The Beast House

by Richard Laymon

  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.

  Ja
ck 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.