A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Chet Williamson

  That would be good.

  She slept.

  33

  The teacher’s arms, which had been wrapped around Mistie’s waist, had loosened and fallen to the sides. The lap was not comfortable; the teacher’s legs were bony and sharp, the knees cutting beneath Mistie’s knees whenever Mistie tried to move around. Daddy’s lap was bigger and softer than the teacher’s lap, but Mistie didn’t like anybody’s lap. She wanted to sit on the truck seat.

  The girl with the gun was sleeping and snoring softly. The truck driver had turned down the radio and only spoke to himself on occasion when a car darted out in front or somebody in the same lane slammed on the brakes.

  They were on a really big road now, with two lanes on each side divided by a strip of grass and sometimes trees. Everybody on their side drove in the same direction. Mistie remembered a road like this, when they had moved from Kentucky. They drove, drove, drove. She hated that road because it seemed like they were never going to stop. There wasn’t anything to look at outside the window except trees and distant farms and huge signs. Daddy drove the car. Mama rode in the front and Mistie rode in the back between the boxes they’d packed the week before. Daddy said they had to make tracks since they were breaking their lease. Mistie didn’t remember Daddy breaking anything except maybe he meant the door on the stove that night he got mad that the heat-n-serve rolls came out black on the bottom.

  During part of the drive Daddy had put his hand on Mama’s shoulder, than in her blouse, and she had slapped his hand away and cussed him out. “Yeah?” she had screeched. “Yeah? You think I’m gonna let you get all hot up over me anymore? You think I’m gonna let you get yourself in a knot, and let you work it out on me later tonight? You can go to hell you think that. I ain’t never havin’ no more of your babies. You see what happens to my babies?” Then she’d cried and held on to the door handle and Daddy had swore he didn’t want her flabby-ass body anyway, and they had driven on and on and on.

  Mistie rubbed her eyes and then her crotch, making it warm. She took off the denim jacket, which had crumpled up behind her, and threw it on the floor over the girl’s feet. She wriggled her shoulders and her neck. They were tired and they hurt. So did her feet. Part of the way from the camp the teacher had carried her, but most of the way Mistie had had to walk. The girl with the gun cussed at her when she walked too slowly, but her legs would only do what they wanted to do. And that wasn’t walk real fast. The three of them had stopped a few times, once to eat some pork and beans and canned corn and another time to poop behind some tall grass, but Mistie wanted to stop and go home.

  It was hard to sit up straight on the teacher’s lap. Mistie stretched her legs out, trying not to bump the truck driver with her left foot. Then, slowly, she lay over against the girl. Her head came down on the girl’s folded arms. The girl didn’t move. Mistie waited to see if the girl would wake up and hit her. But she didn’t.

  Mistie closed her eyes and was dreaming before the sounds of the truck had faded. Princess Silverlace was there, and the two went to play on a sliding board behind the golden castle.

  34

  She dreamed.

  The room was dim, small, and much too warm. There were rows of flat, black-topped tables with four chairs each, a classroom. On the walls were charts and posters of old men with beards and probing eyes. In the back of the classroom, cages filled with animals – birds, hamsters, mice, rats. Baby rhesus monkeys.

  It was Old Cabel Hall at the University of Virginia on the far side of the lawn from the Rotunda, a building with small, stuffy halls and small, stuffy stairwells. The place smelled old, like students from two hundred years ago were still agonizing over exams and research papers.

  Kate was at a table near the rear of the room, next to a small, closed window. She had forgotten to complete the reading for the day, and there was to be a quiz. The professor, a skeletal man in gray, stood in front discussing a brain diagram he had nailed to the wall. Kate couldn’t hear him, but she could see his mouth opening and closing, and could see the other students around her taking furious notes.

  Donald was on the other side of the room, nearest the door. He was reading a book. Kate wanted to call out to him but knew the professor would fail her if she did.

  “You have to get this class right,” said someone next to Kate, and she looked to her left to see Alice. “Psychology 101,” Alice continued. “Blow this, blow everything. That’s what Freud said.”

  “It was Jung who said that, not Freud.” This was Bill. Alice was sitting in his lap. He had one arm around her waist, the other hand down the front of her embroidered jeans.

  Kate said, “I didn’t study last night.”

  “Too bad,” said Alice. “To the cage with you.”

  Everyone in the class turned in their seats, mechanically, at the same moment and the same speed, like wind-up toys whirling about on stands.

  “She didn’t study,” Alice repeated.

  Then Kate saw she was indeed in a cage. It was a huge, filling nearly the entire classroom, the floor wet and soiled and scattered with bits of cotton and feces. Students stood outside the bars, looking in and whispering.

  “Let me out,” said Kate.

  The students smiled. Alice shook her head sympathetically. “Blow this, blow everything.”

  A sudden panic exploded in Kate’s chest. Her lungs cramped, and she struggled to keep her trembling legs beneath her. She grabbed the bars and shook them. The people outside burst into laughter.

  “Somebody, come on! Donald, let me out!”

  Donald, whose face was just visible over the shoulders of those in front of him, said, “No. That is impossible. I made a plea bargain.”

  “Show her the experiment,” said someone, a young woman with glasses.

  “Yes, do, we should observe her.” It was Deidra Kirtley. She clutched a steno pad to her chest. “Where is Willie Harrold?”

  A sliding noise. Above Kate’s head, the barred roof of the cage was opening. The ceiling of the room opened, too, and there was the sky, dark and brooding and promising rain. The smell came first. A stench of rotten fish, of dead things at the bottom of a lake, drifting from the sky and into the cage with Kate. It struck her with the force of a blow, and she was knocked to the floor of the cage.

  Beside her fell the body of Willie Harrold. It hit and splattered, rancid flesh ripped free of the bones, shimmering brain matter oozing from cracks in the skull, black blood spurting from eyes and nose. The blue, long-dead lips parted and said, “Happy. Sunny. Snowy. Fucked.”

  Kate screamed.

  And it wasn’t Willie anymore. It was Mistie Henderson, a small, animated corpse in a filthy pink nightie. “Mama had a baby and its head popped off,” said the bloated lips.

  Then it was Donnie, dead in a Ricketts-Heyden school jacket, saying nothing but staring at her with unblinking, yellow eyes.

  Kate spun to run, and slammed into a huge, wire structure. It was a bizarre and horrible woman, a woman of mesh, her long metal arms outstretched, her single steel breast protruding viciously. Her face was nothing but a pair of enormous glass eyes. There was no mouth. No nose. No other features.

  Kate backed away from the monstrosity but her heels slipped in the cotton and the filth on the floor. The wire eyes winked at her, the arms reached out, creaking with the effort, and closed in around Kate’s body. Kate struggled as the wire mesh mother dragged her up and into a cold, hideous embrace.

  She threw back her head to scream and saw the glass eyes gazing down. There was no emotion in the eyes, just a void, a deep and cold void in which Kate saw her own reflection.

  And she could not scream.

  35

  “Fuckin’ A!” said Tony as she threw the duffel bag onto the bed closet to the door. “A real honest-to-God bed!”

  The teacher and Baby Doll stood by the dresser that held the television, waiting for Tony to tell them what to do. The teacher’s silence since the car went into the lake yesterday was wearing
thin. Very thin.

  “I get this bed,” said Tony. “You two get that one. The Lord works in mysterious ways, don’t He?”

  Tony had never slept in a motel before, and took it all in with a quick pivot about on her foot. Two double beds, made up with blue and gold spreads. Over the beds, a set of scenes showing fishermen hauling a catch up by nets in the setting sun; Mobile, Blessing had explained as they’d approached the city limits, was located on a harbor on the Gulf of Mexico. It sounded so foreign, the Gulf of Mexico. Maybe there were close to Mexico. Texas was close to Mexico, too.

  Tony decided she was going to go see the Gulf before they left Mobile. She had never been to the beach, and those pictures made the Gulf look a lot like the ocean.

  Between the two beds, a small table with a single drawer and a lamp with a tilted lampshade. Next to the television set was a dresser with a large mirror above it. On the dresser, a small refrigerator. “Man,” said Tony. “I could live here.” On the far side opposite the door, a small area with another mirror, a sink, and a rack for hanging clothes. Off that, what was likely the toilet, and even a shower, she bet. The heater was on full-force, and already Tony was sweating.

  Baby Doll sat on the end of the second bed and stared at the television set. The teacher sat down near the headboard and looked at the telephone.

  “Oh, no, no,” said Tony. She reached down and ripped the phone from the wall. “Absolutely, positutely not.” She put the phone under one of the pillows on her bed, then took the pistol from her coat pocket and threw the coat on the chair near the window. Heavy, blue flowered drapes covered the window. That was excellent. They would stay drawn. Nobody needed to see out. And sure as hell nobody needed to see in.

  Bobby “Blessing” Sanford had been the sugar daddy for this room at the Mobile South Motor Inn. They’d driven through the night, across the state of Georgia, then down through Alabama, reaching Mobile by mid-day. Blessing had stopped the rig for a late dinner, breakfast, and lunch, inviting the “family” to join him at the various diners. Tony had declined, saying they would eat from their knapsack because they were saving their money for the revival. There would be a love offering taken; they didn’t want to face the Lord empty-handed. This worked. Blessing paid for all the meals. Tony and Baby Doll had eaten fairly well. The teacher, still silent, ate very little. When Blessing was outside the cab before their last leg to Mobile, kicking off some dog poop he’d stepped in at the truck stop, Tony had peeked into his glove box and found an envelope with a small stack of bills. She’d taken most but left some so he wouldn’t notice right away.

  When they reached Mobile – the biggest city Tony had ever seen – Blessing apologized again for only going so far, and offered to pay for their night at the Days Inn. It was nearing eight p.m. Tony didn’t argue. She told the man he’d done unto the least of those, just like Jesus had commanded, and Blessing said he’d continue to pray that they made it to Texas safely.

  Tony propped up a pillow and lay back against it, the pistol by her side. She tried to pick up the remote control from the bedside table but it was glued down. That was queer. Guess people stole stuff from motel rooms. She punched the power button. The screen flickered to life. It was a menu channel, showing what HBO movies could be rented, and what local channels were available.

  Baby Doll pulled her feet up to the bed, and grabbed her toes with her fingers. The teacher folded her hands in her in her lap and looked at the floor.

  Tony flipped through the channels. Maybe there would be some news with word about a murder and robbery in Pippins, Virginia. She made full circuit, back around to the menu channel and then up again. No news. Baby Doll watched with rapt attention. It even looked as though she was smiling.

  “Hey,” said Tony, stopping the channel on 5, on which a commercial for a local store - Otto’s Hardware - was bragging about their 50% off all bathroom fixtures sale to an exaggerated melody played by bugles and saxophones. “You like T.V. don’t you?”

  The kid didn’t say anything.

  “Hey!” said Tony. “I asked you a question. You big on T.V.? You like it?”

  Baby Doll nodded.

  “Yeah? What you like to watch?”

  She said something, but Tony couldn’t hear it over the hardware commercial. She punched the mute button on the remote. “What did you say?”

  “Princess Silverlace,” said Baby Doll.

  “What’s that? A show?”

  The kid nodded.

  “What channel’s it on?”

  The kid didn’t seem to know, or wasn’t sure what the question was. Tony stared at the child and wondered what was going on in that bizarre little mind. She pressed the channel change. Black and white show, a street scene with a kid in a striped shirt, a bike, and a fat, drunk man.

  The kid said, quietly, “Andy Griffith.”

  “Yeah?” Tony looked at the set. The drunk guy and the kid went into the sheriff’s office and were greeted by the gangly deputy. Tony pressed the channel change. Stacks of people atop each other.

  The kid said, “Hollywood Squares.”

  “Yep,” said Tony. “That’s what that is.” Channel change. Some police thing. The kid said, “Law and Order.” Change. The kid said, “Seinfeld.” Change. “Sponge Bob Square Pants.”

  Tony rubbed her neck, then her head. She scratched. “Is there any show you don’t know?”

  The kid didn’t say anything. She was gazing at Sponge Bob with something akin to adoration.

  Tony left it on the cartoon. She patted the pillow where she’d put the phone. She had not had the chance to call Leroy; there was never a time when they’d been with Blessing that she’d been able to secure the teacher and kid so she could go off alone. But now there were towels and cords and pillow cases at her disposal.

  First things, first, however.

  “You stink bad,” Tony said to the teacher. The teacher looked at her without raising her head. “That’s what I hate about women, well, one thing. They stink all the time. God isn’t Father, like Blessing says. God’s a woman, you know that? And a real Bitch at that. If God was a man he wouldn’t have fucked the world up so bad. What you think about that?”

  The teacher mouthed something that looked like, “I don’t know.”

  “Know why women have higher voices than men do? God made them that way so they’ll sound like children to men, so men will want to protect them. Makes me want to puke!”

  The teacher looked away from Tony, back to the floor. She didn’t seem afraid anymore, she seemed spaced. Maybe water in her lungs had fucked up her mind. Tony kicked the woman’s shin with her hiking boot. The woman flinched, but she didn’t make a sound.

  “Truth or dare,” said Tony. She’d get the teacher out of this daze if she had to beat the shit out of her.

  The teacher shrugged then whispered, “Truth. What the hell.”

  “Ha!” shouted Tony. “You said hell, a teacher said hell! They’re gonna fire your ass for saying hell, if I tell ‘em! But they’ll fire you for takin’ that kid home without permission to give her some clothes, won’t they? Too bad, too bad. Okay, truth. You like it when your husband fucks you? You like having someone on top of you, poking you hard and you can’t move or anything? You like that?”

  The teacher’s shoulders lifted and dropped once. A shrug.

  “That a yes? I bet it’s a yes. Gross. Okay, maybe you like somebody taking over your body and doing what they want with it. But, truth again. What is it like, having a baby? What’s it feel like, getting your cunt ripped open by some ugly, wailin’ little brat?”

  The teacher looked from the floor to Tony. It was as if she had to drag her eyes with her head as she moved it. She said, “I remember joy seeing my son. The pain is forgotten.”

  Tony’s brows drew tight. “How many kids you have?”

  “One.”

  “Just one? A son?”

  The teacher nodded, up-down-up, like someone had her head on a string.

  Tony felt a
click in the back of her throat. Incredulous, she said, “You lied to me? You lied to me.”

  The teacher’s eyes darkened a fraction, as if she had a vague realization that she’d done wrong. Oh, had she ever.

  “No,” said the teacher. “Did I?”

  Tony snatched up the gun and jumped to her feet. She slammed the butt of the gun against the teacher’s ear. The teacher wailed and rolled backward, drawing her legs up and covering her head with her hands. “You lied to me! You said you had a daughter and you were taking Baby Doll to give her some clothes!”

  The teacher groaned. “No.”

  “You never lie to me. People don’t lie to me! They don’t lie to me!” She hit the teacher’s arms with the gun, pound, pound, pound, and it felt good. She said, “Get up and go into the bathroom or I’ll shoot you apart, I’ll shoot you to pieces, starting with your feet all the way up to your head.”

  The woman groaned again and rolled over and up. She stumbled toward the bathroom. “Leave me alone. Please.”

  “Bull shit, there ain’t. You lied to me!”

  “I was scared, I….” Her words trailed, muddling into incoherent murmurs. Tony pushed the teacher into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. “I’m gonna tie you up. Keep you where I don’t have to look at you, bitch.”

  “I…won’t lie anymore. All right?”

  “Get in the tub.” She slid the shower curtain back as far as it would go. It was a happy shower curtain, covered with smiling fish and crabs and seahorses. Tony slammed the woman in the chest, knocking her back over the edge of the tub. She landed on her ass with a grunt, arms up in protective stance, head bouncing against the far wall’s tile. She remained without moving, stunned or terrified or both. Back in the bedroom, there was canned laughter on the television set. The girl had probably not moved an inch.