The Beast House

As the final drop fell into her mouth, she wondered whether she’d made the right choice. Too late now for worrying about it.

She squeezed the center of the can. It made noisy popping sounds as it collapsed. Something jagged scraped her palm. She explored the area with her fingertips, and found that the aluminum had split open at a corner where the can had buckled, leaving sharp edges. She gripped the top and bottom of the can, and wobbled them back and forth, cringing at the noise, until the two halves parted. She pressed their edges against her bare thighs. They felt very sharp.

As she wondered how the new weapons might be used, she heard a quiet creaking sound from the corridor. Her heart thumped wildly. She wished she had time to check on Sandy, make sure the girl was still bound and gagged, but she had to be ready.

She stuffed the base of the lightbulb between her lips. It tasted bitter. Getting to her knees, she swung the pants over her back, the legs across her right shoulder. She gripped each of the can halves, their crimped edges outward.

From the corridor came the sounds of slow footsteps. Shoes on the hardwood floor. Shoes.

So it’s a human. Thank God.

She pressed herself against the wall. Her heart was thudding a fierce cadence. She sidestepped twice to get farther from the door.

The footsteps stopped. She heard a quiet, “Hmm?” Then a sound of crinkling paper.

The food bag Sandy had dropped.

A key snicked into the lock. The knob rattled. The door eased open. In the blue light from the hallway, Janice saw a hand on the knob. A forearm. Then a heavyset woman leaned into the gap and peered through the darkness. “Sandy?” she asked. It sounded like Thandy. The husky voice was unfamiliar to Janice. Whoever the woman might be, she wasn’t Maggie Kutch. Sandy had mentioned another woman, an Agnes.

“Thandy, why’th it dark?”

The door opened more. Agnes took a step into the room and bent over slightly as if to see better.

“Wha’th going on?” she asked. She sounded confused, but not alarmed. She bent over farther, and pressed one hand on her knee. Her other hand dangled in front of her, holding the paper bag.

Sandy started to make grunting noises.

Agnes jerked upright.

Rushing up silently behind her, Janice rammed both sides of her face with the cans. A bellow of pain tore the silence. Agnes clutched her face and turned around. Janice raked out with one can, slashing the back of her hand. Whining, Agnes reached out. She knocked the can away. She wrapped her arms around Janice. Her stench was sour and putrid. She felt hot, and her clothes were damp.

Her breath exploded out as Janice slammed a knee into her belly. Her arms loosened. Janice drove her knee again into the soft belly. Agnes doubled. Her face hit the lightbulb, jarring the metal base against Janice’s teeth. Squealing, she fell to her knees.

Janice staggered away from her.

The door was still open.

She ran to it. Glancing down the corridor, she saw no one. She pulled the door shut and tugged the key from its lock. She clenched the key. Sandy had said it wouldn’t open the front door, but maybe Sandy had lied.

Just past her door, the corridor stopped at a blank wall. In the other direction, it led past several doors. Most were shut. Near the far end was a banister. Janice took the bulb from her mouth and started toward the stairs, walking fast. She was fairly sure this level of the house must be deserted. Otherwise, someone probably would have responded to the commotion by now.

Deserted, maybe, except for Sandy’s mother and the baby who must be locked in one of these rooms. As she hurried past the closed doors, she wondered about setting them free. Too dangerous. If she started opening doors, God only knew what she might run into. Once she was clear of the place, the cops could take care of the rest.

She came to the first open door. She glanced in as she stepped by it with two quick strides. The room was dark and silent.

One down, two to go.

She rushed by them both without incident. As she reached the banister, she flinched at a sudden knocking sound from behind. She had expected it, but it startled and unnerved her.

“He-e-elp!” Agnes yelled. Her voice was muffled. “He-e-elp!” Lemme out!”

Holding her breath, Janice started down the stairs. The area below was dim with blue light. She crouched to see under the ceiling. At the foot of the stairs was the foyer. And the front door!

The open area to the left was dark. To the right was the arched entryway to a room. That room was lighted blue. A dark curtain draped its wall. She saw a few scattered cushions covered with glossy fabric like satin, but no other furniture. She kept her eyes on its entry as she hurried to the bottom of the stairs.

The front door was no more than ten feet ahead. If she went to it, though, she would be in full view of anyone inside the room.

Sandy had claimed the key wouldn’t fit.

Janice decided not to chance it. Eyes on the blue room, she eased around the newel post and tiptoed up a dark passage that ran between the staircase and wall. She followed it toward the back of the house and entered a room with a slick floor. This, she guessed, must be the kitchen. She closed the swinging door and felt along the wall for a switch. She found it. Blue light filled the room.

She stepped past the stove. Along the far wall was a sink, a long counter, cupboards above and below, but no door. Near the sink was a knife rack. She set down her bulb and key, her remaining half of the soda can. She selected a paring knife and a long knife with a serrated edge. She slid the paring knife into her panties. Its blade was cool against her hip. She clutched the long knife tightly in her right hand, and stepped to a closed door beside the refrigerator.

It wasn’t locked. She pulled it open. Shadowy stairs led down to a blue lighted cellar. She pulled the door shut behind her. The air felt chilly. Shivering, she looked down at the blue carpet on the cellar floor. She saw a few scattered cushions.

Please, she thought, let it be empty.

Let there be a tunnel.

She took a deep shaky breath, and raced down.

The cellar was not empty.

With a gasp, Janice stopped abruptly. She squeezed the railing and stared through the dim light at the three figures.

They were against the wall. Two men and a woman. Naked and motionless. Their heads were drooped strangely. Janice took a step backwards up one stair before she noticed that their feet weren’t touching the floor.

“My God,” she muttered.

She descended the rest of the stairs. Slowly, she approached the bodies.

Corpses, she thought. They’re corpses.

One thigh of the woman was missing big chunks as if bites had been taken.

From the chest of each body protruded a steel point.

They’re hung up on hooks.

Janice felt sick and numb. She moved closer. Her legs were trembling.

All three bodies were badly torn, sheathed with dry blood that looked purple in the blue light.

She raised her eyes to a face, and slapped a hand against her mouth to hold in a scream.

One eye was shut. The other stared down at her. The tongue was lolling out. In spite of its contorted features, she recognized the face. It belonged to Brian Blake.

She looked at the face of the man suspended beside Brian.

NO!

Then at the woman.

IMPOSSIBLE! NO!!

Backing away, shaking her head, she stared at the faces of her parents. She fell to her knees. She covered her face.

From behind Janice came the metallic clack of a door latch. She twisted around and looked at the top of the stairs. The door to the kitchen swung open.

Jack, standing in the doorway, snapped a photo of the stairs leading into the cellar of Beast House. “Okay,” he whispered.

Abe turned on his flashlight. He stepped past Jack and started down. Halfway to the bottom, he stopped. He leaned over the railing and shone the beam into the space below the stairway. Nothing there. He leaned over the other side. A steamer trunk against the wall, but nothing else. Turning slowly, he raised his beam to the corner and swept it around the entire cellar. Along the walls, he saw a collection of old gardening tools: shovels, a rake and a hoe. Shelves, mostly empty but some lined with canning jars. Little else. The dirt floor was clear except for a few stacks of bushel baskets.

“Looks okay,” Jack said.

With a nod, Abe stepped down the rest of the stairs. He turned around and aimed his beam at the steamer trunk. Its latches were in place. “Get whatever you need,” he said, “and let’s go.”

Jack, at the foot of the stairs, took three shots. Abe kept his eyes shut against the quick bursts of light from the flash.

“Let’s go.”

“Hang on. I want a look around.”

Abe gave him the flashlight. As Jack started to wander the cellar, he gazed up the stairway at the door. He imagined it swinging shut. If someone came from above and locked it…

“Over here,” Jack said.

“What?”

“That hole Gory talked about.”

Abe hurried across the dirt floor and joined Jack beside a crooked stack of bushel baskets. The hole at his feet was roughly circular and almost a yard in diameter. It didn’t go straight down, but dropped away at a steep angle in the direction of the cellar’s rear wall.

Abe covered his eyes. Jack took a photo.

“That’s it,” Abe said. “Let’s go.”

“Take this a minute.” Jack handed the camera to him.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Hang onto it.”

Crouching, Jack aimed the flashlight into the hole. He lowered his face close to the edge and peered in.

“The girls are waiting,” Abe said.

“I know.”

“We’re already late.”

“A couple more minutes won’t make that much difference.” Lying down flat, Jack started squirming head first into the hole.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Abe muttered.

“I won’t go far.” Jack’s voice came up muffled.

“The fun part,” Abe said. “will be backing out.”

In the last glow before the light faded out, Abe fell to his knees and clutched a cuff of Jack’s jeans. Then he was in darkness. Looking over his shoulder, he watched the dim patch of gray at the cellar door.

They could be up there, right now. They could be on their way out of the house.

He yanked Jack’s cuff. “Come on.”

Jack was no longer moving.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded thick as if he were speaking with a pillow over his mouth. “Goes on and on,” he said.

“Come out of there.”

“Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“Something up ahead. Looking at me.”

Abe felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. “What is it?”

“Let me get closer.”

“What is it? Is something coming?”

“It’s not coming. Huh-uh. It’s…an owl head. No owl, just its head. Man, there’s all kind of bones and shit down here.”

“Great. Time to leave.” He grabbed Jack’s ankles and started to drag him out.

Moments later, light appeared in the hole—a glowing rim around Jack’s shoulder. His head appeared. Abe kept pulling. Jack worked his way backward, elbows shoving at the clay.

Then he was out.

“Infuckingcredible,” he said. “I could only see about twenty feet, but you oughta see all that shit. Bones all over the place down there.”

“Human?”

“Nothing that big. Maybe dogs, cats, squirrels, raccoons. Smaller stuff, too, like from mice or rats. Why don’t you take a quick look?”

“Thanks anyway.”

“I wonder if I could get a picture of that stuff. Worth a try, huh?”

The quick, soft sounds of footsteps rushing down the stairs sounded more animal than human.

Janice pressed herself against the moist clay wall of the tunnel and stared into the blue light. Her heart felt as if it might smash through her ribs. Her breath came in harsh sobs. She clutched the knife with both hands, blade toward the cellar, and held her breath.

She only glimpsed the beast as it passed the tunnel entrance. Her knees sagged. She braced herself against the wall to keep from falling. Her stomach lurched. She swallowed the hot, bitter fluid that rose in her throat.

This—or one like it—was the thing that had raped her. Its claws had ripped her flesh, its snouted mouth had sucked and gnawed her breasts, its penis had been deep inside her and she could still feel the hurt from it.

This—or its brother—was the thing that had murdered her parents and…

She heard a wet, tearing sound.

Pushing herself from the wall, she stepped across the tunnel. Shoulder against the cool clay on the other side, she eased her head past the corner.

The beast, hunched over slightly, had its back to Janice as its claws tore flesh and muscle from her mother’s thigh. She watched, too stunned to move, as it raised the dripping load to its mouth.

A corner of her mind whispered for her to flee, to make good her escape while the creature was busy eating.

No, she thought. I can’t.

The sound of its chewing made her gag. She covered her mouth and ducked out of sight, but she could still hear it.

Jesus. It’s Mom. It’s Mom the thing is…

And then she ran.

She wasn’t quiet about it. She knew she should sneak but she couldn’t, she rushed across the carpet and a savage growl rumbled from her throat and the thing heard her and looked around with scraps of flesh hanging from its mouth and it looked at her with blank pale eyes as if it didn’t give a damn and kept on chewing as it turned and swung a clawed hand at her face. She ducked and rammed the blade into its belly. It roared, spewing the food onto her hair and back. Staggering away, it smashed against her mother. The body’s legs splayed out with the impact. The arms jumped. The head wobbled. The spike slipped out of sight as if sucked into the chest hole, and her mother dropped onto the beast, driving it to its knees.

Janice stepped back, staring at the tangled bodies, half convinced for a moment that her mother was somehow alive. Then the beast, down against the wall with the knife still embedded in its belly, grabbed her mother by the throat and groin and hurled her. The corpse flew at Janice, hit the carpet at her feet, and rolled toward her with flopping arms and legs.

Janice leaped out of its way, spun around, and raced back into the tunnel.

She should have kept on stabbing, damn it.

She cried out in agony as her shoulder slammed against the wall of the tunnel. She bounced off, collided with the other wall, and fell down sobbing. Quickly, she got to her feet. She stumbled onward, one arm out to feel her way, going slower now that she realized the tunnel had turns. Her right hip burned. She felt a warm trickle down her leg. The paring knife in her panties must have cut her during the fall. She pulled it out.

Except for her own sobbing and gasps for air and the slap of her feet on the hard earth of the tunnel floor, she heard nothing. If the beast was coming after her, it must be far back.

Maybe it was too badly hurt to follow.

It can see in the dark, that much she knew from the diary.

She wished she had burned the fucking diary.

None of this would’ve happened. She’d be safe in her bed at the inn and Mom and Dad would still be alive. How had it gotten to them, anyway? They must’ve come looking for her. God, she wished she’d stayed home. It was all her fault. She wished she’d never heard of Brian Blake or Gorman Hardy. They got her into this.

I got myself into this.

I got Mom and Dad killed.

But I can save myself. I can save that woman—Sandy’s mother and the baby—if I can just get out of here. Get help.

Get to Beast House and out to the street. Get to the cops.

The wall went away from her knuckles. She felt blindly with both hands, discovered that the tunnel turned to the left, and hurried through the blackness.

What if there’s a locked door at the other end?

There won’t be. There can’t be.

What if the other beast is waiting up ahead?

No.

What if Wick or Maggie or Agnes or Sandy or all of them reach Beast House first and cut me off?

I’ve still got a knife, she told herself. I’ll rip them up.

And then her thoughts froze as she heard gasping, snarling noises from behind. She rushed on, driven by terror, heedless of the possible turns ahead. The sounds grew louder as she ran. She pumped her arms hard, stretched out her legs as far and fast as she could. Her lungs ached as she sucked breath. All her wounds burned as if their edges were splitting open from the strain. She winced as her right arm scraped a wall. Without slowing, she changed course toward the center.

Now the beast was very close. From the sound of its rattling growl, it could be no more than a yard or two back.

Her left side hit a wall. The blow twisted her. She slammed the moist surface, bounced off it, and fell. She landed on her back.

Staring up into the darkness, she couldn’t see the beast. But she heard a dry hissing sound that was almost like laughter.

Something wet and slimy forced her legs apart. The T-shirt tugged at her, lifting her back from the ground for a moment before it came off her shoulders. She let its sleeves shoot down her limp arms. She felt the points of claws slide down her belly. Her panties were ripped away. Something warm splashed onto her belly, her chest. Its blood.

She felt its hot breath on her face.

“Bastard!” she shrieked, and drove the knife upward. It punched into the thing’s flesh. She jerked it out and stabbed again as the beast wailed in pain. Then it batted her hand. The knife jumped from her numb fingers.

From just beyond her head came a scraping sound like wood sliding over dirt.

The beast clutched her shoulders, its claws digging in Squirming, she rammed a knee into the thing. It kept it grip and knocked her leg aside. Its penis thrust against her thigh.

Its face, just above her own, was dead white and shiny like the flesh of a slug. Saliva spilled onto her from its wide mouth. She wondered why she could suddenly see its face and before she could figure it out the face jerked wildly upward.

The roar that blasted her ears sounded as if the world were exploding.

One of the creature’s eyes was a shiny hole.

A side of its snout flew apart.

Its jaw disintegrated.

She turned her face away as what was left of the beast’s head dropped onto her.

In the silence, Janice’s ears rang.

A man’s voice said, “Holy shit.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“How’re you doing, ladies?” the barmaid asked.

“I could go for…” Nora started.

“I think we should leave,” Tyler interrupted.

“They said we should wait here.”

“I don’t care.” She got up from the table.

Nora shrugged at the barmaid. “Guess that’s all,” she said. She joined Tyler, and they hurried through the dimly lighted cocktail lounge. “What’s the rush, kiddo?”

“I can’t stand waiting any longer. They said they’d be back in an hour.”

“So they’re twenty minutes late. Maybe it took them longer to get in than they planned.” In spite of the reassuring words, Tyler heard tension in her friend’s voice.

She pushed through one of the heavy wooden doors and held it wide while Nora followed her out. She took a deep breath of the chilly night air. Stopping by the antique carriage near the entrance, she gazed toward the road. No cars passed.

Nora wrapped her arm across her breasts, apparently cold in her filmy orange blouse. “Why don’t we go back in and have another drink? They’ll be along pretty soon. I’m sure they’re all right.”

“Are you?”

“Sure. Come on, it’s better than standing out here freezing our tails.”

“I’ll go crazy if I sit still any longer.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t they come?”

“They’re probably on the way, right now.”

Tyler caught her breath as headlights brightened the road. She stared through the trees, and sighed when the vehicle sped past. Just a pickup truck.

“Let’s take the car,” she said.

“Okay. At least it’ll be warm.”

They followed the walkway to the courtyard.

“Have you got your keys?” Nora asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to change first?”

“No.”

She rushed to keep up with Tyler’s quick pace. “What’s the big hurry? We’ll probably just pass them on the road, anyway, and have to turn around.”

“At least we’ll know they’re all right.”

“We could miss them, you know. If they parked on a side road…”

“We’ll turn around and come back if we don’t spot the car.” She unlocked her Omni, dropped behind the steering wheel, and reached over to flip up the lock button for Nora. She keyed the ignition as Nora climbed in. When the door thumped, she shot the car backwards.

“For Christsake, calm down.”

“I can’t.” She sped toward the road.

“There’s no reason to panic.”

“They should’ve been back by now.”

“I know, I know.”

“Goddamn it.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.” She eased off the accelerator only long enough to glance both ways, then swung onto the road with a whine of skidding tires, and floored it.

Nora buckled her safety harness. “Come on, do you want the cops to stop you?”

Shaking her head, she let up on the gas pedal. The lights of town appeared as she rounded a bend. She passed the closed service station. On the next block, she slowed almost to a stop as a Volkswagon backed into her lane from a parking space in front of a tavern. Then she had to stop for the town’s blinking red traffic signal. The intersection was clear. She gunned through it.

“Keep an eye out for the Mustang,” Nora said. “I’ll take the right, you take the left.”

Few cars were parked along this end of the street. Just ahead, the curb in front of Beast House’s long fence was vacant. So was the shoulder across the road. Passing Beach Lane, however, the corner of her eye picked up a bright beam.

“Hold it,” Nora said.

She hit the brake. As the car jerked to a stop, she looked past Nora at the single approaching light. “That can’t be them,” she said.

“Maybe they lost a headlight.”

She waited. The steering wheel was slick under her hands. She rubbed them dry on her skirt. The wool made whispery sounds against her stockings. Then she heard the sputtery grumble of an engine. Twisting around, she peered out the backseat window.

A motorcycle came scooting up the lane, followed by a plume of exhaust and dust swirling red in its taillight. Hunched over its bars was a hatless Captain Frank, his white hair and beard streaming in the wind. The cycle tipped away as it made a quick turn behind the Omni and sped north.

“Look at that sucker go,” Nora muttered.

Tyler stepped on the gas. She drove slowly past Beast House, staring at the grounds behind its fence, at its dark front porch, its windows. It looked bleak and deserted. She could hardly imagine anyone actually entering such a place at night.

Abe and Jack could be in there right now, she thought. Sneaking through pitch-black rooms and corridors, knowing they’re late and trying to hurry…

Or maybe lying torn and dead, two more victims of…

No!

They’re okay. They’re all right. They’re fine. They have guns. They’re trained soldiers. Marines. Leathernecks.

Beast House fell out of sight as she followed the road’s curve up the wooded hillside, but her mind stayed inside the house. She spread open curtains and stared at maimed bodies, wondering which were wax, which flesh, which Abe.

“There it is!” Nora blurted.

Tyler’s eyes fixed on the Mustang. It was parked off the road just ahead. Its lights were out. She gazed through its rear window as she swung behind it. Nobody seemed to be inside.

“Shit,” Nora said. She reached over and patted Tyler’s leg. “Just sit back and try to relax. They’ll be along any minute.”

Tyler killed the headlights and shut off the engine.

“I’ve got an idea,” Nora told her. She opened the glove compartment and pulled out the Automobile Club guidebook. “This’ll help pass the time. Turn on the overhead light.”

Tyler twisted the headlight knob. The ceiling light came on. Nora flipped through the pages. “Let’s see, now. Shasta. Here we go, Shasta Lake. It’s here! The Pine Cone Lodge. My God, it’s got five diamonds! The place must really be something, huh? Expensive, though. One person, fifty-five to sixty bucks a night. Two people, one bed, sixty-five bucks. Forty-five units. Twelve miles north of Redding, off Interstate-5. One and a half miles south of Bridge Bay Road turnoff. Overlooking Lake Shasta. Open all year. Spacious, beautifully decorated rooms with shower/baths, cable TV, fireplaces. Heated pool, whirlpools, free boats and motors. Fishing, water-skiing. It doesn’t exactly sound like a dump.”

Tyler shook her head.

“You think you’ll stay on there?”

“If he asks me to,” she muttered. “Damn it, where is he?”

“Look, it probably took them ten or fifteen minutes just getting to the house from here.”

“Let’s go over.”

“To the house? Are you nuts?”

“You can wait here if you want.”

“Christ, girl!”

Tyler turned off the light and opened her door. Before she could shut it, she saw Nora crawling across the bucket seats. She waited beside the car until her friend climbed out, then hurried across the road.

“We’re hardly dressed to go traipsing through the woods.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll get runs in your stockings.”

Tyler stepped down the steep bank of a ditch, her sandals sliding on the dewy undergrowth, tendrils clutching at her ankles.

Nora skidded, landed on her rump, and picked herself up. “Shit. Have you flipped or something?”

Without a word, Tyler leaned into the opposite slope and started to climb.

“If you’ve got it into your head to go inside the house, forget it. For starters, we’d never make it over the fence.”

Reaching the top of the embankment, Tyler clasped Nora’s hand and pulled her up. She stepped through dark spaces between the trees.

“Besides, we haven’t got guns. They’ve got guns. Not that I’d go in there if we did have…” Nora’s voice faltered.

From down on the road to their left and far ahead came the quick, slapping sounds of feet racing over the pavement. Tyler’s heart lurched. She stared through the pines at the moon-spotted road.

“It’s them,” Nora whispered.

As hard as she listened, Tyler only heard one set of footfalls. Fighting an urge to cry out, she darted back to the edge of the ditch. Poised above the drop-off, she gazed down the road and saw a single runner dashing up the center line. She groaned as she recognized Jack’s blocky figure.

“Oh Jesus,” Nora muttered.

Tyler threw herself down the embankment, stumbled through the growth at its bottom, scurried up the other side and lunged onto the road.

“Jack!”

The man kept running closer with short, choppy steps. He flapped an arm at her. “Get in your car,” he called.

“Where’s Abe?”

“At the house. He’s all right. I’ve gotta meet him in front.”

“What happened?” Tyler asked.

“Later.” He hunched over the Mustang’s door, shoved a key into its lock, opened it and climbed in.

“He said Abe’s all right,” Nora gasped, coming up behind her. “Told you…there was nothing to worry about.”

“Something happened,” Tyler said. Her near panic, she realized, had subsided into frustration.

They stood by the road while Jack swung the Mustang into a U-turn. As it shot off down the slope, Tyler raced to her car. “Get in back,” she ordered. Jerking open her door, she flicked up the lock button for Nora.

The instant her friend was inside, she spun the steering wheel. The Omni made a tight circle, its headbeams sweeping the edge of the woods.

“Douse the lights,” Nora said.

She killed them, remembering that Jack had kept the Mustang dark as he sped down the slope.

“Geez, this is exciting.”

“Something must’ve gone wrong.”

“Stop worrying. Abe’s all right.”

“I’ll stop worrying when I see him.”

“You must really have it for that guy.”

“I do,” she said.

Hurtling around the curve at the bottom of the hill, she saw the Mustang’s dark shape glide to the curb. It stopped in front of the ticket shack. She glanced at the grounds behind the fence, but saw no one.

Where’s Abe? her mind screamed.

Jack leapt from the car. He left his door open, dashed around the front, and flung the passenger door wide.

Tyler steered in behind the Mustang. She hit the brakes. Her Omni skidded to a halt inches from the rear bumper. She jumped out, and took two quick steps before she saw, over the hood of her car, Abe come staggering from behind the ticket booth with a body slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Without room to step between the cars, Tyler crawled across the hood. She swung her legs down and rushed to Abe’s side.

The girl he carried, wrapped in a blanket, was a blonde with hair hanging down over her face. Crouching, Abe lowered her feet to the sidewalk. Though she seemed conscious, her legs buckled. Jack grabbed her beneath the armpits, and the two men helped her into the Mustang’s passenger seat. Jack shut the door as Abe turned to Tyler.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He nodded.

“What happened? Who’s she?”

He shook his head. “I’ll go back in your car,” he said. “Quick, let’s get going.”

The sudden harsh knocking on Gorman’s door sent a jolt through him, reminding him of last night when Marty and Claire had startled him from sleep. His calm returned when he realized it must be Jack and Abe. He checked his wristwatch. Eleven ten. They’d been gone for an hour and forty minutes, so they must’ve spent at least an hour inside Beast House shooting pictures.

“I’m coming,” he called. He closed Captain Frank’s scrapbook, and slid it into a drawer of the lamp table. Before going to the door, he switched on his cassette recorder and pocketed it.

The man waiting under the porch light was neither Jack nor Abe.

“Captain Frank!” Gorman said, and forced a smile. “I’m glad you’re here. You must have come about your book.”

The old man looked angry.

“Come in, come in. I’m sorry I didn’t manage to get it back to you this afternoon, but the copy machine at that shop was out of order. They told me they’d have it repaired before tomorrow morning, so…”

“Where is it?”

“Safe and sound,” Gorman said.

With a wary look in his eyes, Captain Frank followed him around the foot of the bed and watched as he removed the volume from the drawer. “I’ll take it now, Mr. Wilcox,” he said.

“If you wish.”

“The fellow at the front desk, he says your name’s Hardy.”

“It’s true that’s the name I registered under.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Hardy. Wilcox, you see, is my pen name, my nom de plume. I use it for my byline when I write for People.”

“Is that so?” He sounded skeptical. “I think you aimed to steal my scrapbook off me.”

“Nonsense. I had every intention of returning it to you.”

“Aye. Maybe yes and maybe no.” Captain Frank pulled a scuffed leather wallet from a rear pocket of his Bermuda shorts, took out the pair of fifties, and held them toward Gorman.

Gorman stood motionless, the scrapbook in both hands. “I take it, then, that you don’t wish me to write the article.”

“Now I didn’t say that, did I?”

“I can’t write your story if you refuse to let me use this.”

He shook the volume. “It’s a treasure, and I realize it must be priceless to you. I most certainly had no intention of purloining it. I would have returned it to you, this afternoon, if I’d had any inkling you might suspect me of such treachery. Is it my fault that the copy machine malfunctioned?”

“I don’t ‘spect so,” Captain Frank admitted. He looked almost contrite. “All the same, I want you to take your money back and let me have the book. I just don’t feel right, letting it out of my hands. I tell you what, I’ll take it home with me and you come along tomorrow, if you’re still of a mind to write this up. I’ll drift on over with you, and we’ll get us a copy made.”

Gorman made himself smile. “That sounds perfectly reasonable,” he said. He handed the book to Captain Frank, took the money and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. “I do apologize,” he said, “for inconveniencing you in this way. If I’d had any idea…”

“No, no. That’s just fine.”

“Would you care to join me for a drink? I’m afraid I haven’t any beer on hand, but does a martini sound agreeable?”

The old man’s eyes gleamed. “Why thanks.”

“Have a seat,” Gorman told him.

As Captain Frank lowered himself onto one of the twin beds, Gorman turned to the dressing table. He uncapped a fresh bottle of gin, and watched its clear liquid splash into the beaker from his travel bar. His hand trembled.

The bus is an arsenal, he thought. I could get myself shot, sneaking in there. With enough martini in his system, however, the old bastard ought to sleep like the dead.

Gorman added a dash of vermouth. He slowly stirred the mixture.

Like the dead.

He knows my name. He’ll make trouble if I rob him of his precious scrapbook. Assuming, of course, he doesn’t wake up and shoot me.

A pillow over his face while he’s sleeping in a drunken stupor…

It seemed too risky.

Gorman wanted the scrapbook. Photocopies, however, would serve almost as well.

If he goes into the store with me, he might find out I lied about the machine breaking down. He might rebel, at that point, and refuse to cooperate.

He’s an old man. The authorities in this podunk town might simply assume he died of natural causes. A pillow over the face in the wee hours…

Or he might commit suicide.

Gorman saw himself in the dark bus, taking the revolver from under the driver’s seat, pressing it against the sleeping man’s temple and firing.

No, no, no. Neighbors might hear the gunshot.

It was worth considering, though. If he could get away unobserved…

He filled two of the motel tumblers nearly to their brims, and turned to Captain Frank. “Here you go,” he said.

“Thank you, matey.”

Gorman sat on the edge of the other bed. He sipped his martini. The old man took a hefty swallow, and sighed. “Ah, that does hit the spot.”

“Drink up. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Did I tell you of the time I took the tour?”

“The Beast House tour? No. When was this?”

“The very day Maggie Kutch opened it up for folks. I was just a lad. I shined shoes over at Hub’s barber shop for better than two weeks, saving every penny and just waiting for Maggie to start the tours. Nobody in town talked about anything else, once it got out what she was up to—with the dummies and all. My mother, she said it was an abomination against God.” He took another long drink. “I knew she’d throw a fit if she found out I aimed to visit the place, so I kept it to myself and went over to go in with the first bunch. You’ve never seen such a crowd. Half the folks in town was there, lined up to buy tickets. I knew right then word’d get back to her. I just about gave up on the idea, but I just had to go in. The thing of it was, you see, I half expected to find my father inside.”

“He was dead by this time?” Gorman asked.

“Aye. But I knew it was Bobo done him in, and I figured Maggie might have him in wax. I just had to see for myself, you know.” He swallowed a mouthful of martini. “Well, my father wasn’t there. I ‘spect I should’ve been glad, but I wasn’t. Damnation, he belonged in there! He deserved it. Bobo was his in the first place. He found it and brought it to town and it killed him. If anybody was gonna be on display like that, it should’ve been him. When the tour got done, I stepped myself right up to Maggie Kutch and said, ‘Where’s my father?’ She gave me a smile that made me want to smash her face, and said, ‘Why, son, I hear he run off with that tart from Wanda’s.’”

“Wanda’s?”

“That was a local house of ill repute. Well, everybody on the tour laughed fit to bust. I ran off. It was all I could do to keep from crying, having me and my father shamed that way in front of everyone.”

“That must have been awful for you.”

“Aye.” He drank all but a shallow puddle, stared into the glass, and finished it off. “If that weren’t bad enough, I got a whipping for my trouble. Reverend Thompson, he saw me go in with the others and wasn’t he quick to tell on me? Mother, she laid into me with a switch so I couldn’t sit down for a fortnight.”

Shaking his head as if in sympathy, Gorman stood up. “Let me freshen your drink for you, Captain.” He took the man’s glass to the pitcher and filled it. Sitting down again, he said, “Tell me about your seafaring days. You must have seen a lot of the watery part of the world.”

“Not all that much. I run a fishing boat off the dock in Brandner Bay. That’s just up the coast about ten miles.” He took a drink. “I always had a yearn to take a voyage. Fact is, I wanted to find me that island where my father come across Bobo. I figured I’d go in and see if there was more of them creatures. I had it in my head to wipe them out. But I never got around to it. Tell you the truth, I just couldn’t force myself to leave. It was like I had to stay in Malcasa and keep an eye on Beast House. It’s my destiny, you know, to stalk Bobo and lay it low.”

“Do you think there might be surviving…?” Gorman heard the sound of a car engine. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said. Getting up, he stepped to the window. He pushed aside the curtain and peered out, cupping his hands beside his eyes to close off the reflection.

Two cars, a Mustang and a white Omni, drove through the courtyard. They turned toward the duplex of Abe and Jack. They stopped.

“Don’t know whether there’d be survivors or not,” Captain Frank mumbled. “I ‘spect there might be.”

Gorman watched the car doors open. Tyler, Abe and Nora climbed out of the Omni.

“Curious thing,” Captain Frank went on, “there being no wildlife on the island but those creatures, and them carnivorous. I given it a lot of thought.”

Abe opened the Mustang’s passenger door. He and Jack helped someone out.

“I figure they polished off all the game, back somewhere along the line.”

In the light from Abe’s porch, he saw that the passenger was a girl. Her hair was mussed. Her back was toward Gorman as they led her to the door. She wore a blanket that draped her body from shoulders to feet.

“So I ‘spect, since they’re meat-eaters, they must’ve kept going by eating each other.”

Though Gorman couldn’t see the girl’s face, he knew she must be Janice Crogan. He felt sick.

“You get that kind of thing happening a lot in your primitive cultures. Humans. They need their protein, you know. So they have wars with themselves, eat the ones killed in battle. Used to happen all the time.”

Gorman turned away from the window. Stunned, he dropped onto the edge of his bed.

Janice Crogan.

He’d sent those two bastards out to take photos, and they’d come back with Janice Crogan.

He lifted his glass off the floor and drank.

“So I figure,” Captain Frank said, “that what my father and the crew of the Mary Jane ambushed was maybe just one tribe of the hellish beasts.”

Maybe it’s not Janice, Gorman thought.

Who else could it be?

It certainly looked like her, but he couldn’t be sure without seeing her face.

“If I’m not wrong, there’s gonna be another tribe out there. Maybe two or three. Aye, who knows, the island might be…”

“I have to leave,” Gorman said. He stood up. “I’d like to have you stay and talk, but some friends of mine just showed up.”

“Well, I want to thank you for…”

“Here.” Gorman capped the gin bottle. “Why don’t you take this along with you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t take your bottle.”

“Please.” He thrust it toward the old man. “Have yourself a nightcap when you get back to your bus. I’ll be along in the morning and we’ll have a copy made of your scrapbook.”

“A’right, matey. Thanks.”

Gorman picked up his room key and opened the door for Captain Frank. He stood beneath his porch light and stared across the courtyard at Abe’s bungalow. His heart pounded furiously. In spite of the night’s chill, sweat dripped down his face.

Captain Frank stowed the scrapbook and gin bottle in the saddlebags of his motorcycle. He mounted the bike. He stood on the starter, and the engine grumbled awake. With a wave he turned the bike, gunned it past the rear of Gorman’s Mercedes, and sped toward the road.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Someone knocked on the door as Abe held the phone to his ear and listened to the faint ringing.

“Who is it?” Jack called.

“Gorman Hardy,” came the voice from outside.

Abe nodded. Jack pulled the door open and Gorman entered. The man, looking flushed and nervous, scanned the room. “What happened?” he asked.

Jack put a finger to his lips.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“The john.”

Gorman started for the bathroom, but Jack grabbed his arm. “Just wait,” Jack told him.

“Malcasa Point Police Department,” said the voice on the phone. “Officer Matthews speaking. May I help you?”

“I spoke to one of your people this morning.”

“Did you get the pictures?” Gorman asked Jack.

“Sure.”

“An Officer Purcell,” Abe went on. “I realize he’s probably off duty, but I’d like to speak with him. It’s urgent.”

Gorman stared at Abe.

“I’ll try to reach the chief at his home,” Matthews said. “Give me your name and number, and I’ll have him call you back right away.”

“Fine.” Abe gave his name. He read the Welcome Inn’s number off the phone plate.

“Very good, Mr. Clanton.”

“Tell him it’s extremely important. If you can’t get through to him, get back to me yourself.”

“I’ll do that.”

Abe hung up.

“What’s going on?” Gorman asked.

“We ran into your beast.”

“Wasted the sucker,” Jack added.

The man’s mouth dropped open. “You killed it?”

“Blew its fuckin’ head off,” Jack told him, grinning.

“Who’s the girl? I saw you come in with someone.”

“Janice Crogan,” Abe said. “Apparently, she was out near Beast House last night with your friend Blake. She was pretty fuzzy about it all, but somehow she ended up a prisoner in the Kutch place. Blake’s dead. So are the girl’s parents.”

“Brian? Brian’s dead? No!” He shook his head in disbelief. “It can’t be! He…he’s my best friend.”

“Janice says she found their bodies in the cellar of Kutch’s house while she was getting away…”

“With one of the beasts on her tail,” Jack added.

“One of the beasts?” Gorman asked.

“She said there’s supposed to be a second one.”

“Incredible,” Gorman said.

“She’s pretty beat up,” Abe told him. “Mostly superficial scratches and bites apparently. Tyler and Nora are cleaning her up, checking her over.”

“Will she be all right?”

“Considering what she’s been through, she seems to be in pretty good shape.”

The girl sat on the toilet seat, back resting against the tank, arms hanging at her sides, eyes staring ahead as if she were in a trance.

Tyler crouched in front of her, held her knees gently. “It’s all right, Janice. It’s all right, now.”

Janice shook her head.

Nora turned on the shower.

“We’ll help you get cleaned up now,” Tyler said. She spread the blanket open and moaned at the sight of Janice’s torn, bruised skin—the blood and the filth.

“Jesus,” Nora muttered.

Tyler slipped the blanket off the girl’s shoulders. “Can you stand?”

Janice leaned forward. Nora and Tyler, on each side, helped her up. As Nora held the girl steady, Tyler stepped behind her. The girl’s stringy hair was clotted with flecks of raw flesh. Bits of bloody matter clung to her back. Tyler gagged, eyes going wet. She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. Both Janice’s shoulders were raked and punctured. Lower down, her back was striped with claw marks. Her buttocks looked rubbed raw, as if she’d skinned them in a fall.

“The shower is going to hurt,” Tyler said.

“I’ve got it lukewarm.” Nora glanced at Janice’s back and cringed. “God Almighty.”

“One of us better get in with her.”

“Right.”

Nora quickly stripped while Tyler hung onto Janice’s arm. When she was naked, she pushed aside the shower curtain and stepped into the tub. Together, they helped the girl climb over the side. Janice’s mouth sprang open and she cried out as the spray struck her back. The water sliding toward the drain turned pink. Pieces of flesh floated in it. Tyler turned away. The toilet seat was smeared with blood. She shut her eyes and breathed deeply, trying not to vomit. Through the hiss of the shower, she heard the faint ring of a telephone.

“Abe Clanton.”

“Yes. This is Wallace Purcell from the police.”

“Thank you for calling. I’m the one who talked to you this morning about Beast House. My friend had been…”

“Oh yes. What seems to be the trouble?”

“We were out at the beach tonight,” Abe lied. “On our way back, we spotted a young lady who looked like she’d been in some trouble. She was over near the front of Beast House, just outside the fence. She was naked and pretty beat up. We drove over to give her aid. It’s Janice Crogan.”

“You found her?” Purcell sounded amazed.

“She had just escaped from the Kutch house. She said they took her there last night. Brian Blake and both her parents are dead. Their bodies are in Kutch’s cellar.”

Purcell said nothing.

“The girl’s with us. We’re here at the Welcome Inn.”

“May I speak to her?”

“She’s in the bathroom.”

“Did she describe her assailant?”

“Her assailant was the beast.”

“The beast?”

“It does exist. It apparently lives in the Kutch house. Maggie and the others keep it as a pet, or something.”

“And Janice claims this beast attacked her and killed her parents and Blake?”

“That’s it. One more thing. Janice says she wasn’t the only prisoner at the Kutch place. A woman is being kept there against her will, and she has an infant.”

Abe heard a sigh. “Okay, Mr Clanton. Thank you for the information. We’ll take care of the situation, and be in touch with you later.”

“Are you going out there?”

“You bet.”

“Okay. Very good. Be careful.”

“I always am. Later.” He hung up.

“What’s the story?” Jack asked.

“The cavalry is going in.”

“Without us?” Jack asked.

“We weren’t invited.”

“Let’s invite ourselves.”

“I plan to.” Abe rushed past Gorman and knocked on the bathroom door.

Tyler opened it. Her face looked chalky.

“How’s the girl?”

“A mess. But there doesn’t seem to be much bleeding.” She glanced at Gorman. Looking back at Abe, she stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door. “What’s going on?”

“I just talked to the police. They’re on the way to Kutch’s. Jack and I are going to meet them there.”

Her mouth twisted. “Don’t go in.”

“We’ll see if they need us.”

“Oh God, Abe.”

“I want you and Nora to stay here and look after the girl. Come out to the car with us. I’ve got a first-aid kit out there. Patch her up the best you can. When we get back, we’ll see about getting her to a doctor or hospital.” He took Tyler’s hand and led her to the door.

Jack and Gorman followed them out. “Are you coming along?” Jack asked the man.

“Certainly. This may well be the climax of my story.” He slipped the camera strap over his head.

Abe opened the passenger door. Kneeling on the seat, he opened his glove compartment and took out a plastic box. He gave it to Tyler.

“Be careful,” she said.

“Don’t worry.”

Jack, standing beside her, fed cartridges into the magazine of his .45.

“Do you have a gun for me?” Gorman asked.

“Sorry.”

Tyler wrapped her arms around Abe and held him tightly.

“I wonder if we might make a quick detour to Captain Frank’s bus,” Gorman said. “It’s along the way. He has quite an arsenal, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind letting me use one of his guns.”

“No time,” Jack said.

Abe kissed Tyler hard on the lips. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“That’s what you said the last time.” Her voice sounded tight and shaky as if she might cry.

“And I did come back.”

“Took your time about it.”

“I’ll be quick.” He patted her rump through the soft folds of her skirt. “Get in there and take care of Janice.”

“Yes, sir.” Her chin trembled. She turned and rushed away.

“Let’s haul ass,” Abe said.

Tyler shut the door and leaned back against it. Tears rolled down her face. Through her sobbing gasps, she heard the car speed off.

Damn it, how could he go and leave her again?

Because he’s a man.

Because of his pride.

Because it’s in his nature to help out even if it means putting himself on the line.

If he weren’t that way, he wouldn’t be Abe and maybe he would lack whatever it was that made her love him so desperately.

Damn it.

She wiped her face with a sleeve of her sweater. Then she pushed herself away from the door and walked across the deserted room.

From the bathroom came the steady rushing sound of the shower. She opened the door and stepped inside. Nora and Janice were dim shapes through the plastic curtain.

With a handful of toilet paper, she cleaned the blood off the seat. She flushed the paper.

“How’s it going?” she asked, and skidded open the shower curtain enough to see inside.

Nora shook her head. Her lower lip was clamped between her teeth. She was sobbing as she gently slid a bar of soap over Janice’s back.

Janice stood under the nozzle, her hands flat against the wall, her forehead resting on the tiles. With the blood and grime washed away, her tan lines were visible—a pale strip across her back, a pale triangle on her buttocks. The sight of them made the girl seem more real, more vulnerable than before—a teenager who sunbathes and likes the beach and somehow got caught up in the horror.

The bruises and scrapes would fade away, in time. Tyler hoped the bite marks and claw scratches would leave no permanent scars. A shame on a girl so beautiful. But they looked shallow, as if the beast had been struggling with her, maybe trying to hold her still, not kill her. If she was lucky, they might go away, too.

Crouching, Nora soaped Janice’s legs.

“I’ve got a first-aid kit,” Tyler said. “Abe thinks we might take you to a hospital when he gets back.”

Nora looked up. “Where’d he go?”

“Back to the house. The Kutch place.”

Janice turned her head sharply and stared over her shoulder at Tyler.

“Jack and Hardy went with him. They’re planning to meet the police there.”

“Oh shit,” Nora said.

Janice frowned. Her eyes looked alert. “Police? They’re going in?”

“I guess so.”

The girl pushed herself away from the wall. She squinted as the spray struck her face, and turned around. Dropping the soap, Nora stood up. “What…?”

“I’m going.” She bent over and rubbed the backs of her legs to get the suds off.

“I think you’d better stay with us,” Nora told her. “You’re in no shape to…”

“I’ve gotta be there.”

Tyler grabbed a wet arm as Janice climbed over the side of the tub.

“I’m all right.”

The girl seemed steady on her feet. Tyler let go, pulled a towel off a nearby rack, and gave it to her. Janice started rubbing her hair furiously.

“The police will take care of it,” Nora said. “You ought to lie down in bed and wait.”

She shook her head. “It’s my parents. It’s me. I’ve gotta be there.”

Nora shut off the water. “You haven’t got any clothes.”

She dried her face. She winced, her face going tight with pain as she blotted water from a torn shoulder. “I’ve got clothes. In my room.”

“Or a car,” Nora said, climbing from the tub. “The cops impounded your parents’ car.”

“I’ll drive her,” Tyler said.

“Oh shit,” Nora said.

“You guys get dry. I’ll get Janice some clothes.”

She rushed from the bathroom. She grabbed her handbag off Abe’s bed and ran out the door. The cool breeze felt good as she raced across the courtyard.

This time, she thought, there won’t be any waiting, any stewing as she wondered if Abe was all right. In ten minutes, she would be with him. If he’d already gone into the house, she would go in, too. She would be at his side and know.

She shoved her key into the lock, twisted it, opened the door and swept a hand along the wall until she found the light switch. The lamp between the beds came on.

Her bed was still unmade from her afternoon with Abe, its coverlet on the floor where they’d kicked it down, the sheets rumpled. On the other bed was her open suitcase. Bending over it, she snatched out a neatly folded pair of blue jeans, the yellow blouse she’d worn on the tour, a pair of fresh pink panties and her sneakers. A bra? The straps might hurt Janice.

She considered changing herself. Not enough time. Clutching the clothes to her chest, she dashed from the room. The door smashed shut as she leapt off the stoop.

Except for Hardy’s Mercedes and her own Omni, the courtyard was vacant. She saw no one wandering about. The windows of the other bungalows were dark.

Stopping at her car, she pulled open the driver’s door. A shoe fell as she reached inside to flip up the lock button. She opened the back door, flung the clothes onto the back seat, and tossed the shoe in after them.

Then she rushed to Abe’s bungalow. She twisted the knob.

Locked. Of course.

She pounded the door.

Nora opened it. Her hair looked dark and matted as if she hadn’t taken time to dry it enough, but she was dressed except for her blouse. “I thought you were getting Janice some…”

“They’re in the car. She can dress on the way. Let’s go.”

Holding the blouse to her breasts, Nora leaned out the doorway and glanced around.

“It’s all right. Come on.”

Nora turned away. “Come on,” she called into the room.

Janice didn’t pause to question her. Nora stepped aside and let her pass. “This car?” she asked, nodding toward the Omni. She fingered scratches at her side, but made no attempt to cover herself as if unaware of her nakedness.

“I tossed some clothes in the backseat for you.”

With a nod, Janice started for the car. She moved stiffly, wincing as she climbed down the stairs, limping a bit as she stepped to the car. Nora, hurrying ahead of her, opened the rear door.

Tyler rushed to the driver’s side and climbed in. The car wobbled as Nora dropped onto the passenger seat. Tyler twisted the ignition key.

“Let’s take it easy,” Nora said. “We’ve got an injured girl with us.”

“Hurry!” Janice blurted from the back seat.

Tyler rammed the shift into reverse and hit the gas pedal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Abe eased off the accelerator as a pickup swung in from a sidestreet. It sped down Front ahead of them. It didn’t stop for the blinking red traffic signal, and neither did Abe.

“Five’ll get you ten that’s the chief,” Jack said.

Just the other side of Beach Lane, it swerved onto the shoulder. Its tires kicked up dust as it lurched to a stop. Abe steered behind it.

“You lose,” Abe said as a stocky woman leapt from the pickup. Linda? No, Lucy, he recalled. She was out of uniform. She wore jeans and a flannel shirt. The shirt tail hung out, drawn in around her waist by her gunbelt. She glanced toward Abe’s car, then turned and jogged past the front of her truck.

Abe, Jack, and Gorman climbed out. Gorman followed a few steps to the rear. Abe raised an open hand as their approach caught the attention of the others.

Four others. Lucy, Chief Purcell, and two officers in uniform. They stood near the open door of a police car. Another patrol car was parked just beyond them. The flashers were dark.

“Abe Clanton,” Abe said. “This is Jack Wyatt, Gorman Hardy.”

Purcell nodded. “You should’ve stayed at the Inn. But since you came, I want all of you to keep your distance. Stay here at the road unless we tell you otherwise. We don’t want civilians getting mixed up with this.”

“Yes, sir,” Abe said. “It’s your ballgame. If you need a hand, though, give us a shout.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Purcell said.

One of the patrolmen knelt on the car seat and came out, a moment later, with a shotgun. Abe recognized it as a .12 gauge Ithica semi-automatic.

“There’s no rear exit to this place,” Purcell said.

“No windows, either,” Lucy added.

A quick flash of light made Lucy flinch. Purcell and the others frowned at Gorman.

Gorman snapped another photo. “Thank you,” he said, and lowered the camera.

Purcell shook his head. “Let’s go.” He walked up the dirt driveway toward the house, Lucy at his side, the other two following.

“Are we simply going to stand here?” Gorman asked.

“We’ll do as he said.”

Gorman took a step away, but Jack clamped a hand on the back of his neck. “Stay,” he ordered. He looked at Abe. “Do you think they am-scrayed?”

“Their pickup’s in front of the garage.”

“They must know the girl got away. They’ve got three stiffs in the basement, that woman and baby prisoners, and a beast in there. How’re they gonna cover up all that?”

“I’d say they can’t,” Abe said.

“Hope those cops know what they’re doing.”

“They asked us to stay out of it. We’ll stay out of it.”

Near the dark front porch, Purcell pointed to each side. The two uniformed patrolmen spread out. They positioned themselves to the left and right of the porch stairs. Purcell and Lucy mounted the stairs. Lucy drew her revolver and flattened her back against the wall. Purcell stepped in front of the door.

“I can’t see,” Gorman complained in a whiny voice.

“Shut up,” Abe muttered.

He stared at the distant door. He saw the shape of Purcell raise a hand to knock. He couldn’t hear the knock. Purcell lowered the hand to his side.

Abe realized he was holding his breath. He let it out.

Then a dim blue swath of light silhouetted Purcell and someone standing in the doorway. Abe heard his heartbeat. Seconds were passing. Purcell must, he thought, be talking to the person. Who was it, Maggie Kutch? Probably denying…

A man’s voice, faint with the distance, cried out, “No!” Purcell suddenly hunched. A gunshot popped in Abe’s ears. Purcell doubled over and staggered backwards. As he tumbled down the porch stairs, a blast from somewhere to the side sent the cop with the shotgun spinning. The other cop whirled around and aimed toward the pickup. Before he could fire, a shot kicked his head back.

Lucy froze against the wall as if crucified.

Abe dashed between the parked cars. He jerked the revolver from the back of his jeans as he raced in a crouch up the driveway. “Hit the deck!” he yelled at Lucy.

The front door slammed shut, cutting off the blue glow.

Lucy crouched. An instant later came the flat bang of a rifle. She dropped to one knee and swung her revolver toward the pickup. She fired four quick rounds. A man cried out, came stumbling into Abe’s view from the cover of the pickup’s hood, fell to one knee and aimed his rifle at Lucy. He jerked and flopped to the thunder as bullets from Lucy and Abe and Jack socked his body.

Abe straightened up. He heard nothing but the ringing in his ears.

The sprawled man didn’t move.

Lucy was still on one knee. Through the ringing, Abe heard shell casings clatter and roll on the wooden floor of the porch. He realized she was reloading.

He and Jack hurried forward. He crouched over Purcell. The man was on his back, clutching his belly and squirming. “Take it easy,” Abe told him. “We’ll get help for you.”

He heard quick footsteps behind him. As he stood, a blink of light illuminated the chief’s contorted face and bloody shirt. “For Christsake, Hardy!”

Gorman sidestepped and took another photo of Purcell, then rushed toward the officer who’d fallen to the left of the porch stairs.

Jack, kneeling by the one to the right, called, “This one’s dead.”

Lucy backed down the stairs, her revolver aimed at the closed door.

Light flashed as Gorman shot two photos of the cop at his feet. Abe shoved him roughly aside and dropped down next to the motionless body. This one had a chest wound. He searched the neck for a pulse. “Dead,” he called. He straightened up. “Lucy, get back to your car and radio for an ambulance.”

With a nod, she took off running for the road.

Jack was standing above the man who’d ambushed the two officers. Abe went over to him. “It’s the old shit that took our tickets,” Jack said.

“Guess we cancelled his,” Abe said.

Gorman, panting, ran up beside them. His flash lit the skinny, grizzled old man. In the instant of brightness, Abe saw half a dozen bullet holes in the front of his sodden shirt and trousers: small entry holes from Lucy’s .38, large exits from the slugs that had caught him in the back. Gorman stepped to his feet, crouched, and took another picture.

“We going in?” Jack asked. His voice was hushed and eager.

“Right.”

“She’s gonna be ready.”

“She’ll expect us to break through the front door. We’ll go in the back.”

“There is no back door,” Gorman pointed out.

“There’s the tunnel.”

“Where you killed the beast?”

“Want to see it?” Jack said.

“I must.”

“Better grab a weapon,” Abe told him.

With a nod, Gorman rushed over to the head-shot policeman. Abe and Jack reloaded while he took two photos of the dead man, knelt down, and lifted the revolver out of the grass.

“Do you know how to use it?” Jack asked.

“I’ve had some experience.”

“Just don’t point it at anyone you don’t plan to shoot.”

“I’m not a fool,” Gorman said.

Abe stepped over to Purcell. The chief still held his belly, but he was no longer squirming. “We’re going in to take care of business,” Abe told him. “Hang on here. An ambulance is on the way.”

As they started for the road, Abe saw Lucy running toward them. Clamped under one arm was a first-aid kit. Abe rushed up to her. “We’re going in through a tunnel under the house.”

“Maybe I’d better…”

“Take care of Purcell. Keep an eye on the front door, but don’t try to go in.”

She nodded.

“Who shot Purcell?”

“The Kutch woman. Maggie. She was just talking calmly and all of a sudden…”

“If she comes out, blow her down.”

“You’re fucking-A right I will.”

Abe slapped her back, and ran for the road. Jack and Gorman followed. Abe stopped at one of the police cars long enough to find a long-barreled flashlight. Racing across Front Street, he glimpsed headlights far to the left. From somewhere in the distance came the sound of a siren. He dashed past the Beast House ticket booth, vaulted the turnstile and ran up the walkway.

“Wait up!” Gorman called.

He took the porch stairs two at a time, stopped in front of the door, and rammed the heel of his shoe into it just below the handle. With a splintering crash, the door flew open.

He switched on the flashlight.

Jack came up behind him.

“Wait up,” Hardy called again. A moment later, he came huffing up the porch stairs.

The three men entered the house.

The beam of Abe’s light caught the snarling face of a creature near the foyer wall. He turned his revolver on it, but held fire as he realized it was nothing but the old, stuffed monkey posed to hold umbrellas. He let out a deep breath.

“Let’s take it cautious,” he whispered. “There’s one beast unaccounted for and three women.”

“Do you think they might be here?” Gorman asked.

“Anything’s possible,” Jack told him.

“The tunnel’s our way in,” Abe said, “but it’s their way out if they decide to retreat.”

“Do you think they had time to get here?”

“Yes,” Abe said. He started forward, the powerful beam of his flashlight pushing a stream of brightness into the dark.

Tyler swung off the road behind Abe’s mustang. The ambulance sped by. Near the porch of the Kutch house, a woman stood up and waved both arms. On the ground around her lay several motionless shapes. Tyler’s throat constricted.

“My God,” Nora muttered.

The ambulance skidded onto the driveway, siren wailing, light flashing. It raced toward the woman.

“Follow it,” Janice said from the backseat.

Tyler stepped on the gas, swerved around Abe’s car, and swung onto the driveway. The ambulance stopped. She slowed as she drew up behind it. Two attendants jumped down and ran to the back. As they opened the rear doors, she set the emergency brake.

“That guy down over there’s a cop,” Nora said.

Tyler bolted from the car. She sprinted past the ambulance. In the glare of the whirling red lights, she saw a body to the left of the porch. It wore a uniform. A woman with a revolver in one hand was on her knees beside a man, gesturing to the attendants as they rushed forward with a stretcher. The man on the ground was a stranger.

“This is the guy from Beast House,” Nora called from the front of a pickup truck.

“Hey!” the woman shouted. “Who are you people? Get out of here!”

“Were there three men here?” Tyler asked.

“Yes.”

“Where are they?”

She pointed. “Said they’re going through a tunnel.”

“Are they all right?”

“Yes! Get out of here!”

Tyler and Nora reached the Omni at the same moment. Janice was standing by the rear door. “Get in,” Tyler snapped.

The three doors slammed shut.

“What’re we doing?” Nora asked.

“Going after them.” Tyler rammed the shift into reverse and sped backwards toward the street.

“What good will that do?” Nora asked. “We’ll just be in their way.”

“We need guns,” Janice said.

Tyler mashed the brake. She shot the car forward, swung onto the grass beside the ambulance, and lurched to a stop. She and Nora leapt from the car.

“Hold it!” the woman cop yelled.

“We need their guns!” Tyler said. “We want to help.”

“Help by getting out of here.”

The attendants lifted the fallen policeman onto the stretcher.

“Please!” Tyler said. “We’ll bring them back.”

The woman aimed her revolver at Tyler. “Get!”

“For Christsake, lady!” Nora blurted.

She aimed at Nora.

“Stupid bitch!” Tyler cried. Whirling around, she climbed back into the car.

Nora dropped in and slammed her door.

“We’re no good without guns,” Janice said.

Tyler steered the car around in a tight circle, then hit the brake. She stared past the tail of the pickup truck and across the treeless field at the woods beyond Beach Lane.

“Captain Frank,” she said.

“So what?”

“Hardy said he’s got an arsenal.”

“Let’s go!” Janice urged.

Tyler drove straight across the field, the car bouncing wildly over its bumpy earth, crunching through weeds and low bushes. Nora clung to the dashboard as jolts shook the car. Tyler struggled to keep her grip on the steering wheel. Soon, her headlights caught the row of mailboxes. She spotted the opening in the trees to the left as the car sprang over a small rise and dropped onto the dirt road.

“Oh shit!” Nora yelled.

Tyler yanked the wheel. She almost missed the tree. There was a jolt as she struck it. The right headlight smashed. But the car glanced off and kept moving, speeding down the narrow rutted lane of Seaside, its single beam thrusting into the dark.

“There it is,” Nora said.

Tyler shoved the brake pedal to the floor and steered for the bus. The car bounded off the road. Beer cans crunched under its tires. She blasted the horn.

Nora and Janice jumped out while she set the emergency brake. They were pounding the bus’s door when she reached them.

“Wha’s all this?”

Tyler spun around. Captain Frank’s white-bearded face was at an open window halfway to the back of the bus. “It’s just us,” she said. “Tyler and Nora. We talked at the bar last night, remember? We need your help.”

“Did I hear guns?” he asked. He sounded groggy.

“They’re after the beast. Your Bobo. We want to help. Have you got guns?”

“Goin’ after Bobo?”

“Hurry. You can come along if you want.”

“Uhhh.” His face left the window. A light came on inside the bus, illuminating its brightly colored panes. A few seconds later, the door wheezed open.

“My Lord, is that you, Janice Crogan?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“Figured Bobo got you.”

“It did.”

“We’ve got to hurry,” Tyler said, stepping close to the door.

Captain Frank wore striped boxer shorts, and nothing else. His torso was matted with white hair. “Grab some clothes,” Tyler said, “and show us where you keep your guns.”

“Aye. Come on aboard, mateys.”

With the policeman’s revolver clenched in his sweaty hand, Gorman followed Abe and Jack down the stairs to the cellar. He kept his other hand on the railing as he descended. Except for the bright path cast by the flashlight, all was black.

The risers creaked under their feet.

The dirt floor of the cellar below looked gray in the pale beam. Then the light swept from corner to corner. Shadows quivered and died as the light circled.

“There’s your hole,” Abe whispered. He settled the beam on a patch of darkness near a pile of bushel baskets.

Gorman tried to speak. A choked sound came out. He cleared his throat and asked, “Did you get pictures?”

“Sure,” Jack said. “Then we heard Janice.”

In silence, Gorman followed them down to the cellar floor. They stood in a cluster at the foot of the stairs. Abe swung the light toward a wall beside the staircase. It stopped at a large steamer trunk. “That’s their door,” he said. Gorman noticed a short hank of rope nailed to a side of the trunk—apparently a handle for pulling it back against the wall.

The beam edged sideways. It lighted the tunnel entrance.

And the beast.

“Glad it didn’t walk away,” Jack whispered.

They stepped closer.

The creature lay face down, just inside the tunnel, its shiny flesh so white it almost seemed to glow. Its back was splattered with gore. Gorman quickly looked away from the remains of its head.

“We didn’t get any pictures of it,” Jack told him.

Gorman took a deep breath. “Would you mind rolling it over?”

“We’ve got a job to do,” Abe said. “You can stay here if you want.” He stepped over one of the outstretched arms and moved deeper into the tunnel.

“Wait. You can’t leave me here.”

“Then come along,” Jack said, and went in after Abe.

The light faded to a dim glow as Abe disappeared around a bend. In another moment, Gorman would be left in darkness. Gritting his teeth, he started to edge past the beast. He stared at it, half expecting a clawed hand to dart for his ankle. Then the light was gone. He couldn’t see the beast at all. Something nudged his shoe. With a yelp, he sprang away.

He rushed forward, bumped a moist wall, and felt his way along its turn until he spotted broken light ahead and the hurrying shapes of Jack and Abe.

“Wait for me!” he cried out.

Jack turned around. “Quiet, damn it!”

Gorman quickly joined the two men. He stayed close to Jack. He couldn’t free his mind from the beast at the tunnel’s entrance. It must be dead. But had it stirred in the darkness, one of its sprawled legs knocking against his shoe? No, he must have simply kicked it in passing. It must be dead:

But what if it’s not?

What if it’s coming?

Ridiculous.

And yet, he could sense it creeping closer.

He stepped on the back of Jack’s shoe.

“Damn it, watch where you’re going.”

“Would you mind if I walk between you two?”

“Shit. Suit yourself. Step on Abe for a while.”

“Would you guys knock it off?” Abe whispered.

Jack pressed himself against a wall of the tunnel. Gorman moved past him. With the sound of Jack’s footsteps behind him, he immediately felt better. But his heart continued to pound wildly. His mouth was dry and he felt vaguely nauseated. His legs trembled.

He wished he hadn’t come along with these men. He wished he had stayed at the inn, out of harm’s way.

Thinking of the inn reminded him of Janice.

So the girl wasn’t dead. That was a blow. Apparently, at least, she had no suspicion that he’d murdered her parents. Thank God for that.

She would present a problem, however, even with the contracts destroyed. If she took the matter to court…Of course, he might resolve the situation by giving her the agreed-upon amount.

Half of everything.

If Black River had been a blockbuster—a bunch of ghost nonsense with nothing but a single suicide (ah yes, suicide, Martha) to give it credibility and bolster sales—this one would skyrocket.

How many deaths? Four tonight. Three last night. Janice’s imprisonment (I’ll have to interview her about that), two captives in the Kutch house for God only knows how long. And the biggest bonus of all, the corpse of the beast.

National media coverage.

And me, Gorman Hardy, in the center of it all.

The potential was staggering.

Turning over half to Janice would be an outrage. If only the beast had killed her.

Without doubt, it had raped her.

And both her parents were killed.

Nobody would consider it unusual if a girl in such circumstances committed suicide.

He could hardly risk faking suicides for both Janice and Captain Frank.

There were other ways to handle Captain Frank.

Suicide was perfect for Janice. But what method? A girl would certainly be unlikely to blow out her brains. Slashing her wrists was out of the question: it would raise eyebrows if she died in the same manner as Brian’s wife. An overdose? Perhaps. That might be difficult to arrange, but…

Following Abe around a bend in the tunnel, he saw a blue glow ahead. Abe switched off the flashlight. The glow, Gorman realized, must be coming from the cellar of the Kutch house. An icy tightness clutched his stomach. His heart thudded faster. His trembling legs felt leaden, as if they wanted to hold him back.

Jack nudged him from behind. “Keep moving.”

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped. He forced himself to take a step, another step.

Abe, a couple of yards ahead, crouched at the mouth of the tunnel. He inched his head forward and looked to both sides. Then he stood up and entered the cellar.

If there was any danger, Gorman told himself, Abe wouldn’t walk in that way.

Clenching the revolver so hard his hand ached, he followed. His feet were silent on the blue carpet. As Abe strode toward the stairs, Gorman gazed to the right. On the far wall hung the bodies of two naked men—Marty Crogan and Brian. Their skin was blue in the strange light from the ceiling fixture. Their blood looked purple, almost black. Claire’s body was sprawled on the carpet near one of the shiny cushions that littered the floor. He stared at the awful, gaping crater in her thigh. Panic choked him. He stood motionless, struggling for breath.

Jack, stepping in front of him, shook his shoulder. “Hey,” the man whispered. “Let’s go.”

Gorman knocked the hand away, staggered backwards, twisted himself around and lurched for the tunnel. At its entrance, he glanced back. Abe and Jack, both standing at the foot of the stairs, watched him and said nothing. He flung himself into the darkness. He ran.

Let them think what they like.

Let them think I’m a coward.

With his left hand out, he felt the moist wall to keep his bearings and rushed away from the hideous blue light of the cellar.

Better the darkness. Better anything than to climb those stairs and enter that house. He dreaded coming to the end of the tunnel. The beast would be there. But it was dead (it must be dead), and a live beast was waiting for those two inside the Kutch house. Maggie with a gun, and maybe others, but most of all the beast—it eats people. Let it get those two fools.

It won’t get me!

He ran until he collapsed. On hands and knees, he sucked in the dank air. He heard nothing except his noisy gasping and the pounding of his heart. He saw nothing but blackness.

How far had he come? Surely, he must be at least halfway. He wanted to rest, but he knew he wouldn’t be safe until he was outside Beast House. He longed for the fresh night air, for the brightness of moonlight. He saw himself rushing across the lawn to Front Street, locking himself inside Abe’s car…If only he were there now.

Pushing himself to his feet, he reached out to the wall. He looked over his shoulder. Then he started forward again. After a few shuffling steps, he managed a slow jog.

You’re all right now, he told himself. You’re almost out. You’ll be there soon.

Try not to step on the beast.

I’ll fall on it, and it’ll…

If only he had a flashlight! Or even matches!

If only he knew how close it was!

It’s dead. If you fall on it, you’ll get messy but it’s dead and can’t hurt you and you’ll know you made it to Beast House and you’ll be outside in another minute.

Who says the living beast is in the Kutch house?

Who says it’s not in Beast House?

That thought sent a shock of alarm through Gorman, but he kept on jogging. He shambled around a curve in the tunnel and saw dim light ahead.

There shouldn’t be light.

It didn’t make sense unless he’d somehow gotten turned around. But the light in the Kutch cellar was blue, not white like this.

He staggered around another bend, and stopped. He held his breath.

He squinted against the glare.

A gasoline lantern. It hissed in the silence.

A bearded man—Captain Frank—was crouching over the sprawled body of the beast. He had rolled it onto its back. Just behind him stood a girl in a yellow blouse. Janice! Nora and Tyler were there, too. They all held guns. They were all staring at the beast.

Raising his revolver, Gorman took careful aim at Janice and fired.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A blast roared in Tyler’s ears. Janice spun and smashed against her. The girl’s pistol bounced off Tyler’s foot. Falling back against the tunnel wall, she flung an arm around Janice to hold her up. She staggered sideways with the weight, and fell to the cellar floor just outside the tunnel.

“Don’t shoot! It’s me!” Hardy’s voice.

“Stupid fuckhead!” Nora cried out.

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean to…I thought…My God, is she all right?”

As Tyler pulled her arm out from under Janice, Nora dropped to her knees beside them. Captain Frank rushed over with the lantern.

“Oh my God,” Hardy muttered, staring down at the girl. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was so frightened I didn’t know what I was…”

“Shut up!” Nora snapped.

Janice’s eyes were open. Her face was contorted with agony. A bloom of red was quickly spreading over the front of her blouse. Nora ripped the blouse open. A button popped from it and flicked against Tyler’s cheek. The blood was welling from a place just above the left breast, and close to the side. Nora slid fingers over the area, then pressed her palm tightly to the wound. Janice yelped and flinched.

Captain Frank, on his knees, slid the long blade of a knife up the girl’s sleeve and sliced through the fabric. He rammed the knife into the dirt floor. “Gotta turn her,” he muttered. “See her back.”

“Yes,” Hardy said. “There might be an exit wound.”

“Un…” Janice gasped. “Under.” Her right arm lifted off the dirt and fell across her breasts. She pointed with a finger at her armpit.

Captain Frank eased her left arm away from her side. “Here,” he said. “Came out here. Nicked her arm, too.” He plucked a wadded red bandanna from a pocket of his Bermudas, pushed it against the wound, and drew her arm down to her side. “That’ll hold it.”

“We’ve gotta get her to a hospital,” Nora said. She looked over at Tyler. “That policewoman. She can use one of the car radios. Have her call in for an ambulance.”

“But Abe.”

“He can take care of himself, damn it.”

“I’m going on over, mateys,” Captain Frank mumbled. “You can keep my Coleman.” He yanked his knife from the ground and stood up.

“I’ll stay with Janice,” Hardy offered. “I’ll tend to her wounds. Nora, why don’t you go out and see to an ambulance?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

Hardy knelt beside Janice. Nora took his hand and placed it against the entry wound. “Keep a firm pressure,” she told him. With her clean hand, she stroked the girl’s forehead. “You’ll be fine, kiddo. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and we’ll get you out of here.”

As she rushed toward the cellar steps, Tyler entered the tunnel. In the dim light from the lantern, she stepped around the body of the beast. She followed Captain Frank into the darkness.

Jack, his back to the front door, curled a hand around the knob and tried to turn it. “Locked,” he whispered.

Abe nodded. So they wouldn’t be opening the door to let Lucy in. She was good with a gun. She might’ve been helpful. He considered shooting out the lock, but the noise would give away their presence.

So far, they had checked out the kitchen, the corridor and the dining room. All were lighted blue like the cellar. Though they’d been constantly alert for an attack, so far they’d seen no one. The house seemed deserted.

Maybe everyone had fled. Abe doubted that Kutch and her group could have escaped through the tunnel to Beast House. There may, of course, be another way out—a tunnel at the back, perhaps leading toward the beach. That was possible, though Abe hadn’t noticed any other exit in the cellar.

More likely, they were still in the house.

He gazed up the stairs.

Then, from the left, came a quiet sound like a girl sobbing.

Crouching, Jack edged sideways toward the arched entryway. Abe stayed close to him, stepping silently backward, keeping the rear covered.

The walls of the room were draped, from ceiling to floor, with blue curtains. A chill crawled up Abe’s back. His eyes raced along the heavy folds, searching for bulges, for feet protruding beneath the lower edges. He saw nothing to indicate another presence, but kept scanning the curtains as he followed Jack.

The room was bare of furniture. Its carpet was cluttered with pillows and cushions of shiny blue fabric—some alone, others piled up.

He heard the sobbing again.

It seemed to come from behind a waist-high heap of pillows near the end of the room. Abe aimed his revolver at the center of the mound and sidestepped closer as Jack headed around the far side.

“Over here,” Jack whispered, and knelt out of sight.

Abe sprang past the pile to regain his view of Jack, and saw a girl lying face down on the floor. She was naked. One arm was bent close to her head, the other out of sight beneath her body.

Jack, on one knee near her head, had his .45 aimed down at her. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

The girl sniffed.

Abe kicked into the mounded pillows, sending them flying until he could see the floor.

The girl lifted her face off the carpet. “Help,” she said in a choked voice. “Please. I’m hurt.”

“Get your other hand where I can see it,” Jack said. “It better be empty.”

“Can’t. I…my arm’s broken.”

Abe pivoted for another quick scan of the room, then dropped a knee onto the girl’s spine. Her back arched. Her head jerked back. He slammed the barrel of his revolver against her upper arm, jumped aside as she cried out, and used his left hand to tug the arm out from under her. She held a small caliber semi-automatic. He rapped her knuckles with his barrel. The pistol fell.

Now she was crying for real.

“Bastards!” she gasped. “Stinking bastards!”

“Watch our tails,” Abe said.

Jack straightened up.

Abe shoved his revolver into his pocket. He twisted the girl’s arm up behind her back.

“Let go! Asshole! You’re gonna die!”

He yanked the belt from his trouser loops, forced her other arm up her back, and lashed them together.

“Where are the others?” he asked.

“You’ll find out!”

“Upstairs?”

“Fuck you!”

He tugged the revolver from his pocket and picked up the girl’s pistol.

“That belt won’t hold her long,” Jack said.

“If she gives us any more grief, we’ll kill her.” Abe stood up. He planted a foot on her back and shoved. “Did you catch that, Tiger?”

“Fuck you!”

“Let’s go,” Abe said.

“Upstairs?” Jack asked.

“You got it.”

Janice felt the hand go away from her chest. She pushed the palm of her right hand against the wound, and opened her eyes. Gorman Hardy was kneeling over her. “Wha…”

“We’ve got to get out of here, Janice. We’re in danger if we stay.”

“Huh?”

“The beast, I saw it move.”

She turned her head and looked toward the tunnel entrance. All she could see of the creature were its clawed feet. They looked motionless.

A cry leaped from her as Gorman tugged her arms, raising her back off the dirt. She stiffened her neck to stop her head from swaying. The wound burned as if a white-hot poker had been driven through her body and was still there. The sodden rag dropped from under her arm. Warm blood trickled down her breast and side.

She slumped forward, head between her knees. Gorman let go and stepped behind her.

“Try to stand up,” he said.

She felt him against her back. His hands clutched her sides, and she writhed as one of them pressed against claw scratches. He moved his hands lower. “Is this better?” he asked.

She nodded.

She drew her knees up and shoved her sneakers against the dirt as he lifted.

As she straightened, her balance shifted backwards and they both staggered. Gorman gasped behind her. One of his hands flew up and clenched her breast.

“Sorry,” he said, and moved the hand down.

He turned her toward the stairs.

Her legs felt warm and weak, but they held her up as Gorman guided her along. She looked up the steep stairway. “Can’t,” she murmured.

“It’s all right. I’ll hold you. We’ll be up at the top in a jiffy and out of here.”

In a jiffy. He sounded almost cheerful.

With her right hand, she gripped the wooden banister. She placed a foot on the first riser. Gorman clutched her hips, and lifted. She struggled up the first stair, the second. Then a wave of dizziness hit her. Her legs folded. She fell against the railing and hugged it.

“Goddamn it,” Gorman muttered.

“I can’t,” she gasped. “I can’t. Let me…wait for Nora.”

“Do you want me to leave you here alone with the beast? I tell you, it’s not dead!”

“Don’t leave me.”

She tried to push herself away from the banister. Gorman pulled at her shoulders, and she cried out. He eased her forward onto the stairs. Slowly, bracing herself with her good right arm, she crawled higher.

“That’s good,” Gorman said. “That’s a lot better.” He stepped around Janice and climbed above her. “Almost there,” he said.

Three stairs from the top, another dizzy spell hit her. Her stomach convulsed. She lunged forward, pressing her head between the planks, and vomited through the gap behind them. When she finished, she lay there gasping and sobbing.

“Quick!” Gorman said. “My God, it’s sitting up!”

She jerked her head free and looked down at the tunnel entrance. From this angle, she couldn’t see the beast at all.

Neither, she realized, could Gorman.

She raised her face, blinking tears from her eyes. “You can’t…”

“Damn you!” he bellowed. “Come on!”

She raised her arm toward a higher step. He grabbed its wrist with both hands and tugged, jerking her up and forward. Her cheek hit the edge of the landing. He dragged her. She scraped and bumped over the remaining stairs. With a final yank he threw her onto the landing.

“Okay,” he said. “Up.”

She couldn’t force herself to move.

Gorman stepped over her. He planted a foot beside each hip, and clutched her sides. A finger dug into the bullet hole under her arm, stunning her with a bolt of pain. He lifted her. First to her knees. Then to her feet. As she tried to lock her knees, he swung her around and pushed.

She plunged head first. She seemed to fall forever, a scream swelling in her chest as the stairs below drifted up at her. She flung an arm across her face. The arm went numb. The plank it hit burst apart. The top of her head skidded across the next one as her legs flew high and swung down. The edges of planks slammed her back and buttocks and legs. They scraped her back, bumped her head as she slid. Then she came to a stop, her rump on the cellar floor, her back against the stairs.

“My goodness,” said a voice above her. “You fell.”

She brought her head forward, feeling a dim sense of relief that she could move it. Her legs were stretched out across the dirt. They seemed to belong to someone else. A sneaker had been lost in the fall. She wiggled her bare toes.

“But you’re still alive.” She heard footfalls on the stairs. “You must be part cat. Are you part cat, Janice? You’re harder to kill than your mother was. A regular Rasputin.”

Across the cellar, near a stack of bushel baskets, a hand reached out of the ground.

Out of a hole in the cellar floor.

A dead-white hand, smudged with dirt but glistening in the lantern light. A hand with long, hooked claws.

Janice tumbled forward as something—Gorman’s foot?—thrust against her back. Grunting, she sprawled face down.

Gorman rolled her over.

He straddled her, sat on her belly, smiled down at her “Unfortunately,” he said, “you broke your head in the fall.” He gripped both sides of her head. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough for this, but we’ll give it the old college try.”

She drove a fist into his side. He grunted and his face twisted.

“Oh, you’re a tough one.” He started to smile again, but then he looked up and his mouth sprang open. A shadow fell across Janice. The beast stood above her, reaching for Gorman. He sucked in a loud breath and flung out an arm to ward the thing off. His other hand went to his hip. Lifting her head, Janice saw him try to tug a revolver from his front pocket. He jerked the gun free as the beast’s hands clamped the sides of his head. With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Janice flung her right arm across her body, grabbed the rising barrel, and tore the gun from Gorman’s hand.

The beast lifted him by the head. His feet swept past Janice’s face. His shrieks hurt her ears.

She rolled over. Braced on her elbows, she turned the revolver around and cocked it.

The beast still had Gorman by his head. He waved his arms and kicked and screamed as it shook him. Then it flung him against a section of shelves. Wood splintered. He fell sprawling to the floor under an avalanche of jars. “Shoot it!” he cried in a choked voice. He staggered to his feet. He stumbled backwards as the crouching beast lurched closer.

Janice fired.

The slug knocked a leg out from under Gorman.

He flopped onto his back. The beast sprang onto him. He let out a piercing scream as its snout thrust into his groin, snapping and ripping. Soon, he was only whimpering. The beast raised its head and seemed to stare at him for a few moments. Then it scurried up his body, opened its mouth wide, and bit into his face.

Janice watched.

She watched until Gorman no longer groaned and whimpered, until the convulsions stopped shaking him and he lay motionless.

The beast climbed off him. Its body was smeared with Gorman’s blood. It turned toward Janice and stared at her.

Its penis thickened and grew and stood upright.

She fired.

The bullet whined off the stone wall beyond its head. Hunched over, the beast hesitated. Janice aimed at its chest. As she squeezed the trigger, the creature lurched aside. It sprang across the cellar floor toward the tunnel where the other beast lay dead. Janice swung the pistol, fired again and again. Then the hammer fell with a dry clack. The beast vanished into the tunnel.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Tyler stopped abruptly when she heard the sound—a single pop that surged down the tunnel from behind. “A gunshot?” she whispered.

“Aye,” said Captain Frank.

She stood motionless in the dark, hanging onto the old man’s hand, and wondered what it might mean. Nora had a pistol, but had left the house and probably wouldn’t be back yet. That left Gorman. Who—or what—had he fired at?

“Trouble back there,” Captain Frank said.

“Yes.”

“Let’s not poke.”

With a nod that he wouldn’t see in the blackness, Tyler pulled his hand and led the way forward. Her shoulder bumped a wall. She stepped to the right, and kept going.

Another gunshot resounded through the tunnel, followed soon by a quick flurry that all ran together and might have been three shots or four.

What’s going on back there?

“Lord,” muttered Captain Frank.

Tyler stood still. She listened for more gunfire, but heard only the thump of her heartbeat and the old man’s quick breathing.

“Strange business,” she said.

His hand was hot and slippery in her grip. She kept hold of it, and started walking again. She swept the pistol from side to side ahead of her, feeling for walls. Her knuckles brushed moist clay. She turned slightly away.

She wished they hadn’t left the Coleman lantern behind.

With light, they would be out of this tunnel by now, not staggering blindly along its twists and curves.

They must be nearing its end.

But the tunnel seemed to stretch on forever.

With Abe in the lead and Jack covering the rear, they had walked the length of the upstairs corridor. Every door was shut. At each of them, Abe pressed himself to the wall and tried the knob. Every door was locked.

At the end of the corridor, he whispered to Jack, “Let’s start by the stairs and smash them open.”

They were halfway back when a door swung open twenty feet ahead. They crouched and took aim.

“We’re comin’ out.” Abe recognized the husky voice of Maggie Kutch. “Don’t shoot us.”

“Come out slowly,” Abe said. “Keep your hands in sight, and they’d better be empty.”

Through the doorway sidestepped a young woman. Maggie, behind her, had a hand around her neck and held a revolver to her head. The woman cradled a baby in her arms. It was silent, but awake and fingering a strap of her nightgown.

“Drop your guns,” Maggie said.

“You drop yours,” Abe said, “and place your hands on top of your head.”

“I’ll shoot her brains out.”

The possibility sickened Abe. Without their weapons, however, they would be at Kutch’s mercy. He had little doubt that she would fire on them the instant they were disarmed.

“You’ll be dead,” Jack said, “before she hits the floor.”

“Let’s not have any shooting,” Abe said. “Leave the woman here with her baby, and you can walk out. We won’t make any moves to stop you.”

“Think I’m a fool?” Kutch asked. “You drop your guns before I count three, or else. One.”

“Don’t do it,” Abe warned.

“No, please,” the woman begged. She clutched the baby to her chest.

“Two,” said Kutch. Her voice sounded calm, as if she knew they would give up their guns to save the woman.

Tyler stepped into the dim blue light of the cellar. She stood motionless, gazing at the two bodies that hung from the far wall, thinking for a terrible moment that they were Abe and Jack.

Captain Frank bumped her side. “Lord,” he whispered.

Her eyes lowered to the torn body of a woman sprawled on the floor. She pulled her hand from Captain Frank’s grip, covered her mouth and turned to the stairway, and flinched as she heard gunshots from somewhere above. She raced across the carpet. She grabbed the railing. She started up, taking two stairs at a time.

With a look over her shoulder, she saw Captain Frank running in a drunken weave to catch up. She couldn’t wait for him. But as she started to turn away, a pale shape sprang from the tunnel’s darkness.

“Behind you!” she yelled.

The old man was too drunk or too slow. Even as he started to turn, the lunging beast rammed clawed hands down on his shoulders. He cried out. His legs folded. The beast batted the side of his head. Growling, it bared its teeth. Its snout darted toward the back of his neck.

Tyler fired. The blast stunned her ears. The revolver jumped.

She had aimed high, afraid of hitting Captain Frank. Her bullet plowed up a tuft of carpet near the wall.

The beast stared up at her. Its slanted eyes didn’t blink. Its snout was smeared red, but not with Captain Frank’s blood. Tyler remembered the gunshots she’d heard in the tunnel. They had been fired at this thing. Whose blood…?

It scurried off the back of Captain Frank and rushed forward in a low crouch with its knuckles on the carpet like a gorilla. It was almost to the foot of the stairs when Tyler squeezed off another shot. Splinters exploded off the banister. The creature jerked its head aside as flying needles of wood jabbed its face. Its right eye spat fluid. It slapped a hand to its face. Screeching, it staggered backwards.

Tyler aimed at its head and fired and missed. She aimed at its chest and fired. Her bullet slashed a red streak across the top of its shoulder.

She tried to think.

How many bullets had she fired?

The beast was standing upright with its head back, roaring with pain or rage. It should be an easy target, but the angle was bad, shooting down like this.

If she tried to finish it off, she would empty her gun. Then what good would she be to Abe?

Captain Frank’s gun!

It lay on the carpet near his body.

Unfired. Full.

If she could get to it…

Holding her revolver with both hands, she aimed at the chest of the beast and squeezed the trigger.

The gun bucked. The creature grabbed its side, just above the hip. Spinning, it fell to one knee.

With the noise of the blast still ringing in her ears, she raced down the stairs. She rushed at the beast. She stabbed the muzzle against its head above an open hole where its ear should have been. Its elbow rammed into her thigh, knocking her leg back, twisting her. The front sight carved a gash across the side of its head as she started to fall. She jerked the trigger and wished she could call back the bullet because she knew, even as the gunshot crashed in her ears, that she had missed.

When Kutch said, “Two,” the corridor roared.

Abe and Jack both fired at the same instant.

Abe had chosen, as his target, the area to the right of the young woman’s ear. Maggie’s gun was there. Half of her face was there, too, visible behind the woman’s head.

Jack must have picked the same target.

Maggie’s pistol leaped from her hand as if kicked, and bounced off her forehead. Her cheek blew open with a spray of blood. She flopped backwards. The woman with the baby hurled herself aside, hit the wall with her shoulder and sank to her knees. The baby cried wildly.

Maggie lay on her back. She didn’t move.

Side by side, Abe and Jack ran forward. Abe stopped in front of the young woman. Jack went on ahead to check on Maggie.

“Are you all right?” Abe asked.

She nodded. She stroked the head of her baby, and looked up at Abe. “Don’t let…” She slipped a knuckle into the crying baby’s mouth. Its wailing stopped. It sobbed and gummed her fingers. “Don’t let them get you,” she said. “They’re…” A muffled boom interrupted her. A gunshot from somewhere in the house.

“Jack, take these two outside.”

“Maggie’s alive.”

“Leave her. Get these two…”

Jack’s head jerked sideways. He swung his weapon. Abe pivoted, but before he could bring up his revolver a beast leaped onto him. It was half the size of the creature they had killed in the tunnel, but its weight caught him off balance. He fell onto the woman and baby, rolled off them, and let his gun fall so he could grab the throat of the beast as its mouth thrust toward his neck.

“Drop that knife!” Jack yelled.

Abe heard more far-off gunshots.

Then he glimpsed a fat woman in the doorway with a butcher knife. Her face was wrapped in bandages. He cried out in pain as claws raked his back. Then he was on top of the beast. It twisted and thrashed under him, and gurgled as his thumbs dug into its throat. Its claws tore at his sides and arms. Letting go with one hand, he smashed a fist against the side of its head. He struck it again. Then its teeth snapped shut on his fist. Pain shot up his arm. His left hand released its throat. He grabbed the top of its snout, forced his trapped hand down, and yanked the jaws wide. A gristly, cracking sound. The beast flinched rigid. Abe pulled his bloody hand from its mouth. The jaw hung slack, the tongue drooping out one side.

He ducked as it swung at him. Claws dug into his scalp, forcing his face down against the slick flesh of its chest. He drove fists into both its sides. The claws eased up. He shoved himself backwards, shaking his head free. Its penis rubbed his cheek. He jerked away from it, lunged farther back, and grabbed the beast’s ankles.

It sat up, swatting at him, missing. On his knees, he dragged it. He lurched to his feet, pulling it along the carpet as it flailed the air and kicked its trapped legs.

“Hold still!” Jack yelled. “I’ve got it.”

“Mine,” Abe grunted. He lifted the squirming beast. It flapped its arms. Its head slid across the carpet, then left the carpet. Abe swung the creature upward, turning, and slammed it against the corridor wall. Its head thudded on the wood. He released its ankles. It dropped to the floor.

As it tried to get up, Abe stomped on its head. He lost his balance, stumbled across the corridor and hit the wall. The fat woman in the doorway was staring at the beast, shaking her head and mumbling. Jack held his pistol on her. The butcher knife lay at her feet.

Breathless, Abe staggered over to her. He picked up the knife. He knelt over the writhing beast, flipped it onto its back, and slashed its throat. A hot splatter of blood blinded him, sprayed into his open mouth.

Tyler landed on her back in front of the kneeling beast. She started to bring up the gun. The beast knocked it from her hand. She flung up her other arm to block a blow to her face, but not in time. The impact dazed her. Her arm fell to the floor. She wanted to struggle, but her body seemed too weary. She felt as if she were outside herself, observing.

The beast straddled her.

Its claws hooked into the front of her sweater and ripped.

Its hands felt slimy on her breasts. Did they leave trails like a snail? Its claws scraped slightly, almost tickling. Its head moved down. Its tongue rasped over one of her nipples. Fluid from its punctured eye dribbled onto her chest. Its nose was cold like a dog’s. Then she felt teeth on her breast, on the underside and top, and she knew it had her whole breast inside its mouth. Its tongue swirled and thrust.

The mouth went away. The cool air of the cellar chilled her wet flesh. The mouth took in her other breast. It was not so gentle, this time. Its teeth squeezed. She tried to lie still, but her muscles tensed. The jaws clamped tighter. The pain cleared her mind. She was no longer distant and observing, but she didn’t dare to struggle. Not now. Not with her breast in its teeth. The creature squirmed, pulling on her. Then it let go.

Claws scratched her belly. They dug under the waistband of her skirt and pulled with such force that her rump lifted off the floor. Raising her head, she saw the beast on its knees between her legs, ripping away her skirt. It gave a final yank, and flung the garment aside.

She saw its huge, erect penis.

No!

Jerking her knees high, she rolled. Her foot brushed the creature. Then her legs were clear and she kept rolling, kept flipping herself over. She didn’t look back.

Facedown, she shoved herself off the carpet. She staggered forward. The stairway was far to her left. She ran for it, and heard a rumbling growl behind her.

Claws pierced her shoulders. Weight pressed down, collapsing her legs. She fell. The floor hammered her knees and palms. With the beast on her back, she crawled closer to the stairs.

It reached under her. It gripped her breasts. Pulled. Her hands left the carpet. She was squeezed against its slick chest, lifted off her knees. Its teeth caught the side of her neck as if to hold her still. She felt its penis between her legs, shoving her higher as it carried her toward the stairs.

Kicking and squirming, Tyler clutched the creature’s hands and tried to tear them away from her breasts. They squeezed more tightly. The claws dug in, piercing her skin.

The beast slammed her down against the stairs. The edges of the risers pounded her body. She felt the hands go away from her breasts. Claws scraped along her ribs and sides. They dug into her hips. The shaft began to slide backwards.

Tyler clamped her legs shut. She couldn’t stop it, but the beast licked her neck and pushed forward again as if it liked the feel of her hugging thighs. Twisting, she darted a hand down between her body and the stairs. She gagged as she clutched the slimy flesh. Gripping it with all her strength, she snapped her hand sideways. It didn’t break, or even bend. It moved forward and back, using her hand, while the panting beast lapped her neck.

She tugged. Her hand flew off the slick penis and struck one of the risers.

The beast clutched her thighs, pulled, lifted. Tyler’s knees left the stairs. Clinging to the plank at her shoulders, she bucked and thrashed. “No!” she shrieked.

Her right hand let go of the stair.

She slapped it down between her legs.

The beast thrust. Pounded the back of her hand with such force that her forehead bumped the edge of the higher step.

The penis didn’t go away. It rubbed over her knuckles, moved down to her fingers, tried to nudge between them. Tyler shoved her hand lower.

The beast made a low, gurgling growl, its breath hot against her neck.

Then it bit.

Tyler whimpered as teeth sank into the back of her hand, tore the skin away, nibbled the raw wound, bit deeper. Her hand was on fire, but she kept it tight against her body.

Her mind was numb.

It can’t have teeth. Not there!

But it did.

They burrowed into her hand and ripped like the teeth of a mad rat trying to eat its way through.

My God.

Oh my God.

The growls of the beast sounded almost like laughter as it chewed her hand.

It’s enjoying this.

If it wanted, it could knock my hand out of the way. It doesn’t have to do this.

Tyler heard blood pattering one of the steps.

She wished her hand would go numb. It seemed to grow more tender, instead. The teeth felt like white-hot needles as they nipped and tore. Her whole arm burned and trembled.

The teeth went away.

The growls of the beast no longer sounded amused. Suddenly, it roared. Claws stabbed her thighs as it jerked her backwards. It rammed. Tyler’s hand exploded with pain. She shrieked as two of her fingers snapped.

A thunderous blast pounded her ears.

The claws jumped, raked her thighs, released her.

She fell sprawling onto the stairs.

Another explosion. She pushed herself up. Stared at her right hand. The back of it was bloody pulp. The two broken fingers had already begun to swell. Weeping, she turned herself over and saw Captain Frank standing above the beast.

It lay on its back, writhing. It had a hole through one side of its head, another through its chest. Tyler’s eyes moved down to its huge penis. Sheathed with blood. Her blood. Shreds of skin clung to the blunt end. The teeth parted, snapped shut.

Captain Frank fired into its head until his gun was empty.

He gave Tyler a crooked, slightly drunken smile. “Didn’t I tell you?” he asked. He winked at her. He fiddled with his Luger. Its magazine dropped to the carpet. From the pocket of his baggy Bermuda shorts he took a full magazine. He slid it up the handle, and pulled at a mechanism on top of the pistol. “Didn’t I tell you I’d lay it low?” he asked, and started shooting again.

Tyler watched the dead beast jerk as bullets punched through it. Then she shut her eyes.

As the firing went on, she felt the stairway tremble under her.

“Ahoy there!” Captain Frank yelled.

The shooting stopped.

Tyler opened her eyes. Abe’s face, upside down, was close above her. “My God,” he said.

He stepped down the stairs and sat beside Tyler. She turned, and raised her arms to him.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Tyler held him fiercely. He stroked the back of her head. “It’s okay, it’s all over,” he whispered. “Are you hurt badly?”

“Just…my hand.”

Abe looked at it, pain in his eyes. “Jesus,” he muttered. He started to take off his shirt.

“I blasted it to smithereens,” said Captain Frank. He sounded gleeful.

“Is Jack all right?” Tyler asked, as Abe began to wrap the shirt around her torn, broken hand.

“Jack’s fine. We took care of business. Where’s Nora?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Outside, I guess.”

“That Hardy fella plugged Janice,” Captain Frank said. “We left them back at the other house, and Nora ran off to get help.”

“Hardy shot her?”

“Took her for the beast.”

“Did he get her bad?”

“I guess she lived through that, but we heard some shots back there. This creature must’ve popped in on them before it come for us. Gave me a nasty wallop, but I’m okay. Come to my senses in time to blast it up.”

Abe finished wrapping Tyler’s hand. “Let’s get out of this place. Get you to a hospital.” Gently, he pulled the tattered front of the sweater across her breasts.

She groaned as she sat up straight.

Captain Frank picked up the remains of her skirt. He looked away as he handed the garment to Abe.

Abe helped her stand. He wrapped the skirt around her. Captain Frank provided his belt to hold it up, then searched for her sandals. He found one half hidden under the first stair, the other near the head of the beast. Abe held her steady while she stepped into them.

The old man picked up the revolver he had let Tyler borrow, shoved it into a front pocket of his Bermudas, and slid his Luger into the other pocket. “Guess we’re all set,” he said.

He started up the stairs. Abe put an arm around Tyler’s back, and together they climbed out of the cellar.

They entered the kitchen of the Kutch house. They walked down a narrow, blue-lighted corridor. A group of people was standing in the foyer. Jack had his gun aimed at a fat woman with a bandaged face who looked a lot like Maggie Kutch. A thin, pale woman in a nightgown stood with her back to the door. She held a baby to her chest.

Jack frowned. “Holy shit,” he said. “What are you doing here? Tyler? What happened?”

“They ran into another beast,” Abe said.

“Holy shit.”

“I laid it low,” said Captain Frank. “Blew it to kingdom come, matey.”

“Where’s Nora?”

“She’s okay,” Tyler said. “I think.”

“Where’s that girl?” Abe asked. “The one who tried to shoot us?”

“She’s my daughter, Sandy,” said the woman with the baby.

“We looked for her.” Jack shrugged. “Don’t know where she went.”

“Okay. Well, let’s get out of here.”

“The door’s still locked,” Jack said.

“Let’s shoot the lock.”

“I know where the key is,” said the woman with the baby. “I’ll get it. It’ll only take a second.”

“Okay,” Abe said.

She held out the baby to Jack. “Would you hold him? I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.”

“He’s Jud. Judgement Rucker Hayes.” Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke the name.

Jack took the baby and smiled down at it.

The woman started up the stairs.

“The key’s up there?” Abe asked. He sounded worried.

“No sweat,” Jack said. “Maggie’s out cold. She’ll be lucky if she makes it.”

“Okay. But don’t go close to her.”

The woman hurried up the stairs. At the top, she turned left and disappeared down the corridor.

“We’ll be out of here in a minute,” Abe said, and patted Tyler’s back.

The baby in Jack’s arms made gurgling sounds.

“He’s a cute little fellow, isn’t he?” Jack said. Smiling, the baby reached up and clenched his cheek. “You’re a toughie,” he said, and tickled Jud’s belly.

The mother appeared at the head of the stairs.

“Get the key?” Abe asked.

She nodded. She started down.

The front of her nightgown was dark and matted to her breasts. Her face was spattered and dripping.

“My God,” Abe muttered. He rushed up the stairs. Her arm stretched down to him. From her fingers dangled a thin chain.

“The key,” she said.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m just fine. Just fine. She…Maggie…she murdered Jud. Jud. My…the father of my child.”

Abe stepped onto the stair beside her. He put an arm around her back.

“I used the knife.”

He led her down.

“Maggie used a knife on Jud, and I used a knife on her.”

“It’s all right,” Abe said.

“It felt right.”

“Maggie came to and attacked you when you went to get the key.”

“No. No, she…”

“That’s the story.”

“Oh.”

Abe unlocked the front door and opened it slowly. “We’re coming out,” he called to the policewoman on the lawn. “It’s all over.”

The woman holstered her weapon.

Tyler followed Abe onto the porch, and took a deep breath of the night air. The ocean smelled good. The moon was high.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Sandy, huddled in the darkness of the storage area beneath the staircase, waited.

Hugging her knees to her breasts, she had listened to the gunshots and wanted to help. But she had already tried helping: the two men with the guns were too smart, too quick. And so she stayed hidden.

There were more gunshots.

Feet racing down the stairs, pounding down them so hard that dry flecks sprinkled her shoulder.

Then more footsteps making the planks squeak and groan over her head.

Then the voice of her mother calling out to her: Sandy, where are you? Please. Are you here? I still love you, honey. Everything will be all right, now.

She didn’t move. She hardly dared to breath. Someone walked very close to the staircase panel but didn’t open it—probably didn’t realize it could be opened.

Soon afterwards, she heard other voices. She couldn’t make out the words. Someone went upstairs. Someone else went part way up.

Then everyone was gone.

Still Sandy waited. She wondered what had happened: who had been shot and who survived? The thoughts made her feel sick.

Wick was probably dead. He was a creep, anyway. And Maggie and Agnes wouldn’t be any great loss, either. But Seth and Jason and little Rune—if they’d been killed…She sniffled quietly in the darkness as tears trickled down her cheeks.

Later, more people came into the house. Sandy stretched out on her back, listening and waiting. The people stayed and stayed. She thought they might never go away. She was very tired, but her mind swirled, unsettling thoughts keeping her tense and awake.

What if they found her? No, they won’t.

What had happened to Seth and Jason and Rune?

What would become of her? She was only fourteen. Wick was probably dead. Maggie had shot that cop and murdered Jud last year with Mom as a witness, so even if she had been taken alive she would never come back.

Agnes might come back. If they couldn’t pin anything on her. If they didn’t send her to the loony bin. Agnes was slow in the head, but not crazy so they might let her go. She would inherit the house—and Beast House.

Yes.

If Agnes came back, it wouldn’t be so bad. Sandy could run things herself. She could start up the tours again.

And Agnes knew about babies. She’d helped in Mom’s delivery.

She’ll help me.

Sandy slid her hands over her belly. The turmoil in her mind subsided.

The voices outside her hiding place went on. Footsteps moved up and down the stairs.

She wondered, for a while, what name she should give the child? Seth? Jason? She didn’t know which was the father. Besides, those were old-fashioned names. Nerdy. Maybe Rich or Clint or…

Then she fell asleep.

EPILOGUE

Tyler twisted her finger free of the baby’s tight grip, and knocked on the cottage door.

“Who is it?”

“Me,” she said.

“Just a sec, hon. I ain’t decent.”

“When has that ever stopped you?”

A moment later, Nora opened the door. She wore a yellow bikini that looked brand-new and covered very little.

“You aren’t losing any time,” Tyler said.

“I spotted Jack down at the dock. He didn’t see me. I’m gonna surprise him. Hand over the kid.”

Laughing, Tyler held out the baby. He flung out his arms and legs as if afraid of being dropped, and grabbed a strap of Nora’s bikini. Wrapping her arms around him, she held him close. “I think I’d like to keep you, Scotty.”

“Get your own. I’m sure Jack would accommodate you.”

“I’m sure he would.” She sat on a side of the kingsized bed. “So, how’s life in the boondocks?”

“Couldn’t be better. How’s life in the urban sprawl?”

“It’s getting to me. I spent the whole year thinking about this place. I guess it sort of grew on me. So did Jack.”

“He must’ve. You haven’t unpacked yet.”

“I don’t plan to stay.”

“But…”

“I’m gonna cajole Jack into letting me stay with him. Smart, huh? You can rent out this room to a paying customer. I saw the no vacancy sign out front.”

“He’s got an A-frame just down the…”

“I know, I know. I haven’t been exactly out of touch with him.” She flopped backwards across the bed and hoisted Scotty high. He gasped and started to cry. She lowered him quickly. “Oh shit, now I did it.” Sitting up, she handed him back to Tyler.

He wrapped an arm around her neck and held on tight. “Did big bad Nora scare you?”

“That’s it, turn the kid against me. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t be here. If I hadn’t flipped the bird at that jerk on the highway…”

“That’s right. Say thank you, Scotty.”

Scotty sobbed.

“Which reminds me,” Nora said. “Guess where I spent last night? The Welcome Inn. They were full up, just like you guys, but Janice let me stay in her parents’ room.”

“How is she doing?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“Well, I’ve seen her on television a few times and I know the book has been on the bestseller list for the past six weeks.”

“She got—good Christ—over a million for the paperback rights. The film’s all set to go into production in about two weeks. They’ll be shooting on location.”

“But how’s she doing?”

The brightness left Nora’s face. “She woke me up last night, screaming. A nightmare. We stayed up till morning, talking. She has these nightmares but they used to be every night and now they’re not so frequent. She said it helped, writing the book—got a lot of it out of her system. It also helped because she got involved with this guy, Steve Saunders. Hardy’s agent sent him out to help her with the thing. He ghosted it for her, and then did the screenplay. I guess the two are thick as thieves, but he’s back in LA till the shooting starts. I talked her into phoning him at about seven this morning, and that cheered her up. I guess she’s doing okay.” Nora’s smile returned. “Hey, we went over to the Last Chance after dinner last night. Good old Captain Frank was in rare form. He’s one hell of a local celebrity.”

“Bet he loves it.”

“The man’s in his glory. You should’ve heard him. ‘Aye, I laid the beast low, mateys.’ Everybody in the place buying him drinks. He said to give you his regards, and I’m supposed to tell you that you’re welcome to keep his belt.”

“I’ve been meaning to send it back.”

“You can save your postage.” She pushed herself off the bed. “Well, kiddo, I’d love to stay here and chat all afternoon, but I have this pressing engagement. You know how it is.”

“I know.”

Nora stepped past her and opened the door.

“Wait,” Tyler said. “Did you take the tour?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. For one thing, the line was about half a mile long. And they’ve raised the ticket price to twelve fifty. Must be making a mint.”

“Who?”

Nora shrugged. “Kutch’s daughter owns the place. I don’t know who’s guiding the tours. I caught a look at her. Some kid, can’t be older than fourteen or fifteen.”

“The place should’ve been closed down.”

“Shit, it should’ve been burnt to the ground. But at least it hasn’t got Dan anymore. I checked with somebody coming out, and he’s not part of the Ziegler exhibit. I guess they haven’t bothered to have him replaced.”

“I’m glad.”

“Hey, I almost forgot your book.” She stepped over to her open suitcase. From under the gown on top, she pulled out a book with the familiar dust jacket: The Horror at Malcasa Point by Janice Crogan. The cover showed a crude, childish sketch of a beast, pencil scratches obliterating its anatomy from hips to knees. “Have you already got a copy?”

Tyler nodded.

“Well, I bet yours isn’t autographed. Let me make sure this isn’t Jack’s.” She opened the book. “Yep, this is the one.”

Tyler sat on the bed, rested Scotty on her lap, and accepted the book.

“See you later,” Nora said.

“The cocktail lounge at six,” Tyler reminded her.

“Right. We’ll be there.”

Then Nora left.

Tyler turned to the title page. In blue ink just below the author’s name was scrawled: To my good friend, Tyler, and to Abe who saved my life—my thanks and best wishes. The things that go bump in the night are dead. Long live us. Love, Janice Crogan August 3, 1980.

Rave Reviews for Richard Laymon!

“I’ve always been a Laymon fan. He manages to raise serious gooseflesh.”

—BENTLEY LITTLE

“Laymon is incapable of writing a disappointing book.”

—NEW YORK REVIEW OF SCIENCE FICTION

“Laymon always takes it to the max. No one writes like him and you’re going to have a good time with any-thing he writes.”

—DEAN KOONTZ

“If you’ve missed Laymon, you’ve missed a treat.”

—STEPHEN KING

“A brilliant writer.”

—SUNDAY EXPRESS

“I’ve read every book of Laymon’s I could get my hands on. I’m absolutely a longtime fan.”

—JACK KETCHUM, AUTHOR OF OFF SEASON

More Praise for Richard Laymon!

“One of horror’s rarest talents.”

—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

“Laymon is, was, and always will be king of the hill.”

—HORROR WORLD

“Laymon is an American writer of the highest caliber.”

—TIME OUT

“Laymon is unique. A phenomenon. A genius of the grisly and the grotesque.”

—JOE CITRO, THE BLOOD REVIEW

“Laymon doesn’t pull any punches. Everything he writes keeps you on the edge of your seat.”

—PAINTED ROCK REVIEWS

“One of the best, and most reliable, writers working today.”

—CEMETERY DANCE

Other Books by Richard Laymon:

THE CELLAR

INTO THE FIRE

AFTER MIDNIGHT

THE LAKE

COME OUT TONIGHT

RESURRECTION DREAMS

ENDLESS NIGHT

BODY RIDES

BLOOD GAMES

TO WAKE THE DEAD

NO SANCTUARY

DARKNESS, TELL US

NIGHT IN THE LONESOME OCTOBER

ISLAND

THE MUSEUM OF HORRORS (Anthology)

IN THE DARK

THE TRAVELING VAMPIRE SHOW

AMONG THE MISSING

ONE RAINY NIGHT

BITE

Copyright © 1986 by Richard Laymon