The Cellar

CHAPTER FIVE 1.

Sunlight and screeching seagulls woke Donna. She tried to fall asleep again, but the narrow bed, swaybacked with age, made it impossible. She got up and stretched her stiff muscles.

Sandy was still asleep on the other bed.

Quietly, Donna crossed the cool wood floor to the front window. She raised the blind and looked out. Across the courtyard, a man weighted down with suitcases was leaving a small, green-painted cabin. A woman and a matching pair of children waited for him inside a station wagon. Half the cabins of the Welcome Inn had either a car or a camper parked in front. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked. She pulled the blind.

Then she looked for the telephone. The room didn’t have one.

While she was dressing, Sandy woke up.

“Morning, honey. Did you sleep well?”

“Fine. Where are you going?”

“I want to find a telephone and call Aunt Karen.” She tied her sneakers. “I don’t want her worrying about us.”

“Can I come?”

“You can stay here and get dressed. I’ll only be a minute, then we’ll go get some breakfast.”

“Okay.”

She buttoned her plaid cotton blouse and picked up her handbag. “Don’t open the door for anyone, right?”

“Right,” the girl said.

Outside, the morning air was fresh with the scent of pine, a smell that reminded her of warm, shadowed trails in the Sierra where she used to backpack with her sister. Before Roy. The way Roy acted in the mountains, she quickly lost the taste for the wilderness. Once she was rid of him, she should have taken up backpacking again. Maybe soon…

She climbed steps to the porch of the motel office and saw a telephone booth at the far end. She headed for it. The wood groaned under her feet, sounding like the weathered planking of an aged pier.

She stepped into the booth, dropped coins into the telephone slot, and dialed Operator. She charged the call to her home phone. The call went through.

“Hello?”

“Morning, Karen.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Is that any kind of greeting?”

“Don’t tell me, your car broke down.”

“You’re clairvoyant.”

“Do you need a lift?”

“No, I’m afraid I’ll have to beg off, for today.”

“Poor loser.”

“It’s not that.”

“They changed your days off? And we were having such good times on Mondays. What’ve you got now, Friday-Saturday, Tuesday-Wednesday?”

“Your clairvoyance has slipped.”

“Oh?”

“I’m calling from the glamorous resort town of Malcasa Point, home of the infamous Beast House.”

“Are you crocked?”

“Sober, unfortunately. As near as I can figure, we’re about a hundred miles north of San Francisco. Give or take fifty.”

“Christ almighty, don’t you know?”

“Not exactly. I’m sure, if I could see a map…”

“What are you doing way the hell-and-gone up there, anyway?” Before Donna could answer, Karen said, “Oh God, is he out?”

“He’s out.”

“Oh my God.”

“We thought we’d better make ourselves scarce.”

“Right. What do you want me to do?”

“Let Mom and Dad know we’re okay.”

“What about your apartment?”

“Can you have our stuff put into storage?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Call Beacon, or someone. Let me know what it comes to, and I’ll send you a check.”

“How am I gonna let you know anything?”

“I’ll keep in touch.”

“Are you ever coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“How could they let him out? How could they?”

“I guess he behaved himself.”

“Christ!”

“It’ll be all right, Karen.”

“When am I gonna see you again?” She sounded close to tears.

“This’ll blow over.”

“Sure it will. If Roy happens to drop dead of a coronary, or drives into a bridge abutment, or…” A sob broke her voice. “Christ, this sort of thing…how can they let it happen?”

“Hey, don’t cry. Everything’ll be fine. Just tell Mom and Dad we’re okay, and we’ll be in touch.”

“Okay. And I’ll…take care of your apartment.”

“Take care of yourself, while you’re at it.”

“Sure. You too. Tell Sandy hi for me.”

“I will. Good-bye, Karen.”

“Bye.”

Donna hung up. She breathed deeply, fighting for control of her own shaken emotions. Then she crossed the porch. As she started to climb down, she heard the squeak of an opening door.

“Lady?”

She looked around at a teenage girl standing in the office doorway. Probably the owner’s daughter. “Yes?”

“Are you the lady with the car trouble?”

Donna nodded.

“Bix from the Chevron called. Him and Kutch went after it. Bix said he’d see you when he gets back.”

“They don’t have the keys.”

“Bix doesn’t need ’em.”

“Did he want me to do anything?”

The girl shrugged one shoulder. It was bare except for the strap of her tank top. She was obviously wearing no bra, her nipples pressing dark and turgid against the thin fabric. Donna wondered why the girl’s parents allowed her to dress that way.

“Okay. Thanks for the message.”

“Any time.”

The girl spun away. Her cut-off jeans were slit up the sides, revealing tawny leg almost to the hip.

The girl’s going to get herself raped, Donna thought. If Sandy ever dressed like that…

Donna climbed down the porch steps and crossed the parking area to their cabin. She had to wait while Sandy finished in the bathroom.

“Do you want to eat here at the Inn?” Donna asked. “Or should we try our luck in town?”

“Let’s go into town,” Sandy said, her voice eager. “I hope they’ve got a Dunkin’ Donuts. I’m dying for a doughnut.”

“I’m dying for a cup of coffee.”

“Java Mama.”

They went outside. Sandy, squinting, opened her denim handbag and took out her sunglasses. Their round lenses were huge on her face. Donna, who rarely wore sunglasses, thought they made her daughter look like a bug—a cute bug, but still a bug. She was careful never to mention the resemblance.

“What did Aunt Karen say?” Sandy asked.

“She said to tell you hi.”

“Were you gonna play tennis today?”

“Yep.”

“I bet she was surprised.”

“She understood.”

They reached the roadside. Donna pointed to the left. “Town’s that way,” she said. They started toward it. “From the way Aunt Karen sounded, I don’t think she’d ever heard of Malcasa Point. It is a beautiful place, though, isn’t it?”

Sandy nodded. Her sunglasses slipped down her nose. With a forefinger, she poked them into place. “It’s pretty around here, but…”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“No, tell me. Come on.”

“How come you told Aunt Karen?”

“Told her what?”

“Where we are.”

“I thought she ought to know.”

“Oh.” Sandy nodded, and adjusted her glasses.

“Why?”

“Do you think it was a good idea, telling her? I

mean, now she knows where we are.”

“She won’t tell anyone.”

“Not unless he makes her.”

They stepped off the roadside and waited on the rutted shoulder until an approaching car whooshed by.

“What do you mean, ‘makes her’?” Donna asked.

“Makes her tell. Like he used to make you tell things.”

Donna walked in silence, no longer enjoying the cool, piny air. She imagined her sister stretched naked on a bed, tied firm, Roy beside her using a cigarette lighter to heat the shaft of a screwdriver.

“You never saw what he did to me, did you? He always locked the door.”

“Oh I never saw that. Not what he did in the bedroom. Just when he hit you. What did he do in the bedroom?”

“He hurt me.”

“It must’ve been awful.”

“Yeah.”

“How did he hurt you?”

“Lots of ways.”

“I bet he does that to Aunt Karen.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Donna said. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“When can we leave here?” the girl asked nervously.

“As soon as the car’s ready.”

“When’ll that be?”

“I don’t know. Axel went out there this morning with a man from the service station. If it doesn’t need repairs, we can go as soon as they get here with it.”

“We’d better,” Sandy said. “We’d better get out of here fast.” 2.

They chose to eat breakfast at Sarah’s Diner across from the Chevron station. After seeing the selection of doughnuts displayed on a counter-top cake stand, Sandy decided against them. She ordered bacon and eggs, instead.

“This place is gross,” she said.

“We won’t eat here from now on.”

“Ha ha.”

Sandy put a hand underneath the table, and crinkled her nose with disgust. “There’s gum under the table.”

“There’s always gum under tables. Some of us have sense enough to keep our hands off it.”

Sandy sniffed her fingers. “Gross.”

“Why don’t you go wash your hands?”

“I bet the john is really the pits,” she said, and got up from the table as if eager to verify her theory.

Smiling, Donna watched her step smartly toward the far end of the diner. The waitress came and filled Donna’s heavy, chipped cup with coffee.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome, sweetie.”

She watched the waitress head for another table. Then the opening door caught her eyes.

Two men entered the diner. The emaciated one seemed far too young to have white hair. Though nicely dressed in a blue leisure suit, he had a harassed look like a refugee. The man beside him might have been his keeper. With deep blue eyes in a face that made her think of carved, highly polished wood, he had the confident look of a cop. Or a soldier. Or the guide in Colorado, many years ago, who led her and Karen on a deer hunt with their father.

The two men sat at the counter. The strong one had light brown hair neatly clipped above his shirt collar. His wide back filled the tan shirt, pulling it taut. The black belt looked stiff and new in jeans so old that one of the belt loops hung loose, dangling over his rear pocket. His rubber-soled hiking boots looked older than the jeans.

As if attracted by the intensity of her gaze, the man looked over his shoulder. Donna fought an urge to turn away. She met his eyes for a moment, then glanced at the next man, then on down the counter casually. She lifted her coffee cup. Steam no longer rose from the coffee. An oily film on the dark surface reflected swirling colors like a rainbow, or spoiled roast beef. She drank, anyway. Setting down the cup, she allowed herself another glance at the man.

He was no longer watching her.

Disappointment shadowed Donna’s relief.

She drank more coffee and watched him. His head was turned as he listened to the nervous, white-haired man. A shoulder blocked her view of his mouth. She saw a slight rise on the ridge of his nose, apparently from an old break. A scar slanted from the corner of his eyebrow down to his cheekbone. She looked back into her coffee, afraid she might again attract attention.

When she heard quick, familiar footsteps, she saw the man’s head turn. He glanced at Sandy, then Donna, then looked back at his friend.

“All clean?” Donna asked, perhaps too loudly.

“They didn’t have anything to dry my hands on,” Sandy told her, and sat down.

“What’d you use?”

“My pants. Where’s the food?”

“Maybe we’ll be lucky and it won’t come.”

“I’m starved.”

“I guess we can give it a try.”

The waitress soon came, bringing plates of eggs, sausage links, and hash browns. The food looked good, oddly enough. As Donna sliced into her sausage, her stomach rumbled loudly.

“Mother!” Sandy giggled.

“Must be a thunderstorm on the way,” Donna said.

“Can’t trick me. That was your gut.”

“Gut isn’t polite, honey.”

The girl grinned. Then, with an expression of wrinkled distaste, she picked a sprig of parsley off her hashbrowns and flicked it over the edge of the plate.

Donna glanced at the man. He was drinking coffee. As she ate and talked with Sandy, she looked up at him often. She realized that he wasn’t eating. Apparently he and his friend had only come into Sarah’s for coffee. Soon they got up from the counter.

The man reached into his hip pocket as he headed for the cash register. His nervous friend protested, and lost. After he paid the bill, he took a thin cigar out of his shirt pocket. He unwrapped it. As he wadded its cellophane wrapper into a tiny ball, he scanned the area near the counter, probably searching for a trash container. Finding none, he stuffed the ball into his shirt pocket. He clamped the cigar between his teeth. His eyes swung suddenly toward Donna. They fixed upon her, held her stunned like a doe in headlights. The eyes stayed on her while the man struck a match and sucked its flame to the tip of his cigar. He shook out the match. Then he turned, and pushed through the door.

Donna let out a deep, trembling breath.

“You okay?” Sandy asked.

“I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“You don’t look so fine.”

“Are you about done eating?”

“All done,” Sandy said.

“Ready to go?”

“I am. Aren’t you gonna finish?”

“No, I don’t think so. Let’s be on our way.” She picked up the bill. Her hand shook as she reached into her purse. She tucked three quarters under the edge of her plate, and got up quickly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just want to get outside.”

“Okay,” the girl said doubtfully as she followed Donna to the cash register.

Outside, Donna looked down the sidewalk. A block off, an old woman with a poodle was stepping awkwardly off a curb. No sign of the two men from the cafe. She checked the other direction.

“What’re you looking for?” Sandy asked.

“Just trying to decide which way looks best.”

“We’ve already been that way,” the girl said, and nodded toward the left.

“Okay.” So they turned right, and began walking.

“Do you think we can leave this morning?” Sandy asked.

“I don’t know how long it’ll be. I think we’re a good hour or so from where we left the car. The girl at the motel didn’t say what time Axel went to get it.”

“If we aren’t gonna leave right away, can we go see Beast House?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“It’s half-price for me.”

“Are you certain you really want to see a place like that?”

“What is it?”

“It’s supposed to be the home of a horrible beast that kills people and tears them up. It’s where those three people were murdered a few weeks ago.”

“Oooh, that place?”

“Yes indeed.”

“Wow! Can we see it?”

“I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

“Oh come on. We’re almost there. Please?”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to see what time the tours start.” 3.

Standing at the northern corner of the wrought-iron fence, Donna looked at the bleak, weathered house and felt a reluctance to approach it.

“I’m not sure I want to do this, honey.”

“You said we can check on the tours.”

“I’m not sure I want to go in there, at all.”

“Why not?”

Donna shrugged, unwilling to put words to her dark chill. “I don’t know,” she said.

She moved her eyes from the slanted bay window to the veranda with its balustraded balcony overhead, past a gable to a tower at the south end. The tower windows reflected emptiness. Its roof was a steep cone: a witch’s cap.

“Afraid it’ll gross you out?”

“Your language is enough to gross me out.”

Sandy laughed, and adjusted her slipping sunglasses.

“Okay, we’ll have a look at the tour schedule. But I’m not guaranteeing anything.” They started toward the ticket booth.

“I’ll go alone, if you’re scared.”

“You will not go in there alone, young lady.”

“It’s half-price for me.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is?”

You might never come out, Donna suddenly thought. She took a deep breath. The air, scented like high mountain pine, calmed her.

“What is the point?”

Donna made her grin as evil as she could, and muttered, “I don’t want the beast to eat you.”

“You’re awful!”

“Not as awful as the beast.”

“Mother!” Laughing, Sandy swung her denim handbag.

Donna blocked it with her forearm, looked up, and saw the man from the cafe. His eyes were on her. Smiling at him, Donna fought off another assault by her daughter.

She saw a blue ticket in his hand.

“Okay, honey, that’s enough. We’ll go on the tour.”

“Can we?” she asked, delighted.

“Shoulder to shoulder, we’ll confront the awful beast.”

“I’ll smash it with my purse,” Sandy said.

As she approached the line at the gate, Donna saw the man turn casually to his nervous friend and start talking.

“Look.” Sandy pointed at a wooden clockface near the top of the ticket booth. The sign above it read, “Next tour departs at,” and the clock indicated ten. “What time is it now?”

“Almost ten,” Donna said.

“Can we do it?”

“All right. Let’s get in line.”

They stepped behind the last person in line, a pudgy teenage boy whose hands were folded judiciously across his belly. Without moving his feet, he swiveled enough to cast a critical eye at Donna and Sandy. He made a quiet “Humph,” as if insulted by their presence, and swung his shoulders toward the front.

“What’s his problem?” Sandy whispered.

“Shhhh.”

Waiting, Donna counted fourteen people in line. Though eight seemed to be children, she only saw two who might qualify for the “children under twelve” discount. If none of the others had complimentary tickets, she figured the tour would net fifty-two dollars.

Not too shabby, she thought.

The man from the cafe was three from the front.

A young couple with two blond girls stepped up to the ticket booth.

“That makes sixty-four,” Donna said.

“What?”

“Dollars.”

“What time is it?”

“Two minutes to go.”

“I hate waiting.”

“Look at the people.”

“What for?”

“They’re interesting.”

Sandy looked up at her mother. Even with sunglasses hiding most of her face, Sandy’s skepticism was obvious. But she sidestepped out of line to check the people more closely.

“Fiends!” someone shrieked from behind. “Ghouls!”

Donna swung around. Crouched in the middle of the street, a thin pale woman pointed at her, at Sandy—at all of them. The woman was no older than thirty. She had the trim, short hair of a boy. Her sleeveless yellow dress was wrinkled and stained. Dirt streaked her white legs. Her feet were bare.

“You and you and you!” she screeched. “Ghouls! Grave sniffers! Vampires, all of you, sucking the blood of the dead!”

The ticket-booth door slammed open. A man ran out, his gaunt face scarlet. “Outta here, damn you!”

“Maggots!” she shouted. “All of you, maggots, paying to see such filth. Vultures! Cowards!”

The man jerked his wide leather belt free of its loops, and doubled it. “I’m warning you!”

“Corpse fuckers!”

“That about does it,” he muttered.

The woman scampered backward as the man rushed her, belt high and ready. Stumbling, she fell hard onto the pavement. “Go ahead, maggot! The ghouls love it! Look at ’em gawk. Give ’em blood! That’s what they’re here for!” Rising to her knees, she ripped open the front of her dress. Her breasts were huge for a woman so small. They swung over her belly like ripe sacks. “Give ’em a show! Give ’em blood! Tear my flesh! That’s what they love!”

He raised the belt overhead, ready to bring it down.

“Don’t.” The word shot out, quick and sharp.

The man looked around.

Turning, Donna saw the man from the cafe step out of the line. He walked forward.

“You just stay put, bud.”

He kept walking.

“We don’t have need of interference.”

He said nothing to the man with the belt, but walked past him to the woman. He helped her to her feet. He lifted the dress, covering her shoulders, and pulled it gently shut in front. With a shaking hand, the woman held the torn edges together.

He spoke quietly to her. She thrust herself against him, kissed him wildly on the mouth, and sprang away. “Run! Run for your lives!” she yelled. “Run for your souls!” And then she dashed away down the street.

A few people in the crowd laughed. Someone mumbled that the madwoman was part of the show. Others disagreed. The man from the cafe came back and stood silently beside his friend in the line.

“Okay, folks!” called the ticket man. He walked toward them, threading his belt through its loops. “We ’pologize for the delay, though I’m sure we can all appreciate the gal’s dilemma. Three weeks back, the beast took her husband and only child, tore ’em to ribbons. The experience unhinged the poor gal. She’s been hangin’ around here the past couple days, since we started doin’ the tours again. But now here’s another woman, a woman who passed through the purifyin’ fire of tragedy, and came out the better for it. This woman’s the owner of Beast House, and your personal guide for today’s tour.” With a grand, sweeping gesture, he led the eyes of the crowd toward the lawn of Beast House where a stooped, heavy woman hobbled toward them.

“Do you still want to do it?” Donna asked.

Sandy shrugged. Her face was pale. She had obviously been shocked by the hysterical woman. “Yeah,” she said, “I guess so.”