in sight, Abe signaled his right-hand turn before swinging onto the road. The headlights bore pale tunnels into the darkness. “If this place turns out too sleazy,” he said, “we can always try somewhere else.”

“Let’s hear it for sleaze!” Nora called out. She and Jack clapped and whistled.

“Do we want to be seen with these two?” Abe asked, smiling at Tyler.

“I think we’re stuck with them.”

“He’s trying to pull the wool over Tyler’s eyes,” Jack whispered loudly. “Point of fact, Abe’s an animal. Tell you the time he pissed on Colonel Lockridge? Jesus jumping Christ.”

“Jack!”

“You…urinated on a colonel?” Tyler asked.

“Just on his legs. He had it coming.”

“Right in the fuckin’ officers’ club.”

“In the restroom?”

“Right in the fuckin’ officers’ club,” Jack repeated, louder. “After that, they called him ‘Whizzin’ Abe.’”

Abe, laughing softly, shook his head. “It was a long time ago. My manners have improved.”

“Two years ago.”

“You’re asking for it, Jack.”

“What did this Lockridge do?” Tyler asked.

“Changed his pants,” Jack answered.

“No, I mean…”

“He’d insulted a friend,” Abe explained.

“Remind me never to insult your friends.”

“You’ve nothing to fear.”

“Whizzin’ Abe is a gentleman with the ladies,” Jack said. “Usually. Though I do remember that time…”

“And here we are,” Abe said. “The Last Chance Bar.”

The sign, just ahead, lit up the darkness with red neon letters. An upper corner sported the outline of a tipping cocktail glass. “What do you want to bet,” Nora said, “the other side says First Chance Bar?”

As if to satisfy her curiosity, Abe drove past the sign before turning onto the gravel lot.

“It does, it does!” Nora blurted. Someone back there slapped someone’s bare skin.

The tires crunched over gravel as Abe drove along behind several parked cars. The building, a squat adobe box, had neon beer signs in both its front windows. Tyler heard muffled sounds of music from inside: Waylon Jennings singing “Luckenbach, Texas.” Abe pulled to a stop beside a pickup truck, and they climbed out.

He took Tyler’s hand. The music stopped as they entered the bar. Through the noise of voices and laughter came the jingle of a pinball machine, the clack of pool balls. The warm air was thick with swirling ribbons of smoke. As they made their way toward a table, Tyler saw a few heads turn to inspect them. One of the faces, ruddy and white-bearded, belonged to Captain Frank. He stared at her, one eye squinted almost shut. She nodded a greeting. A corner of his mouth pulled crooked, and he turned back to the bar.

“Know him?” Abe asked.

“We ran into him when we were looking for Dan.”

Abe pulled out a chair for her. She sat at the table, her back to the wall, and saw Captain Frank glance over his shoulder. Then Nora blocked her view of the man.

A barmaid came. As she cleared away a couple of beer mugs and mopped some wet rings and puddles off the table, Nora eyed her costume: cowboy boots, blue denim short-shorts; and a blouse in the pattern of a red bandanna. The blouse was knotted in front, leaving her midriff bare. “What’ll it be, folks?”

“I like your outfit,” Nora said.

“Do you? It’s my own creation. Gives the fellas something to look at.” She winked at Abe. “ ‘Course, Charlie says it’s shameless.” She laughed. “ ‘Struttin’ your wares like a floozy.’ He goes on and on, but we bought us a brand-new twenty-nine-inch Sony TV from my tips, and I don’t hear him squawk about that, do I?”

“Men are just weird,” Nora pronounced.

“Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. You folks on vacation?”

Nora nodded.

“Well, that’s real good. Hope you’re having a ball. Now, what can I fetch you?”

They discussed it for a moment, then Abe ordered two pitchers of beer.

“I’ll be right along with ‘em, and I’ll bring along a nice bowl of popcorn to keep you wanting more.”

When she was gone, Nora said, “I wonder if they’ve got any openings.”

“You just want to strut your wares,” Tyler told her.

With a prolonged stare at Nora’s cleavage, Jack said, “She’s already at it.”

“Get in there!” yelled a man at the pool table. “All right!”

From the jukebox at the far end of the room came the voice of Tom T. Hall singing “I Like Beer.”

“Reminds me of Le Du’s joint in Saigon,” Jack said, looking across at Abe.

“Does at that,” Abe said. “Le Du was a great lover of the old West,” he explained. “Found himself a pair of woolie chaps somewhere, and he wore them no matter how hot it was in that bar of his. He had a ten-gallon hat that must’ve been nine gallons bigger than his head.”

“Was he a half-pint?” Tyler asked.

Abe laughed. “That, and then some.”

“He got what he had coming,” Jack said, grinning mysteriously.

“Oh, no.” Nora wrinkled her nose. “Was he a sympathizer?”

“Yup,” Abe said. “A sympathizer with Hoppy, Gene and Roy.”

“Don’t forget Randolph Scott. That was his favorite.”

“Last we heard, Le Du’s the proprietor of the Hole in the Wall saloon in Waco, Texas.”

“Hope he’s improved his costume,” Jack added as the barmaid approached with a laden tray.

She set out the pitchers, the frosty mugs, and a bowl of popcorn. When Abe reached for his wallet, she said, “It’s already been taken care of. Compliments of Captain Frank.”

Abe looked perplexed. “Who?”

“The fella over there.” She nodded toward the bar. Captain Frank had swiveled around on his stool to face them. “Said the girls are old mateys.”

“Did he?” Nora asked. “That’s sweet. Why don’t we ask him to join us?”

Tyler felt a tightening in her stomach.

“That okay with you guys? He’s probably lonely.”

Shaking her head, the barmaid walked away.

“It’s all right with me,” Abe said.

“Long as he doesn’t try to move in on us,” Jack added. “Can’t have that.”

“I’ll go get him.” Nora stood, and made her way toward the bar.

“Who is this guy?” Abe asked.

“Captain Frank,” Tyler said. “Just an old guy who fancies himself a seaman.”

Abe frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I guess. I just find him a little…strange. You ought to see his bus.”

“If he makes you nervous…”

“Too late, now.”

Nora, holding onto the old man’s arm, was steering him toward the table. He drank from a half-empty mug as he walked. He had on the same faded Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts he’d been wearing that afternoon. His scrawny legs looked out of place beneath his massive torso. He moved with a list.

When they neared the table, Nora found an empty chair for him, and placed it next to Abe. “‘Preciate it, mate,” he told her, and sat down.

Nora made introductions.

As Abe filled the man’s mug from one of the pitchers, everyone thanked him for buying. “My pleasure,” he said in a low, thick voice. “My penance.” He raised his mug, winked and drank, and wiped his mouth with the back of a liver-spotted hand. “Sins of our fathers,” he mumbled.

“You’re a seafarer?” Abe asked.

“Fair and foul. A seafarer. Yes, indeed. That’s me, Captain Frank, old salt. Me and my father before me.” He leaned forward and stared with bleary eyes at Tyler. “God forgive him, he brought it here.”

Tyler, unsettled by his gaze, looked down at her beer.

“Brought what?” Nora asked.

“The beast.”

“The Beast House beast?” Jack asked.

“Aye, the filthy spawn of hell.”

“You’re saying that your father brought it to Malcasa Point?”

“That he did, and I’m here to tell you the curse of it’s a heavy burden to bear. Heavy indeed.” He took another drink.

Nora and Jack exchanged a glance as if they thought the man a lunatic. Abe was frowning.

“The guilt.” Captain Frank held up his thick, calloused hands. “Do you see the blood? I do. I see the blood of its victims, and God alone knows how many. They don’t tell it all on the tour. No indeed. Is my father there in wax? Is my sister Loreen, slain by the fiend seven years before I came wailing into this dreary world? No. You won’t find them on the tour. You won’t hear their names. How many others? Ten? Fifty? A hundred and fifty? Only God knows. God and the beast. People vanish. See their blood?” he asked, slowly turning his hands.

“You think it killed your father and sister?” Nora asked.

“Oh yes. Yes indeed. Little Loreen first. She was a child of three when he brought it home from some nameless forsaken island off the Australian coast. He was first mate, then, on the Mary Jane out of Sausalito. The summer of 1901, it was. They were becalmed, not a breath of wind, day after day, to fill the sails. The food went bad. The water casks emptied. They all thought surely they would die, and it’s a shame they didn’t. But on the thirteenth day of their travail, they spotted land. A volcanic island it was—all hills and jungle.

“A party went ashore. Fresh water was gathered from a spring. Fruit and berries were plentiful, but the men craved meat and found none. Now what kind of jungle is that that has no wildlife? It’s none such as I have ever seen, or any of the men from the Mary Jane. It worked on their nerves, and many were anxious to return to the ship before nightfall. Even my father, as stout-hearted a fellow as ever walked a deck, confessed he greeted the sunset, that night, with unholy dread. But he wouldn’t abandon the island, not until he was certain it bore no wildlife.”

Captain Frank swigged down some beer. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and stared into Tyler’s eyes as if she were alone with him. The noise of the bar—the talk and laughter, the clink of glasses, the clatter of pool balls, the pinging of the pinball machine, Willie Nelson’s clear voice from the jukebox—all seemed strangely distant to Tyler.

“When darkness fell,” he continued, “they surrounded the water hole. Men concealed themselves among the bushes and climbed into trees. Every last mother’s son of them was armed, ready to slay any animal that might come to drink.

“The strategy worked. Near midnight, the creatures came. Twelve or fifteen of them wandered out of the jungle and waded into the pond to drink. My father admits he thought they were humans at first—some primitive tribe—but then he saw their faces in the moonlight. Their snouts. He knew they weren’t human, but loathsome, unearthly beasts. He ordered the men to fire. Every last one of the creatures fell. Not a one of them got away. My father’s face went ghastly pale when he told me of the slaughter, and what happened afterwards—how some of the men had their way with the female carcasses…”

“Frank,” Abe said.

The old man flinched as if startled from his dark reverie.

“I don’t think we want to hear all this.”

“I do,” Nora protested. “It’s fascinating.”

“I don’t mind,” Tyler said. She was trembling. She hated the story, but she had to hear the rest of it, and even resented Abe’s interruption. She took a long drink of beer. Abe gave her a quizzical look, and refilled her glass from the pitcher.

“Go on,” Nora said.

Captain Frank looked to Abe for permission.

“Doesn’t bother me,” he said.

“Then I’ll…the slaughter…When it was done, my father found a survivor, an infant creature beneath one of the females—its mother, no doubt. Her body had shielded it from the storm of bullets. Father took this infant into his care.

“The others, the bodies, were…” He glanced uneasily at Abe. “They provided sufficient nourishment to see the crew safely to Perth.”

“They ate them?” Nora asked.

“My father claimed they tasted rather like mutton.”

“Charming.”

“He named his creature Bobo, and though he was never fond of it he considered the filthy thing a great curiosity and kept it with him in a cage on the journey home. My mother, rest her soul, thought Bobo appalling. She begged him to get rid of it, but little Loreen found the creature delightful and spent hours behind our home, talking to it through the bars of its cage as if it were a playmate. At last, Mother prevailed upon him to dispose of it. He agreed to transport it to San Francisco, where he hoped to sell it for a good price to a circus or zoo. Alas, Loreen must have overheard the talk, for she opened the cage, the very next morning, and Bobo fell upon her. My folks heard her awful screams, but she was past helping when they reached her. The beast, small as it was, had torn her asunder, and was having…” Captain Frank glanced at Abe, and shook his head.

“My father beat it senseless with a spade. He thought he’d killed it. He put the remains in the flour bag, and dragged it up into the hills behind the Thorn house. The place was under construction, then. Lilly Thorn was just having it built. He buried the creature up there.”

“But it wasn’t dead?” Nora asked.

“Not much more than a year went by, and there were three dead in the Thorn house: Lilly’s two sons and her sister. Lilly escaped, but she was never right afterward and they carted her off to a sanitarium. The blame fell on a luckless chap name of Goucher, a handyman who’d stopped by, the day before, to chop wood. But my father’d seen the bodies. He had his suspicions, and spoke up for Goucher claiming a wild animal must’ve got into the house, but he kept shut about Bobo, not wanting to bring blame on himself. Well, the crowd wouldn’t listen. They lynched poor Goucher, strung him up from a porch beam.

“I wasn’t born till six years later, that’s 1909. I ‘spect I’m what you’d call an accident, for I believe my folks were loath to have another child after what happened to Loreen. Oh, they treated me like royalty, but there was always a gloom in their eyes. The Thorn house, all the time I was growing up, stood deserted at the end of town. Nobody’d go near the place. It was said to be haunted. Every now and then, though, we’d have someone disappear. Then, in ‘31, the Kutch family moved in.

“They came from Seattle, and scoffed at warnings about the house, but they weren’t settled in more than a couple of weeks before the husband and kids were slaughtered. Maggie was scratched up bad, but…she’ll tell you all about it if you take the tour. What she won’t tell you—what maybe she doesn’t know—is that my father, the night after the funeral, took his Winchester and went off to kill the beast.

“He was sixty-two at the time. He’d been living with the guilt for better than thirty years, and he told me that morning he couldn’t abide it any longer. It was then I heard the whole story for the first time, and how he knew it must be Bobo, still alive, behind the murders. I begged him to let me come along, but he just wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted me to stay behind, and look after Mother. It was as if he knew he would never come back, and he didn’t. He was a good shot. I ‘spect Bobo must’ve snuck up on him, caught him from the back.” Captain Frank raked the air, fingers hooked like claws, and knocked over his mug. Tyler flinched as it pounded onto the table. Beer flew out, splashing Abe, sliding in a sudsy spill across the wood. “Oh, I’m…” The old man shook his head, mumbling, and swept at the puddle with his open hand. “Oh. I’m…I shouldn’t of…oh damn.”

The barmaid rushed up with a towel. “We have a little accident here?” she asked, mopping the table.

“Nothing serious,” Abe said.

“If Frank’s being a nuisance…”

“No. It’s fine.”

“I should’ve warned you,” she said, casting a peeved glance at Captain Frank. “Going at his Bobo story, I bet. He’ll talk your ears off once he’s soaked up a few. We’ve had folks get up and walk out. Haven’t we, Captain?”

He stared down at his shirt. “The tale must be told,” he muttered.

“Gives the place a bad name.”

“Pretty interesting stuff,” Nora said.

“Just don’t believe a word of it,” the barmaid said. “Come on, Frank. Why don’t you go on back to the bar and leave these nice folks in peace.” She took his arm and helped him stand up.

“Hang on a second,” Abe said. He lifted a pitcher and filled the old man’s mug to the brim.

“Thank you, matey. Let me tell you.” He met the eyes of everyone at the table. “The hours of the beast are numbered. One night, Captain Frank shall stalk it to its lair and lay it low. The souls of the dead cry out for its blood. I am the avenger. Mark my words.”

“We’ll be pulling for you,” Jack called after him.

“Jesus,” Nora said, and rolled her eyes.

Grinning, Jack shook his head. “The old fart waits much longer, he’ll be stalking it from a wheelchair.”

“He’ll never do it,” Abe said. “A guy talks it out that way, he doesn’t act on it.”

“Did you believe it?” Tyler asked. “About the beast?”

“He didn’t disbelieve it,” Jack put in.

“Hey,” Nora said. “We’ve gotta tell Gorman Hardy about this guy. Maybe he’ll put us in the Acknowledgment. ‘My gratitude to Nora Branson, Tyler Moran, Jack Wyatt, and Abe Clanton, whose valuable assistance led me to the true story of Bobo the beast.’ I ask you, would that not be terrif?”

“That,” Tyler said, “would be almost too exciting.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A sharp pounding on the door startled Gorman Hardy awake. He bolted upright and scanned the dark room, wondering where he was. Then he remembered.

It must, he thought, be Brian at the door. But why the frantic knocking?

Perhaps he had lost his key.

“I’m coming,” Gorman called.

The knocking continued.

He swung his legs to the floor and squinted against the brightness as he switched on a bedside lamp.

“I’m coming,” he called again.

The knocking didn’t stop.

Something, he thought, must have gone wrong. More than a lost room key. Something bad enough to panic Brian.

He felt on the verge of panic, himself, as he stood up.

For the love of God, what had happened?

He was naked. He put on a satin robe, tied it shut, and opened the door.

Brian was not there.

On the dark stoop waited a man and a woman. The man was about forty and bald. He wore a blue windbreaker. His fists were clenched at his sides. Gorman had never seen him before. The woman, an attractive blonde, looked familiar. She wore jeans and a checkered blouse and an open leather jacket. She looked like an older version of Janice. Gorman realized he had seen her at the Carriage House where she’d been performing hostess duties.

These people are Janice’s parents.

He felt a little sick.

“Mr. Hardy?” the man asked in a taut voice.

“Yes.”

“I’ll try to be civilized about this, but it’s two o’clock in the morning and our daughter is missing. Is she here?”

“No, of course not. Come in and see for yourselves.” He stepped away from the door to let them enter. The woman shut the door and backed against it as if to prevent Gorman from escaping.

The man, after a glance at the beds, stepped into the bathroom and turned on a light. He came out a moment later, and checked the closet. He looked at the connecting door, then at Gorman. “What about Mr. Blake?”

“I really can’t answer for him.”

“You’re together. You paid both rooms.”

“He is my associate, yes. But I have no idea why you suspect either of us might be harboring your daughter.” As he spoke, he walked past the man to the connecting door. He rapped it with his fist. “Brian?” he called. He opened his side and tried the knob of Brian’s door. Fortunately, it didn’t turn. With any luck, if the girl was in the room, she would have time to get out. “Brian?” he called again.

“Let’s have a look,” the man said, striding forward.

“He drove her someplace,” the woman said, speaking for the first time.

“I’ll take a look anyhow.”

Gorman stepped out of his way. He watched Janice’s father insert a key and unlock the door. A lamp was on. Relieved, Gorman saw that both the beds were made. He waited while the man entered to search. Turning to the woman, he said, “Is the car gone?”

She nodded. Her face was grim, lips pressed together in a tight line, eyes glaring at Gorman.

“I honestly don’t know what to say,” he told her. “You suspect that she and Brian went off together?”

“You wouldn’t know anything about that,” she said, her voice bitter.

“I’m afraid not.”

The man came back into the room. “Okay, buster, where’d they go?”

“I have no idea. I don’t even know your daughter. Would she be the young lady who registered us?”

“She would be.”

“I haven’t seen her since then.”

“Don’t lie to us!” the woman suddenly blurted. She rushed to her husband’s side. “Show him, Marty. Show him!”

He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. It shook in his trembling hands as he opened it. “We found this in Janice’s room,” he said, and held it out.

Gorman took the sheet. He stared at it. The bitch, he thought. Oh, the bitch! She was supposed to hide it! Brian’s fault. Where is he? What could’ve possessed him to keep her out so late and allow this to happen? He’s ruined it. He’s ruined everything!

“What do you say to that, Mr. Hardy?” the woman said, almost snarling.

He managed a smile as he handed back the contract. “Janice planned to surprise you,” he said. “If the proposed book is as successful as my previous one, this agreement will likely earn her in the neighborhood of a million dollars.”

The news had its desired effect. Janice’s parents looked at each other, then at the contract. They seemed to soften, as if their pent-up rage was melting away.

“Is this on the level?” Marty asked. He sounded suspicious, but a hint of excitement glittered in his eyes.

“It most certainly is. The agreement gives Janice fifty percent of all earnings from the book. This includes the advance and all royalties. We’re talking here about a hardbound sale, book club and paperback sales, foreign sales, probably a movie deal. So far, my previous book has brought in over three million dollars. I suspect the Beast House story will do as well, or better. And Janice will receive half of it all.”

And she will, he thought. Good Christ, she will. Now there was no chance of tricking her out of it. He felt sick.

The woman raised her eyes from the contract. She looked wary. “What did Janice have to do for this?”

“The book was her idea. She initiated the contact with me. And she provided me with a resource that gives invaluable insight into the subject.”

“What’s that?” Marty asked.

“Janice doesn’t wish that known, but since you’re her parents, I see no harm in telling you that she found a diary written by Elizabeth Thorn, the lady who…”

“Where is Janice now?” the mother asked. “I realize this puts a somewhat different light on the subject, but where is she? Does it have something to do with this?” She nodded at the contract.

“I honestly don’t know. When did you last see her?”

“Around nine,” Marty answered. “She said she was going for a walk. This was right after she came back from delivering an ice bucket to Mr. Blake—which, by the way, he didn’t need in the first place. I saw two in there.”

“I can only suppose,” Gorman said, “that Brian invited her to accompany him. Perhaps she lied to you thinking you might disapprove of her traipsing off with one of the motel guests.”

Marty and his wife exchanged a glance.

“I take it she’s done such things before.”

“Wherever they went,” Marty said, “they should’ve been back long ago.”

The woman said, “There’s no excuse for this.”

“I quite agree,” Gorman told her.

“Where did he take her?” Marty asked.

“We have no proof that she went with Brian at all, but he left with the intention of exploring an area behind Beast House. He was hoping to locate and photograph a hole near the rear fence.”

“A hole?”

“It’s mentioned in the Thorn diary. Allegedly, an underground tunnel leads from the hillside to the house’s cellar. If Brian finds the opening, it lends a certain credence to the…”

“Janice wouldn’t go anywhere near that place,” her mother said.

“Well, perhaps she didn’t. I’m simply pointing out the purpose of Brian’s search. That’s where he intended to go.”

“She must’ve gone with him, Claire.”

Claire shook her head. She looked resigned, rather weary. “I guess I wouldn’t put it past her,” she admitted. “This Brian, I saw him at the restaurant. He’s a very attractive man.”

Marty put a hand on Claire’s back. In a gentle voice, he said, “I’ll drive out and bring her home.”

“I’m sure she’ll be right along,” Gorman said.

“We’ve been waiting up for hours, Mr. Hardy. Have you got any idea what goes through a parent’s mind when your kid’s out at this time of night and you don’t know where she is, what’s happened to her? You tell yourself she’ll walk through the door any minute, and all the time you’re wondering if maybe some lunatic got hold of her, if maybe you’ll never see her again.”

“I can assure you, Brian’s no lunatic.”

“Why isn’t she home?” Marty demanded. He sounded a little frantic.

Claire sighed. “She probably got carried away and forgot the time.”

“I’ll remind her of the time,” Marty snapped, “when I get my hands on her.” He frowned at Gorman. “Where, exactly, is this hole supposed to be?”

“If you’d like, I’ll accompany you. I’m rather concerned, myself, at this point.”

“We’ll all go,” Claire said.

“Just give me a minute to get dressed,” said Gorman.

They found the Mercedes just above the curve leading into town from the south. Marty swung in behind it. He took a flashlight with him, and shone it through a side window. With a shake of his head, he came back down the road to Claire and Gorman. “Nobody there,” he said.

“That young lady has a lot of explaining to do,” Claire muttered.

“So does Brian,” Gorman said. A million dollars worth, he thought.

They followed the road to the bottom of the hill, then crossed a ditch to the corner of the Beast House fence. Marty took the lead, trudging through the underbrush alongside the fence, playing his flashlight beam over the wooded slope on the right. “Janice!” he yelled.

Claire tugged his shoulder. “Don’t,” she said.

“Janice!”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that!”

“There’s nobody to hear it but them.”

Gorman saw the woman look through the fence bars at the house. “I just think we should be quiet about this.”

Now Gorman found himself looking at the house—at the darkness of the porch but especially at the windows. It seemed to have so many: a bay window directly across the yard from him, a casement farther along the side, three sets on the second story, a single high attic window just below the peak of the roof, a pair beneath the tower’s cap. All were moonless and black. Malevolent eyes, he thought, recalling the words he’d spoken into his recorder that afternoon. He’d been waxing eloquent, then—spewing drivel. But now it was three o’clock in the morning and he suddenly wished he were back at the inn, snug in bed, because the windows did, in fact, seem to be watching him.

He forced himself to look away from them. He stared at the weeds ahead of his feet, at Claire’s back, at the beam of Marty’s flashlight sweeping over bushes and rocks and trees on the slope. And he felt like a man walking down a dark street, stalked by stealthy footsteps, afraid of what he might find sneaking up on him if he should dare to glance over his shoulder. He had to look. He searched the windows. Though nothing showed through their blackness, his skin went tight and crawly.

Tomorrow, if he took the tour, he would have to go inside. The thought of it chilled him. Perhaps he should forget about it, simply abandon the project. After all, tonight’s disaster had diminished his and Brian’s possible returns by half.

Half of a gold mine, he told himself, is considerably better than no gold mine at all. The book would be a winner, he had no doubt of that. After Horror, his reputation alone would insure tremendous sales. But the Beast House story had tremendous potential. It could easily surpass the success of Horror. He was a fool to consider giving it up. He would simply have to keep a stiff upper lip and take the tour.

In daylight, the house wouldn’t seem quite so forbidding. Besides, Brian would be along. Probably several sightseers, as well. And certainly there couldn’t be any danger involved.

“Marty!” Claire gasped.

The man had suddenly broken into a run. He raced around the corner of the fence. Claire took off, chasing him. “Marty!” she called. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer.

Gorman hurried after them both, reaching the corner with a few strides, then slogging along the rear section of fence.

What craziness is this? he wondered.

But he certainly did not want to be left behind.

As he tried to catch up, he felt a familiar but longforgotten mingling of despair and humiliation. The residue of childhood “games” in which he had too often been the victim. Hey, let’s ditch him! Let’s ditch Gory! C’mon, let’s lose him! And off his pals would go, trying their best to leave him behind, lost and alone.

Gorman knew in this case that he was not being ditched. Marty had seen something. But the awful, desperate feelings remained and tears blurred his vision as he struggled to keep up with the runners. “Wait up!” he gasped.

They didn’t wait.

But suddenly they stopped.

Gorman grabbed a bar of the fence to halt himself. Gasping, he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Marty muttered.

Claire staggered away, bent over, and started to vomit.

Marty was aiming his flashlight upward. Gorman followed its beam to the top of the fence.

Brian’s legs hung down, one on each side. He was naked. He was on his back. The body looked as if it had been slammed down hard onto the pointed uprights. Gorman’s sphincter went cold and tight as he saw where one of the spikes had penetrated. The other bars had entered in a straight line, the final one piercing the back of his skull. His left arm drooped strangely. Gorman realized it had been broken backwards at the elbow.

Marty’s light skittered down the length of the fence. Gorman followed its quick course. There was not another impaled body. The man turned toward the hillside. “Janice!” he yelled. His beam swept over the weeds and bushes, and stopped on something about thirty feet up.

A rumpled blanket. Scattered clothes.

Claire shrieked out her daughter’s name and lunged toward the slope. She scrambled up it, falling to her knees, crawling, getting her feet under her and scurrying higher. Marty raced after her.

Gorman stayed where he was. He watched them for a moment, then turned his gaze to the body. He ached as if he could feel the spikes in himself. He wanted badly to run, but the thought of fleeing, all alone in the dark, filled him with dread. He was shaking. He clutched a bar of the fence to steady himself. The cold iron was wet and sticky. He jerked his hand away and stared at it. The smears looked black in the moonlight. He raised his eyes to Brian’s body.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel so terrified.

With his clean right hand, he reached into a pocket and took out his cassette recorder. He switched it on. “I am standing, as I speak, beneath the body of Brian Blake—my friend, my associate, the man who survived the horror at Black River Falls only to meet a hideous death at the hands of the Malcasa beast. He met his fate in the dead of night, while…”

“Hardy! Goddamn you, get up here!”

He nodded, and backed away from the fence. Before starting up the slope, he slipped the recorder into his pocket without turning it off. If only he’d had the presence of mind to record everything from the moment Marty and Claire entered his room! Of course, he’d had no way of knowing at the time that the encounter would lead to such a marvellous tragedy.

Brian slaughtered by the beast. And in such a grisly fashion. It was almost too good to believe. The book would skyrocket!

Not only that, but Brian wouldn’t be around to collect his share of the proceeds.

Incredible!

Now, if only Janice’s body is up here, nicely mutilated…The parents will demand her half of the profits, but perhaps their claim wouldn’t stand up in court.

“Look at this, you bastard!” Marty snapped, shining his light on the ground. Gorman recognized Brian’s jacket and Hush Puppies. He saw garments all over the ground: a sweatshirt and brassière, cowboy boots, jeans, panties. The tangled blanket was dark with blood.

“Apparently,” Gorman said, “they must have been…”

“Shut up!”

Claire was a distance away, sobbing as she searched through bushes.

“I’m sorry,” Gorman said. “Honestly, though, I had no idea they…”

“You got her into this, goddamn you! I’ll kill you if she…”

“Perhaps she’s all right. She might have fled.”

“You’d better pray she did.” Turning away, Marty shouted up the hillside. “Janice! Jaaan—nice!”

Gorman crouched and picked up Brian’s camera. The flash attachment was in place. He peeled off the lens cap, and raised the camera to his eye. Peering through the viewfinder, he aimed at the blanket. The girl’s jeans and panties were also in frame. He snapped a shot. In the quick burst of light, he saw that the panties were pink, the blue jeans faded, the blue blanket splashed with crimson. The automatic film advance buzzed.

The Horror photos had been printed in black and white. For this book, Gorman would insist on color plates. At least a few for the hardcover edition.

He turned the camera toward Janice’s boots. They were close together, one standing at a slant, propped up by the sole of the other.

Fabulous.

She died with her boots off.

As his fingertip sought the shutter release, Marty blocked the view and drove a fist into Gorman’s belly. The blow smashed his wind out, knocked him backwards. The camera flew from his hands. His back hit the slope. He skidded downhill. His legs flipped high and he somersaulted. The earth pounded his knees, his belly. He clutched at weeds to stop his slide. Through his loud gasps for breath, he heard Claire shouting for Marty to stop.

The man came charging down.

“No!” Gorman cried.

Still in motion, Marty kicked at his head. Gorman shoved his face into the weeds. He felt the breeze of the passing shoe. Looking up, he saw that the momentum of the kick had thrown the man off balance. Marty flailed his arms and fell backwards. He landed on his rump. As he slid, the edge of a shoe scraped Gorman’s ear.

Gorman grabbed the shoe and twisted it sharply. He heard a crackly sound of tearing cartilage. Marty flinched with pain. His mouth sprang open and he let out a cry.

“Marty!” Claire yelled. She started down.

In seconds, Gorman would have her to contend with. Two against one. It’s not fair!

He tugged Marty’s foot. When the groaning man was close enough, Gorman punched him in the groin.

“Leave him alone!” Claire shouted. “Don’t touch him, you bastard!”

She was only a few yards away.

Gorman found a rock the size of a coconut, and slammed it down on Marty’s forehead. He felt the skull crush under its impact.

A whiny sound came from Claire. She was climbing the slope backwards, shaking her head from side to side with tight little jerks, her arms batting the air for balance.

Gorman got to his knees. “It’s all right,” he told her. “Don’t be frightened. We’ll get him to a doctor.”

Claire suddenly whirled around and bolted up the hillside.

Gorman went after her. “Don’t run!” he called. “We can’t help Marty if you run. Wait up!”

She kept going.

“Goddamn it, wait! I won’t hurt you!”

Her foot landed on one of Janice’s boots. She stumbled, but didn’t fall.

Gorman hurled the rock. It caught her between the shoulder blades and bounced off. She went down, sprawling flat, and scurried to get up again. Gorman pounced on her back. His weight smashed her to the ground. Clutching her hair, he tugged her head toward him and stretched his right arm out past her shoulder and brought his fist back sharply to strike her face. The position was awkward. He couldn’t get much power behind the punch. But he pounded her face again and again, very fast. She was crying and attempting to turn her face away. When she managed to grab his wrist, he yanked it free and drove his elbow down hard on her shoulder. That sent a shudder through her body, so he kept hammering down with his elbow, each blow making her cry out and squirm, until finally he somehow struck his crazy bone. His arm went tingly and numb.

Keeping his grip on her hair, he raised himself off her back. He sat on her rump. Her feeble writhing didn’t worry him. He knew he’d taken the starch out of her. But he wasn’t quite sure how to finish her off. As he shook his arm and waited for its weakness to pass, he scanned the moonlit ground. He saw no rocks close enough to reach.

She twisted under him.

“Stop it,” he snapped. He gave her hair a savage tug. “And stop that sobbing.”

In a moment, his arm felt better. He raked his fingers through the weeds alongside Claire’s body, and found a stick. It was slightly larger than a pencil, and neither end had much of a point. But perhaps it would do.

Clutching it like a knife, Gorman scooted up her back and rammed it at her neck, just below her right ear. The stick skidded down her skin, clawing a furrow. Screaming, Claire bucked and twisted in a frenzy. Gorman struck again. This time, a couple of inches broke off the stick, leaving a decent point. The third blow penetrated. Her shriek leaped to a higher pitch. She thrashed wildly as he forced the stick deeper. Then he pulled it out and stabbed again. He kept plunging the stick into her neck long after the screams stopped and she lay motionless beneath him.