The New Neighbor

Chapter 22

The Mist

George and Robby Pritchard stood at their living room window watching Pastor Quiller man's pickup drive back and forth. Jen was seated in her dad's recliner behind them. She'd served them some stew earlier and the bowls were still on the coffee table. None of them had spoken for a while.

They'd watched Mr. and Mrs. LaBianco and then Sheri MacNeil approach the pickup, and they'd watched the reporters standing by, waiting patiently for a few crumbs. Occasionally they heard the voices of people shouting at Pastor Quillerman from their porches. They called him foul names and told him to keep his opinions and his religion to himself. But Quillerman ignored them and continued to warning of the danger they were in, appealing to the goodness in them, the goodness not yet stolen away by their new neighbor.

Across the street and one house to the north, Mr. and Mrs. Weyland came out to the sidewalk, both wearing bathrobes. Mrs. Weyland had carried a stained brown paper bag and her husband a plastic green garbage bag. When Pastor Quillerman drove by, they reached into their bags and began to throw garbage at him – cans, cartons, boxes and old slimy fruits and vegetables that made a thick wet mess on the pickup's hood and windshield. As they threw garbage, they shouted at him to go away before they shot out his tires and removed him bodily from the neighborhood themselves. Pastor Quillerman spoke to them calmly through the loudspeaker, imploring them to take a look at themselves, to think about what they were doing and why, and to think about what kind of people they'd been just a few days ago, before they'd met their new neighbor.

And through it all, the odd mist had remained.

Once things had calmed down a little and the only action outside was Pastor Quillerman's slow and monotonous trips up and down the street, Robby paid close attention to the mist. It moved slowly, sometimes changing direction abruptly, and occasionally a smoky tendril or two of the mist would rise fluidly above the restless surface, reminding Robby of Lorelle standing naked outside the glass door while the mist crawled up her body. He closed his eyes a moment and gave his head a couple of hard shakes. He didn't want to think of her.

The afternoon darkened with the approach of evening. The streetlights on Deerfield came on as the clouds went from murky gray to a mottled charcoal. Quillerman turned on the pickup's headlights and their beams gave an even eerier quality to the mist. Robby watched as it moved with what almost appeared to be a life of its own… a purpose. His eyes scanned the mist from left to right until he spotted something strange at the base of a power pole on the opposite side of the street between the LaBianco house and the Parkers’. Robby squinted and leaned forward a bit, not quite sure of what he was seeing. A tentacle of mist seemed to be winding its way slowly up the pole.

Robby reached over, tapped his George’s arm and said, "Dad? You ever seen mist do anything like this before?"

George looked out the window with heavy, preoccupied eyes. "Not around here," he drawled flatly.

"Isn't it kinda weird?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Not really."

"I mean that." Robby pointed at the power pole.

The mist, winding steadily up the pole like a snake, had nearly reached the top. Once it did, it moved quickly and engulfed the gray-metal transformer in a small cloud.

George said, "What in the hell is -"

Before he finished his sentence, there was an explosion of sparks that rained down on the ground and -

– the streetlights went dark at the same moment that -

– the light behind every window on Deerfield went out and -

– the Pritchard house became dark and the refrigerator’s hum fell silent and -

– the mist that had climbed up the power pole dissolved quickly as the sparks that fell down around it hit the ground and bounced and rolled like glowing marbles.

"What the hell was that?" Jen asked, her voice weak and panicky.

"I-I'm not sure," George said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "but why don't you go get the flashlights out of the tool drawer in the kitchen."

She nodded and left the room. George moved to a phone, put the receiver to his ear a moment, then replaced it, saying, "Dead."

Robby watched the reporter outside. She'd been sitting on the hood of her car with the cameraman standing beside her when the transformer exploded. She had fallen from the car and landed in a protective crouch while the man had spun around, leaned through the car's open window and grabbed his camera. But Robby knew they hadn't seen the mist climbing that power pole as he had.

"Mr. Prosky told me she could move around as a mist," Robby said quietly.

"You mean Lorelle?"

Robby nodded. "He said he'd seen her do it."

George took a moment to digest that bit of information, then pressed both hands over his face and rubbed them up and down, sighing. "Boy oh boy oh boy."

Pastor Quiller man's pickup appeared again, heading south on Deerfield, but it was going quite a bit faster than before until -

– it pulled over to the curb and screeched to a halt and Pastor Quillerman got out, hobbled around the pickup and stopped to look about him frantically at the mist because -

– it was swirling rapidly over the ground pulling away from houses and tree trunks and shrubbery and fences, pulling away quickly as if it were being sucked away, and -

– Pastor Quillerman staggered in a tight circle as he watched the mist rushing away around him, his eyes and mouth open wide with surprise and confusion as his head jerked around in a frightened, bird-like manner because – - the mist was rushing into Lorelle Dupree's house as if the house were a giant vacuum cleaner, and -

– Pastor Quiller man spun around and looked at their window, then hurried up the walk toward the front door, his limp making him zigzag all the way to the porch steps.

George rushed to the front door and opened it just as Pastor Quiller man stumbled through the doorway saying breathlessly, "It was her… the mist… she was in it… she-she was the mist!" He leaned against the wall and pressed a hand to his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

"You okay?" George asked.

"Can I get you something?" Robby asked.

Jen appeared with three heavy-duty Maglite flashlights and handed one to George, one to Robby, and kept one for herself. With all three lights shining, George took Pastor Quillerman's elbow and led him into the living room. Once the pastor was on the sofa, Jen sat beside him, George across from him in the recliner, and Robby remained standing.

"I should have known," Pastor Quiller man said, his voice dry and hoarse. He shook his head with frustration. "I knew there was something wrong with that mist. Why didn't it occur to me?"

"No, Pastor Quiller man, I should have known," Robby said. "Ronald Prosky told me. I just… forgot, I guess, with everything else on my mind I -"

"Don't worry about it, son," Quiller man said. "It's too late now."

"But she's been out there all this time, probably going from house to house. She came to me at the glass door in the dining room. She came out of that damned mist, I should've known."

"She came to my bedroom window," Jen said softly.

George nodded, saying, "She came to me while I was trying to fix the hole in the bedroom wall."

Quiller man said, "She might have gotten into some of the other houses, but she couldn't get in here because of the names on the front door." He looked around at the three of them quickly. "The first thing we have to do is make sure she doesn't get into any more houses. We have to keep her from swaying these people. We need to…trap her somehow. With her out of the way, maybe we can talk some sense into everyone else on this street."

"How?" George asked.

Quiller man closed his eyes and sighed hopelessly.

"What about the three names?" Robby asked. They all turned to him. "I mean the three angels' names on the door. If they'll keep her out of here, maybe they'll keep her in over there."

“But you said she burst out of here while Prosky was writing the names on the door," George said. "What would keep her from doing the same thing over there?"

Robby chewed on his lower lip a moment, then said, "She rushed out of here before Prosky finished writing the names. He hadn’t completed the circle around them yet. Maybe if he had, she wouldn’t have been able to get out. I think I can do it fast enough – as long as it doesn't have to be done in charcoal. " He gave Quiller man a questioning look.

“I'm not sure if it makes any difference," the pastor said with a shrug. "I was not familiar with that particular method.”

"I could use, um… well, a Magic Marker, maybe," Robby said. "We've got some around here somewhere."

"Tool drawer in the kitchen," Jen said, as she stood and headed into the kitchen, following the beam of her flashlight.

"Can you write that fast, Robby?" George asked.

"I can try."

"You'll have to do more than try."

"He will," Pastor Quiller man said with calm certainty.

The neighborhood was tomb silent. With the streetlights out of working order and all the windows dark, Deerfield was blacker than Robby had ever seen it before.

He had practiced writing the three angels' names and circling them with a Magic Marker several times on a yellow legal pad until the movements of his hand and wrist became automatic and fluid. Pastor Quiller man had said a prayer, and at his dad's insistence, Robby had gone out the back door and rounded the house cautiously, just in case someone had been watching the front door.

With a flashlight tucked beneath his arm and a Magic Marker in a pocket of his black jacket, Robby walked along the tall wooden fences that separated their yard from the next. When he reached the sidewalk, he walked a few yards north before crossing the street, then moved south toward Lorelle's house.

The reporter's car was still parked at the curb several yards past Lorelle's house but he couldn't see the woman or her cameraman. He hoped they wouldn’t see him.

His heart pounded in his throat and, in spite of the cold, he felt sweaty, as if he'd run a great distance. He rounded a corner of sharply trimmed shrubs and stepped onto Lorelle's lawn, stopping for a moment to stare at the front door. He couldn't see the door itself, only a vaguely rectangular opening that was darker than black. The door could be open for all he knew. Lorelle could be standing in that blackness watching… waiting for him… Lorelle or her dogs.

He realized he'd been holding his breath and let it out suddenly in a swirling vapor, then started across the lawn as -

– Pastor Quillerman knelt on one knee by the sofa, praying, while George and Jen stood at the front window. The flashlights were out and the house was dark.

"I can't see him," Jen said.

George pointed. "There he is, on her lawn."

Pastor Quillerman prayed quietly at the sofa, then stopped abruptly and remained silent for a long moment, until George and Jen turned toward his vague shape in the darkness.

"Where is Karen?" the pastor asked.

"She's in the guest bedr -" George froze. "Oh, God," he breathed, flicking the flashlight on and rushing out of the room and down the hall. Jen and Pastor Quillerman followed him. He pounded on the door several times and shouted, "Karen! Karen, what're you doing? Are you awake?"

They listened silently, but there was no response.

George tried the doorknob, but it was locked. They pounded the door and called her again.

Nothing.

Swearing under his breath, George spun around and rushed into the master bedroom, leaving Jen and Pastor Quillerman in the dark hall.

Robby walked carefully on the balls of his feet up the front steps of Lorelle Dupree's house, taking the Magic Marker from his jacket pocket. He took the cap off, put it in his pocket and stood before the door in complete darkness.

He listened closely for any sounds and when he heard nothing, he took the flashlight in hand, turned it on and lifted the pen. He paused, took a deep breath which he let out slowly, then began to write as fast as he could.

Jen and Pastor Quillerman watched the darting flashlight beam in the master bedroom as George pulled out a dresser drawer, shuffled through its contents, slammed it, then opened another. He finally returned with a key, which he slipped into the guest room lock and turned. He pushed the door open, calling, "Karen? Hon?" and shined the flashlight into the room.

The window was open and the room was empty.

Karen was gone.

"Oh, god," Quillerman whispered.

Robby's hand raced through the letters of the last angel's name as his heart beat faster and his throat grew tight. The instant he finished the last name, his hand swept quickly around all three, enclosing them in a circle as -

– a sound erupted from inside the house that was worse than anything Robby had ever heard, a screaming sound more monstrous and inhuman than he thought possible, and it grew louder and louder, impossibly loud, until -

– every window in Lorelle's house exploded outward and shards of broken glass cascaded over the lawn and sidewalk.

George and Jen and Pastor Quillerman stood frozen in the doorway of the guest room, their eyes wide as they listened to the horrible sound from across the street. George broke away from them muttering, "Karen, oh my god, Karen," and ran down the hall.

Robby staggered backward down the porch steps and the flashlight beam swept over Lorelle's marked door as it bulged outward until it splintered in the middle, and -

– the sound only grew louder, until Robby could feel it slicing through his bones as he ran across the lawn, glass crunching under his feet, until a familiar voice shouted -

– "Robby!"

The voice caught him so completely by surprise that his legs failed him and he tumbled to the ground, rolling over jagged pieces of glass that cut through his clothes and skin. He rolled over, sat up, faced the house and aimed the flashlight in the direction of the voice, hoping it was not the voice he thought he’d heard.

The beam fell on his mother. She stood on the other side of a broken rectangular window a few feet to the left of the front door. She was naked and her skin was an unhealthy white in the flashlight's beam. Shadow figures moved behind her in the dark.

“Robby!" she shouted. "What have you done, Robby?"

"M-Muh-Mom?"

The mind-numbing scream continued.

"Damn you, Robby, damn you!" she shouted, her arms stiff at her sides, fists clenched, her whole body trembling. Her breasts swayed as she shouted at him.

Robby scrambled to his feet, ignoring his cuts, and began to walk backward as he screamed at her, "What are you doing in there!"

"You'll pay for this, you little bastard, you'll pay!" The hatred in her face was so intense that it sickened Robby.

The horrible sound stopped.

The shadowy figures behind his mom moved away, then even she disappeared into the darkness as Lorelle Dupree's thick, distorted voice said, "That wasn't very nice, Raaww-beeee."

He lowered the flashlight because he didn't want to see it, not again, but even without light, he could see those eyes shimmering in the darkness and he turned and ran across the sidewalk and into the street, dropping the flashlight along the way, but moving ahead blindly, anyway. Getting away from that house and what he knew was inside was more important than the flashlight.

“Eat you, Raaaww-beeee!" the Lorelle-creature roared. "I'm going to eat you alive!"

He tried to listen only to his breathing and his dangerously rapid heartbeat as he ran across the street, trying to ignore the creature's voice, but -

– there was another figure moving toward him in the dark and Robby felt panic closing his throat and he was about to scream when -

– his dad turned on his flashlight and said, "Robby, you okay?"

"Yuh-yeah." He took a moment to catch his breath as his dad put an arm around him to hold him up. "Mom's over there, Dad, sh-she's in the house… with that thuh-thing."

George looked at Lorelle's house and said with almost childlike helplessness, "What're we gonna do, Robby? What're we gonna do to get her back?"

"I, uh… I don't think she wants to come back, Dad."

"Oh, god. What… what have we done?"

They embraced and stood there at the edge of the street until Pastor Quillerman came out and let them back into the house.

Alana Carson said "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know," Will replied softly, “but it didn’t sound fun.”

They'd been sitting in the car debating whether or not to get a bite to eat and find a restroom when it happened. Now their hunger and bladders were forgotten.

"Look," Will said, "if you wanna stay here and do some kind of report on this – whatever this is – that's fine, but I want out, okay? I'm just gonna quietly back out of this one. You can keep the car if you want and I'll walk into town from here."

'"I need you Will."

"No you don't. Keep the camera, too. It's easy to use."

"You'll lose your job."

"Fine. Let 'em fire me. There's some really weird shit going on here and I don't want to look into it any more than we have. Whatever made that sound is not friendly, and it's in that house right over there."

“I don't understand why no one is calling the police," Alana said, looking around at the other houses.

"Because there's something wrong with this whole fucking neighborhood. Something's not right about this place, about these people. Can’t you feel it?”

Alana turned toward him in the seat. "In that case, this story could really do something for us.”

"Like what? Get us killed?"

"No, I mean for our reputations, our careers. Look around. You see any other reporters here? Nope. We’re it. We could be sitting on a gold mine here. Now grab that camera and let's go get some -"

"No."

She sighed. "Tell you what, Will, if you stick with me, I might just break my own rule."

"What rule?"

"My rule about not fooling around with co-workers."

"Oh that one. That was weeks ago. I expected you to say that. Just thought I'd give it a shot."

"C'mon, Will." She took his hand. "Please."

He thought about it a while, then growled, "Shit," and opened the car door.

Pastor Quillerman stayed on the front porch while George and Robby went inside and closed the door behind them.

Quillerman stared across the street at Lorelle's house, reached into his pocket and jingled his keys as he murmured, "Now we can get something done."

He went down the porch steps and headed for his pickup.