Imp

by Andrew Neiderman

  “I suppose he’s right,” Hilda said. “Look at what’s happening to me, thinking such thoughts. You and that damn rabbit,” she said, remembering her reason to be angry.

  “How is this my fault? Can’t a person have anything anymore?” Cy went into a sulk, and Eddie smiled to himself.

  “Well,” he said, “I’ll keep trying to get to the bottom of things.” He slapped his knee and stood up. “What are you going to do with the rabbit tonight?”

  Cy looked at Hilda.

  “Not upstairs, Cy Baum.”

  “I’ll just lock the basement door securely,” he said. Eddie nodded.

  “Thanks for the coffee and roll, Hilda.”

  “You’re welcome to take a few more.”

  “I’d better not. I’ll be by again shortly, just to check on things,” he added.

  “Appreciate it,” Cy said, following him to the door. When he was sufficiently beyond Hilda’s hearing, he took Eddie’s arm. “What do you really make of all this?” he asked.

  “You haven’t seen anyone strange in the area?”

  “Not a soul.”

  “I was thinking about that Oaks girl,” Eddie confessed. “Growing up in that weird house.”

  “With that woman. I know. Thought of it myself.”

  “I’ll see what I can dig up. Call me if anything else happens, no matter how simple it seems.”

  “Will do. Thanks again,” Cy said. He watched Eddie leave and then closed the door.

  Eddie slowed down when he reached The Oaks’ driveway again. He felt certain that the answer to the mystery, whatever it was, would be found up there. Then he thought, what would the chief say if he knew he was spending all his time tracking down the rabbit snatcher? He could just imagine his sarcasm.

  “Maybe I’ll assign a detective to it, Morris. Do you have the rabbit’s paw prints? Should I call in the BCI, or do you think we can handle this ourselves?”

  No, Eddie thought, I’m not even going to tell him about this … at least not until there’s something more to it. It could have been only a prank by a goofy girl. Strange prank, though, he thought. He couldn’t shake off the feeling there was more to it.

  He looked back through his rearview mirror to watch Wildwood Drive weave out of his vision. It disappeared like some kind of a dream. Why did he feel as though he had just passed through a kind of nether world? It was just the effect that weird Mary Oaks and that house with its shadows and vacant windows had on him.

  Ridiculous, he thought, and chastised himself for not taking a few more of Hilda Baum’s homemade rolls.

  NINE

  For the entire trip to Centerville on the late school bus, Faith was pensive. Her deep thoughts were born out of an overwhelming fear that had been intensifying gradually throughout the latter part of the school day. She felt like one sinking into an icy pool, her body growing weaker by the moment. As she grappled with her thoughts, her isolation from the people around her became more and more severe. Other students bumped into her; younger students shouted and laughed around her. She was even hit with a glob of chewing gum, but she didn’t feel it or turn around to see who had thrown it. She was oblivious to everything but her own terrifying images, for in her mind she was creating the scenario that frightened her more than anything she could recently recall.

  The baby had gotten out. How? What would Mary do when she discovered it? Had she discovered it? It struck Faith as curious that he was vicious enough to attack Bobby’s little brother. But then she realized that she didn’t really know what he was like; she hadn’t had that much contact with him. And maybe (and this was perhaps more important) he was as evil as Mary claimed he was.

  She tried to envision him, to recall his physical features. Her glimpses of him were so few and far between. She knew he moved like a monkey and expected that down there in the basement he had become some kind of a creature, but to venture out and attack people and steal things from the neighbors … what kind of intelligence did he have? How did he get along and know where to go and how to go?

  She thought about her communications with him through the floor. Something that she had seen as warm and humane, even exciting, now seemed horrifying. Was the baby reaching out for desperately needed human contact or was the breath she had felt through the boards the Devil’s own hot gasps designed to draw her down into the depths of darkness? She studied the palms of her hands where the baby’s fingers had grazed her skin. Was her mind playing tricks on her? They seemed singed, discolored. She rubbed them together like Lady Macbeth and then, becoming self-conscious, she looked about to see if anyone had noticed her strange behavior.

  Her heartbeat quickened. She pressed herself against the side of the bus and gazed down at the monotonous macadam liquefying before her, as the bus increased its speed on the straightaway approaching the village. Perhaps she already had been corrupted and her affections and desires for Bobby O’Neil were symptoms. What should she do? Should she tell Mary what she thought and knew? Or should she try to discover the truth herself and do something about it? Could she do it by herself?

  The question of confiding in Bobby returned. He couldn’t be evil. The feelings they had for each other were too sincere. The only way she could overcome this terrible paranoia was to have faith in someone else. Together they could investigate and determine. But what would it mean to betray Mary? What would Bobby think of her, if he knew she had kept this terrible secret all these years? Could he be expected to understand? Did he believe in the ever-present existence of a conscious Evil?

  She was more confused than ever. Thinking things out like this didn’t help; it only made matters worse. The bus had become stifling. When it pulled up to the curb, she practically launched herself from her seat and bulldozed her way past the other kids getting ready to disembark. She looked around quickly, expecting Mary to be waiting for her. She was surprised and grateful that she wasn’t there. She wanted the extra time to walk and to think.

  As if under a hypnotic spell, she found herself stopping automatically at the auto dump. She hesitated. Frank and one of his workers were tearing parts of an engine out of a wreck. Usually, they paid little or no attention to her, but now they stared. After a few moments, she heard Frank’s indistinct mumbling and then their laughter. When they went back to their work, she entered the car graveyard, moving magnetically toward her father’s automobile, unsure herself as to what she hoped to accomplish.

  She stood looking at the car. Once again her mind played tricks on her, for to her the car looked different—cleaner, newer, almost as it was before the terrible accident. She drew closer. There was something unusual here, a sense of another presence. She half expected her father to suddenly appear in the front seat. He’d be smiling and looking out at her and beckoning her to come closer. Was it him or was it the Devil disguised as him? Was one of her nightmares about to come true?

  She moved forward, but she trembled as she did so. She embraced her school books, holding them tightly to her body, and stood by the door, staring in through the cracked side window. Slowly she reached down for the door handle, and when her hand found it, she thought it felt hotter than ever. Yet she couldn’t release it; her fingers were glued to the metal. She had barely any strength, but the door seemed to open on its own. Taking a deep breath, like one about to go under water, she slid in behind the steering wheel as she had done many times before.

  For a few moments she simply sat there in a trance. Then she put her school books beside her on the seat and took the steering wheel in her hands. The spiritual energy in the car traveled up through the column into the steering wheel and into her hands. It permeated her body, moving like electricity, firing her up for new visions. She was set for a truly supernatural experience. Perhaps wisdom and answers would come to her and she wouldn’t feel as alone and afraid.

  She sat back, closing her eyes, her hands holding the steering wheel as firmly as one in the midst of an accident. All that she heard was the sound of a fly buzzing by the p
assenger side window, and then … she felt the hand on her neck.

  “GET OUT!” Mary screamed. She tore the door open to reach in and grab Faith’s arm. “GET OUT!” She pulled her roughly, sending her to the ground. Then, seizing Faith’s hair, she dragged her until Faith got to her feet. Mary’s first blow caught her on the right side of her head. Faith raised her arms to protect herself and Mary shoved her forward toward their car, which had been parked secretly behind other wrecks just across the way. “GET IN!” Mary commanded as soon as she opened the door. Faith covered her head with her hands and Mary pushed her onto the front seat. The tears were streaming down her face now. Mary, in a rage, went around the front of the automobile and took her seat behind the wheel. Before Faith could utter anything in her own defense, Mary swung her right hand around and caught her directly on the mouth. The blow stung and brought blood where her lips met her teeth.

  Faith brought her knees up against her body and embraced herself. She pressed her body tightly between the door and the seat and cried most of the way home. She couldn’t think of anything to say in her own defense and she was shocked that Mary had discovered her in the dump. How long had she known? Was she ever there before? If so, why didn’t she let on until now? Once again, Faith was both impressed and frightened by her mother’s powers. For the present she could only hope for the rage to lessen.

  As soon as they pulled into the driveway and stopped, Faith got out of the car and hurried for the front door, hoping for the sanctity of her own room. But Mary was right behind her, slapping at her and pulling at her hair. She screamed and pleaded and fell over the front steps.

  “Get up!” Mary said, her voice in a kind of hiss. Never had Faith seen her this wild. She struggled to her feet, tripped again, struggled up, and lunged at the front door. Inside, Mary took hold of her wrist and spun her around. “WHY DID YOU GO THERE? WHY DID YOU DO IT?”

  “I don’t know; I don’t know. Please …”

  Mary brought her face very close to Faith’s. When Faith tried to look away, Mary seized her chin in her hand and forced her to look at her. Mary’s eyes were wild; her teeth were clenched. She was pressing them so hard against one another, it made the veins in her temples bulge. The corners of her mouth were white, and her eyes grew wider and wider, until they seemed to consume her face with the fire of their anger. Faith subdued her sobs, but she was unable to swallow. The pain that had built in her chest and throat was excruciating.

  “And the Devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night for ever and ever,” Mary whispered.

  “Yes,” Faith said. “Yes, yes.” She nodded emphatically, hoping to calm her mother with her assent, but Mary’s anger didn’t lessen. Her grip on Faith’s wrist tightened enough to cause pain. Faith was amazed at Mary’s strength. From where did it come in such a small and fragile body? Surely it was spiritual. And Faith had defied the spirit! She felt doomed.

  “You were intimate. You let him touch you and know you.”

  At first Faith couldn’t speak. She simply shook her head. Mary’s grip tightened even more as Faith stepped back.

  “No,” Faith said. She knew about Bobby, too!

  “You lied and betrayed me.”

  “No, no, I didn’t betray you. Listen to me. Listen …”

  “You must pray. Pray for salvation.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  For a moment Mary’s expression relaxed. Faith felt hopeful. She took a deep breath and when Mary released her wrist, she rubbed it and kept her head down.

  “You must go upstairs now,” Mary said. It was said very matter-of-factly. There was no hint of a threat and no anger. Faith looked up suspiciously, because Mary’s face had suddenly turned considerably softer; she looked more concerned than angered.

  “OK,” Faith said.

  “And you must pray and fast and seek redemption.”

  Faith bit her lower lip gently and nodded. Mary’s swollen shoulders relaxed. The redness left her face and her eyes cooled. It was then that Faith realized she had left her school books back in her father’s wrecked car. She wanted to say something about it, but she was far too frightened of bringing up the subject. What she thought was she would go up to her room and pretend to pray for an hour or so, as she had done many times before when Mary was angry with her, and then come down to a much calmer, more reasonable Mary. But for now she knew that it would be best to remain silent, so she turned and started up the stairs. Surprisingly, however, Mary was right behind her, almost breathing down her neck. She quickened her pace toward her room.

  “No,” Mary said when Faith reached the doorway and started to turn in. “Keep walking.”

  “Keep walking?”

  “KEEP WALKING!” Mary shouted.

  “OK, OK,” Faith said, afraid the wild rage would return. She continued down the hall. When they passed Mary’s room and the bathroom, she slowed her pace. They were moving into the darker part of the house, a section shut up. Even Mary kept out of it.

  “Keep going,” Mary said when she hesitated again. Faith felt as though they had crossed a boundary. Her heart began to beat fast. The door to the room her father used had been driven into, was opened, and the light was on. “Here,” Mary said when they reached it.

  “But…”

  “This is where you must go. This is where the Devil is to be defeated. I have been told. You must do what I say.”

  “I don’t want to,” she said. She started to back up, but Mary blocked her.

  “You must. The Devil’s keeping you from wanting to go in there. Fight him,” she whispered.

  “No.” She stepped back. “Please. Listen to me first.”

  “Go inside,” Mary commanded, taking her wrist again. She pulled her toward the door. Faith shook her head, but Mary’s strength was overwhelming. She drove her forward until she was in the doorway. Then she pushed her into the room.

  The sight of the boarded windows, her own bedspread and pillow, the Bible on the bed, the cleared dressers and tables frightened her, because she realized that Mary had prepared this as a kind of prison for her. Then another realization quickly came to her—this was similar to what Mary had done with the baby. Remembering him at this moment reminded her of her frightening theory. She turned to tell Mary about it, for now it was more important than ever that Mary knew what kind of dangers existed.

  But Mary didn’t wait. She stepped back quickly and closed the door. Faith rushed at it and tugged on the knob just as Mary turned the key in the lock. The click sounded like a bullet to Faith. She went into a panic and began pounding hard on the heavy, old wooden door, but her hands quickly became sore and began to sting.

  “WAIT … LISTEN … MOTHER, I’VE GOT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING … PLEASE.” She listened in anticipation, but she could barely hear Mary’s departing footsteps.

  “Oh no,” Faith said, turning around to study the room. She went to a boarded window and tugged on one of the planks, but the nails had been driven in firmly. The windows were securely blocked. She turned in circles, looking for some avenue of escape, some way of communicating with the outside, but there was nothing but the Bible.

  She ran back to the door in a frenzy and pulled and pulled on the knob, but the door barely shook. Expending all her strength and crying hysterically, Faith sunk to the floor and collapsed in her own embrace. Her body shook with her now silent sobs. She didn’t have even the strength to cry. It had all happened too fast; realizing the truth about the baby, going to the wreck, Mary’s surprising discovery, and now this—trapped in her father’s old room, a room she had been afraid of for so long. What did Mary mean by “the Devil could be beaten here”? What was she going to do? How long would she leave her here?

  “Ma,” she called in a weakened voice. “Ma, please. Listen to me. You’ve got to listen. It’s about the baby … Imp … please, you’ve got to hear me. Ma …”

  There was nothi
ng but silence. She clutched her body tighter and leaned against the closed door. The silence seemed to get deeper. Finally, exhausted and defeated, she stood up and went to the bed. She pushed the Bible aside and sprawled out on her stomach, clutching the pillow to her as a young girl would clutch her favorite doll. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She didn’t want to stay in this room; there were ghosts in this room. One thing she would never do was turn off the light.

  After a while she turned on her back and looked around. Even the old walls seemed threatening with their faded and cracked paint. She sat up and wiped her cheeks and then looked down at the Bible. There seemed to be nothing else to do, no other way to protect herself. She grasped it firmly in her hands. Just then she thought she heard something, so she looked up quickly and listened hard.

  “Ma? Is that you?”

  Nothing. The dead silence was ominous. She took a deep breath and then put the Bible in her lap and opened the cover. Hovering over it intensely, she lowered herself mentally into the pages and drew the words around her like a protective wall. For the time being, she would do what Mary wanted her to do.

  When Eddie Morris drove up to his own home after work, he felt an unusually vivid sense of pride and happiness. He simply sat in his car for a while and stared at his four-bedroom ranch-style home with its modest but tasteful landscaping: the dozen or so spruce trees he and Barbara had planted together one weekend fifteen years ago, the rock garden he had built off to the right, and the poured cement patio that he and Chester Trustman had made one Sunday afternoon, about a month after the house itself was constructed. He still had plans to put a cast-iron railing around that patio and plant new hedges this spring. Barbara was the real gardener, though. Her poppies, reacting to the unusually warm spring, had burst into full bloom, sprinkling the front of the house with bright colors.

  What a sharp contrast all of this presented when compared to the frontage before The Oaks. It wasn’t just the well-manicured lawn and hedges or the freshly whitewashed siding and newly painted shutters. There was an air of life about his house, a mood of optimism, and a feeling of contentment and security. He always looked forward to going home, but today he seemed relieved because of it. He anticipated his children with their own excitement and even welcomed the advent of some of Tommy’s teenage problems. He looked at his watch. There was still a good hour before Barbara would serve supper. Maybe he would get Tommy to go down to the basement with him and lift weights. He felt like having some father-son companionship.