The Woods Are Dark

by Richard Laymon

  “I’d share.”

  When the sundaes were gone, they ordered coffee.

  After this, Neala thought, we’ll have to go. Back to the car. Back to the narrow, dark road and the woods.

  We can’t stay here all night.

  She watched the waitress shut the main, wooden door. Through the window, she saw that dusk had fallen. The gravel of the parking lot was a gray blur. Across the road, the sign of the Sunshine Motor Inn blinked gloomy blue. It showed a vacancy.

  Her eyes met Sherri’s.

  “No way,” Sherri said.

  “I know. I don’t want to stay, either. I don’t want to go and I don’t want to stay.”

  “We’ll feel a lot better when we’ve put some miles behind us.”

  Neala nodded agreement.

  “But before we do another thing, the kid here’s gonna hit the john.”

  While she was gone, Neala had another cup of coffee.

  She came back, and Neala went. The toilet, at the rear of the diner, was clean and pleasant. Ought to be, Neala thought; the place is run by a bunch of tycoons.

  She returned to the table. Sherri had already put down the tip. They took the bill to the cash register. This meal was Neala’s turn.

  She bought two foil-wrapped mints, for the road.

  The waitress poured change into her hand. “Don’t be strangers,” she said.

  Sherri reached for the knob, and tried to turn it. The knob didn’t move. She tried again. “Hey, Miss?” she called to the waitress.

  The heads of everyone at the counter turned toward them.

  “Hey Miss, the door’s stuck.”

  The customers stared. A couple of the younger ones smiled, but most looked grim.

  “Ain’t stuck, honey. It’s locked.”

  Neala felt a tight pull of fear in her bowels.

  “How about unlocking it?” Sherri asked.

  “Afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Yeah? Why the fuck not?”

  “ ’Cause you’re here to stay, you two.”

  With a big grin, the waitress turned to the other customers—the same customers, Neala suddenly realized, who’d been at the counter when they entered, so long ago.

  Silently, four of the men climbed off their stools.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lander Dills cut his high beams as a car appeared around a bend. When it was gone, he pressed them on again, doubling the brightness of the road and forest ahead.

  “This is the forest primeval,” he announced. “The murmuring pines and the hemlocks.”

  “That’s Dad doing his Evangeline routine,” said Cordelia in the backseat, explaining him to Ben. “He gets poetically inspired at frequent intervals.”

  “Fine with me,” Ben said.

  Good fellow, Ben. Didn’t know an iamb from a dactyl, and couldn’t care less, but at least he seemed reasonably intelligent and polite. Lander, a high school teacher, had seen enough of the other kind to last him a dozen lifetimes.

  His daughter had good taste in boyfriends, thank the gods.

  “Longfellow knew his stuff,” Lander said. “The forest primeval. You can feel it in your bones—the silence, the isolation. Out there, nothing has changed for a thousand years. ‘Down by the dank tarn of Auber, in the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.’”

  “The Poe routine,” Cordelia said.

  “I wouldn’t mind his motel routine, about now,” said Ruth.

  “Mom’s horny, too.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Cordie, and you know it!”

  Cordelia and Ben were laughing. The motel routine. With a pang, Lander pictured his daughter under Ben, naked and moaning. From the way the two acted, he was certain they had gone the whole route. It made him feel sick, as if he’d lost something precious. She was eighteen, though. Old enough to know what she was doing, to make her own choices. He couldn’t stop her. He wouldn’t try. But it hurt him.

  “We should be coming into Barlow pretty soon,” Ruth said, shining her flashlight at a roadmap in her lap. “How about stopping there?”

  “Don’t you want to try for Mule Ear Lake?” Lander asked.

  “We’re hours away, honey. It’ll be midnight, at least, and we told Mr. Elsworth we’d be there by nine. He’ll probably be asleep. Besides, we’ve been on the road all day.”

  “If we had been on the road all day, we’d be there by now.”

  “Here we go,” Cordelia said. “Dad the general. His idea of a vacation is hitting the road before sunup.”

  “Well, I’d be happy to stay in this Barlow, myself,” he said. “I’m just looking out for you people.” He grinned through the darkness at Ruth. “You do realize, I hope, that there won’t be a Hyatt.”

  “As long as it has clean sheets…”

  “Would you kids rather stop, or go on through to the cabin?”

  “Let’s stop,” Cordelia said. “It’ll be fun.”

  “Either way’s fine with me, Mr. Dills.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” he said.

  He wouldn’t argue the point. Not worth the trouble. He was pleased enough to assume the role of leader, but only so long as nobody tampered with his decisions. His decision, from the start, had been to drive on through. Now, he’d been overruled.

  With some satisfaction, and telling nobody, he switched his role from leader to chauffeur.

  If they want to run the show, let them. He would sit back, relieved of responsibility, and watch. More than likely, they would botch it.

  Soon, he came to the town of Barlow. He drove past a closed gas station, a general store, and Biff’s Hardware and Sporting Goods. Just ahead, on the right, was Terk’s Diner. Across the road was the Sunshine Motor Inn. Its flashing blue sign read, VACANCY.

  “Is this where you want to stop?” he asked, slowing down. It wasn’t a regular motel, at all, but a cluster of cottages behind a shabby office.

  “I don’t know,” Ruth said, sounding dubious.

  Lander grinned.

  “What do you think?” she asked him.

  “It’s up to you. Should we give it a try?”

  “What do you think, kids?” Ruth asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Cordelia. “It looks kind of creepy, to me.”

  Lander stopped the car in the middle of the road. He waited, watching his rearview mirror in case a car should come along.

  “Shall we?” Ruth asked him.

  “If you want to.”

  “You’re a lot of help,” she complained.

  “Give the word, and we’ll stay here.”

  “Okay,” Ruth said. “Let’s give it a try.”

  Flipping on his turn signal, Lander drove across the road and stopped beside the lighted office. “You might as well wait here.”

  “Hold it,” Ruth said. “What are you going to do?”

  “Register.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t think we can all fit in one of these hovels, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “So I’ll get two. Boys in one, girls in the other.”

  “Oh Dad!”

  “No,” he said. “I’m perfectly willing to spend the night here, if that’s what everyone else wants, but I won’t sponsor Cordelia’s sexual escapades.”

  “Lander!”

  “God, Dad!”

  “That was uncalled for,” Ruth said.

  He’d expected a showdown over the sleeping arrangements for the trip. He should have handled it beforehand, but he’d hoped to avoid it, somehow. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but that’s how I feel. As long as we’re all together, they won’t be sharing a bedroom. Not here, and not at the cabin.”

  “That’s great,” Cordelia muttered. “Just great.”

  “It’s either that, or I turn this buggy around and we call the whole thing off.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Cordelia said.

  “It’s not fine with me,” said Ruth. “We came up here for a good time, and that’s what we�
��re going to have. I happen to agree with your father. We never allowed Ben to spend the night with you at home, and I don’t see why we should start now, simply because we’re on vacation. If you were married, it would be different, but…”

  “Marriage. A license to screw.”

  “If you think that,” Lander said, “you’ve got a lot more growing up to do.”

  “I agree with your parents,” Ben said.

  “Thanks a bunch.”

  “Not about growing up. I mean, you know.”

  Cordelia sighed. “What’s this, gang up on Cordie night?”

  “I’ll get the rooms,” Lander said. He was glad to leave the car, and the argument.

  Bells jingled as he entered the office. He waited several moments at the deserted counter. Then a door opened, off to the side. A man came out of the dimly lighted room beyond. The door started to swing shut, but stopped, leaving a three-inch gap. Half a face appeared behind the gap, looking out at Lander with one eye.

  “Room?” asked the man, who seemed pleasant enough. Chubby and bald, with a cherubic smile, he looked like he should be doing skits on a television comedy show.

  “Uh, yes,” Lander said. “Two rooms.”

  The eye behind the door watched him, only a slit of it showing through the fleshy lid.

  “There are four of us. Do you have connecting rooms?”

  “Nothing like that, sorry. We can put you all up in one room, though, if you want. We’ve got one, sleeps three. We can wheel in an extra bed.”

  “No, that’s all right. Do you have two rooms available?”

  “Sure do.” He smiled. “Want to fill out a registration card?”

  As Lander filled in the requested information, his hand shook slightly. That person in the doorway…Twice, he looked up. The face was still pressed to the crack. It was an ancient face. He couldn’t tell whether it belonged to a man or woman. The eye blinked, dripping fluid from its corners.

  He finished the card, and handed it back, along with his Master Charge card.

  The man ran it through the machine. “That’ll be $42.50 for the rooms. One night. Check-out time is noon. Want to sign here?”

  Lander signed the bill.

  He looked up at the door. It was shut.

  “All set, Mr. Dills.” The man bent down and came up with two keys. “That’s bungalows three and twelve.”

  “Are they close together?”

  “Well, one’s just behind the office here. The other’s back a ways.”

  “Do you have any that aren’t so far apart?”

  “It’s the best I can do for you, Mr. Dills. We’ve got a pretty good crowd, to night.”

  “Okay. That’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  “Enjoy your stay with us.”

  Lander nodded. He pulled open the door and stepped outside, relieved to get away from the office.

  He climbed into the car.

  “Well?” Ruth asked.

  “Got ’em. Three and twelve.” His hand hesitated on the ignition key.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I guess. Probably the guy’s mother.”

  “What?”

  “Some old buzzard kept watching me while I was in there. It spooked me a bit. She—he—whatever, kept staring at me through a crack in the door.”

  “Dad!” Cordelia sounded frightened.

  “I’m sure she’s perfectly harmless,” Ruth said.

  “Yeah,” said Lander. He started the car, and drove slowly into the dark courtyard, taking some comfort from the presence of the other cars parked nearby, glad his family wasn’t alone at this god-awful motel.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As two men held Neala from behind, the waitress took her purse and tossed it onto the counter. A teenaged girl grabbed it, and started looking through its contents.

  “She’s got cool shoes,” said a freckled boy beside the girl. “Let’s see ’em.”

  “They won’t fit you,” the girl said.

  “Might.’ Sides, she don’t need ’em.”

  The waitress knelt, and pulled off one of Neala’s running shoes. Neala didn’t try to stop the woman. The last time she’d protested, one of the men had bent her arm backward. Sherri, who’d given them a rough time, at first, got punched in the stomach a couple of times. Neala figured she would let them have what ever they wanted, and hope for the best.

  The waitress tossed the shoes to the boy. He caught them, and climbed onto the counter to try them on.

  Neala’s wristwatch went next. Then her school ring from Loyola Marymount. The waitress dropped them into her apron pocket, where they clinked in the loose change from her tips. Her tough hands tugged the neck of Neala’s old work-shirt. The top button popped off and skittered across the floor. Normally, she wore a gold chain necklace. She was glad she’d left it home for the backpacking trip.

  The woman flicked the hair away from Neala’s ears, mumbled about finding no earrings, and slapped her.

  Then she sidestepped and repeated the process with Sherri, taking her purse, her sandals, her two rings. Sherri had no watch, but her crucifix hung by a gold chain at her throat. The waitress carefully opened the clasp, then dropped the chain into her apron pocket. Sherri cried out, squirming in the arms of the two big men as the waitress ripped the gold loop earrings from her pierced lobes.

  “That it?” asked one of the men holding Sherri.

  “Guess so,” the waitress said.

  Neala heard a metallic rattle. Her left arm was jerked down. A handcuff hit her wrist. It latched shut with a quick, ratchet sound. The second cuff locked around Sherri’s wrist.

  “Okay ladies, let’s go.”

  Someone pushed Sherri. She stumbled forward, snapping the chain taut, tugging Neala’s cuff. The sharp edges bit into Neala’s wrist. She lurched forward, trying to stay close to Sherri so it wouldn’t happen again.

  “I’m going along,” the freckled boy said.

  “Pervert,” said the girl.

  He jumped down from the counter, wearing Neala’s shoes, and raced to the rear door of the diner. He held it open while the men guided Sherri through, then Neala.

  “Where are you taking us?” Sherri asked. She sounded, to Neala, remarkably calm.

  The men didn’t answer. From the start, they’d said very little. All four stayed quiet and solemn, as if carrying out an unpleasant necessity.

  The boy ran ahead of them. At the rear of an old pickup truck, he tried to open the tailgate. He was still working on it, without success, when one of the men arrived and gave him a hand. Together, they dropped the gate. It fell with a clamor that resounded in the night’s stillness.

  The boy scampered onto the truck bed. The man walked to the cab. As he climbed in, the others pushed Neala and Sherri toward the pickup’s rear gate.

  “This is kidnapping, you know,” Sherri warned them.

  “That’s the least of your problems, sister.”

  They were tugged and lifted onto the metal floor of the truck bed. A man on the ground swung up the gate. It crashed into place. He latched it, climbed aboard, and sat down at Neala’s feet.

  The truck started to move, lurching over the rutted lot. Neala’s head banged the floor. She lifted it.

  “Stay down,” said the man beside her.

  After a turn and a final sharp bounce, the truck steadied out.

  We’re on the main road, Neala realized. Heading west. Back the way we came.

  “Where are you taking us?” Sherri asked.

  “Not far,” said the man beside her.

  “You’re going to kill us, aren’t you?”

  The question made Neala’s stomach hurt. Why couldn’t Sherri keep her mouth shut!

  “Not us,” the man said.

  “I want to check them out,” said the boy.

  “Help yourself.”

  “For Christsake, Shaw,” said the man beside Neala.

  “Ah, let the kid,” argued the one at her feet. “No harm done.”

 
; “It isn’t right.”

  “So what the hell is right?”

  “He’s pushing twelve,” said Shaw—the boy’s father? “He needs the education.”

  “Every time we get a good young one, Timmy’s at her. It’s disgusting.”

  “Going queer, Robbins?”

  “I just don’t think it’s right. Do you? We don’t have to turn into a bunch of savages, for Christsake. Next thing you know, we’ll be the ones raping and…”

  “That ain’t allowed, and you know it,” Shaw said.

  “It’s the next step, damn it! We let Timmy do what ever he wants, next thing you know he’ll be screwing ’em.”

  “No I won’t,” Timmy pouted.

  “He knows better than that.”

  “You ever tell him what they did to Weiss?”

  Silence.

  “I don’t want to scare you, kid, but we used to have a guy named Weiss on these runs.”

  “Shut up, Robbins.”

  “Weiss knew better, too. He knew the rules.”

  “Robbins!” Shaw snapped.

  “Let him tell,” said the man at Neala’s feet. “The kid better know, for his own good.”

  “We had this really beautiful gal, about four years back. Weiss couldn’t stand it. We should’ve stopped him. I don’t know why we didn’t, but I guess we were tempted, ourselves, and figured we wouldn’t mind watching him. Safe enough, just watching. Anyway, he had her right here in the truck.”

  “He screwed her?” Timmy asked. Neala heard eagerness in the boy’s voice.

  “A few days later, he vanished. Weiss and his whole family: his wife and three kids. They vanished in the middle of the night, right out of their home.”

  “Maybe they ran away,” Timmy suggested.

  “No. The Krulls got ’em.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We found evidence,” Shaw explained.

  “So just remember Weiss, when you get an urge to start exploring our ladies here.”

  “It’s okay, long as I don’t screw ’em.”

  “Christ, kid, where are your brains.”

  “Knock that off,” Shaw snapped.

  “Dad, can I?”

  “Let him,” said the man at Neala’s feet.

  “Just a little?” Timmy asked.