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

by Chet Williamson

  “Pardon,” she said. The driver ignored her. “Look, I want you to go right to the hotel. By the Pont de Pierre, s’il vous plaît.”

  Still there was no response and she wondered if he spoke English. He didn’t change direction. In fact, he sped up.

  Carol turned around. Out the rear window she watched the bright lights of the downtown on the other side of the river recede. She decided to jump out at the next stop sign.

  The car raced along the right bank, the road dim with intermittent lighting. It had rained here and the streets and sidewalks were slick, the smell of ozone saturating the air.

  Carol saw no other vehicles on the desolate streets, and no pedestrians.

  “Stop the car, now! Let me out,” she yelled, but the driver paid no attention.

  She opened the door. They were driving so fast if she leaped out she knew she would be hurt. He began to slow.

  She glanced up. Ahead, a long silver limousine was parked by the water. A tall man stood beside it.

  Although she couldn’t see him clearly, instinctively she knew he was the murderer.

  Carol hurled herself from the cab. She fell onto the street with a sickening thud and a groan, scraping both knees and bruising her left hip. But she wasn’t worrying about the injuries.

  Instantly she clambered to her feet. The driver was out from behind the wheel and running towards her, as was the murderer. She kicked off her high heels and raced back the way the cab had come.

  The cobblestones were slick, making her slide, so she went along the rougher pavement. “Help! Someone help me!” she yelled.

  Behind she heard one pair of feet.

  She could either go along the waterfront or back behind the loading docks to the narrow buildings that looked like warehouses. She made a quick decision. The waterfront road was too long, she didn’t have the stamina to make it back to a more residential area. Better to go between the buildings where she could hide or maybe find some help.

  She ran up a small street, turned down another, rounded a corner, trying to throw him off her trail. She paused to catch her breath and listen. The footsteps had either stopped too or she had lost him. She didn’t want to risk making a mistake.

  Silently she edged along the wall of a stone building. A cat hissed nearby and she gasped.

  An alley lay just ahead. There was a chance she could find a place to hide there.

  She inched along, glancing ahead and behind. Just before she turned the corner she checked both directions and exhaled slowly and silently, her breath clouding the air. She peered around the corner. The murderer was in the alley, coming towards her.

  Carol retreated. She ran back the way she had come but at the last block before the waterfront turned left instead of right so she wouldn’t end up at the car.

  Every street looked the same now, a maze of grey slickness, minimally illuminated, boxed in by buildings centuries old. She was out of breath, panting loudly, and in an effort to cover all directions tripped over a rotting two-by-four, gashing her foot on a nail, and almost collided with a metal trash bin.

  She couldn’t hear him but had an image of a shadow, a mist, blending with the darkness. Yet, at the same time, he was solid, as stealthy as a jungle cat hunting prey, and could probably pick up her scent. He’s playing with me, she thought, and the idea scared her.

  Carol tried to think clearly. She knew her only hope was to work her way out of this confusing area and back to a part of the city where there was life.

  She turned down a street that led into a wide courtyard.

  Off to the side she noticed another street and headed up it. But soon she was startled to realize that it was only an indentation between buildings, bricked in, not a street at all. She had trapped herself in a cul de sac.

  Carol started back out but he was already coming towards her. Desperately she looked around. There were no walls low enough to scale, no street-level windows that weren’t boarded up or grated over, no way out. She noticed a fire escape hanging against a building but felt it was too high to reach. She tried anyway, jumping up and falling short of the bottom rung by a foot. No rescuer was going to show up this time. She scanned the ground for weapons.

  A few small rocks lay within reach and she scooped them up, pitching them at him overhand, like a baseball. He twisted out of the way and caught the last one in his fist.

  But now he was too near and she inched back, up against the sooty wall. She gasped for air, shaking; he wasn’t even breathing hard.

  She side-stepped to a corner. He moved at an angle, his body blocking what light there was. Every direction of escape was cut off. And then he came towards her, his face thin, haggard, hungry-looking.

  Carol felt she wouldn’t make it but tried to pass him anyway. He slammed her back against the bricks, still advancing.

  Instinct took over. She attacked, using moves she had practised in a university Wendo class until they were automatic.

  She kicked at his groin. His reaction was faster than she expected. He blocked her leg with his, knocking her off balance.

  She made a fist, knuckles up, then corkscrewed them down as she aimed for his solar plexus. He didn’t even flinch. Before she knew what had happened, he caught both her wrists, pinning them behind her back. His hands were icy. He pressed his body into hers until she was locked into the corner unable to move.

  “We meet again.” His voice was smooth, confident, as though her maximum efforts had a minimum effect on him. “You wouldn’t tell me your name, but it’s Carol, isn’t it? Carol Robins. Like the bird.”

  “How do you know that?” She heard her voice quiver and knew he heard it too.

  “The police. I assume it’s true, unless you’re a liar.”

  “Why would they tell you?” she asked, as much to delay what seemed inevitable as out of curiosity.

  “I asked. Let’s just say I have connections.”

  He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “Your blood should have been mine already, Carol.” He held her wrists with one hand and stroked her hair back with his other. She jerked her head away to the extent she could and glared at him.

  “Don’t play games with me,” she said angrily, and he looked surprised. “I know what you’re capable of. If you’re going to kill me, get it over with.”

  He must have perceived a courage she didn’t feel because he hesitated. “I’m used to my victims begging for their lives. If you’re going to plead, now’s the time.”

  “I’m not going to plead. I doubt it would do any good.”

  “Perceptive.” He grabbed the back of her neck. Even through her thick hair his hand still felt unbelievably cold, sending a chill through her.

  As he looked in her eyes, she thought she saw traces of a grudging admiration. “There’s something about you...,” he said slowly. “You’re brave.”

  He scanned her face and she could almost hear him weighing the possibilities in his mind. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a woman. I’ve been bored. But you...”

  Fear took a back seat to other emotions. She felt angry, and bitter. She’d had it with misfortune dragging itself out, pounding her down, crushing her spirit. If this is the end of my life, let’s make it quick, she thought. I’m not interested in more suffering. She felt ferocious.

  She snapped her head around and clamped her teeth onto his wrist. He jerked away from her in horror. A look of total surprise crossed his face that instantly dissipated to black fury. Carol didn’t waste time studying it. She started running. But before she could get very far he tackled her. She hit the rough pavement face down, so hard she wondered if her jaw was broken.

  Her head was spinning, her ears ringing. She heard him say, “If anybody does any biting here, it going to be me!”

  Suddenly he snatched her up by the arm and dragged her out of the cul-de-sac and along the streets, moving too fast for her to fight back. The rough concrete littered with glass and other debris scraped and tore her feet.

  F
inally they reached the limousine. He opened the door, shoved her inside, then slammed the door closed. Through the tinted rear window she watched him walk away quickly.

  Immediately she tried one handle then the other. Both doors were locked. She pounded on the opaque partition, desperate to get the driver’s attention. But if he was in there, he didn’t respond. She picked up the phone and pushed the buttons, including O and 911; it was dead. How stupid I am, she thought desperately; why didn’t I buy a cell phone?

  Eventually she calmed down enough that she began to feel the scrapes and wounds on her legs and feet, her bruised hip and the swelling at her jaw. She sucked in her lower lip and tasted blood.

  Her shoes, and shoulder bag which contained most of what would identify her except for her passport stored in the hotel safe, had been lost. In her coat pocket she found a couple of tissues. Hands shaking, she rolled her pantyhose off; her feet were a mess. She used saliva to clean up as much as was possible. And when the surface wounds had been looked after, Carol sat back waiting, trying to deal with the emotional damage and weighing her options.

  Eventually her thoughts turned to a role she had played once in acting class. That performance had been brief—only a scene—but she’d received a standing ovation. With a little improvising, it was a part she thought she could pull off again.

  Chapter Three

  Carol heard a click. The rear door on her right opened and André climbed in. She slid across the seat to get as far away from him as possible. He glanced at her briefly; in the dim interior light his smoky eyes seemed to glow and that threw her off balance for a second.

  The beam of a street lamp caught his hand just before he closed the door; his fingers were tapered, the movements precise, his nails long and well manicured. She heard the front door open and close. He picked up the phone, punched in three numbers then spoke in French. As soon as he hung up, they pulled away from the curb.

  He relaxed against the plush upholstery, leisurely stretching his legs out and his left arm over the back of the seat, then turned towards her. In a movement too fast for Carol to react to, André reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking her close to him.

  If he was going to kill me, he would have done it back in the cul-de-sac, she told herself. That leaves rape. She’d read that the best defenses against a rapist are to flee, fight or, if everything else fails, cooperate to avoid injury and wait for a chance to escape and get help. She didn’t see how she could get out of the car. He seemed amazingly strong; if she fought him physically she would probably end up hurt far worse than she was already. Carol tried to stay calm.

  He took a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back. As they drove under the street lights, a quick continuous pattern was created, light-dark, light-dark. Whenever the light flickered through the rear window she glimpsed his features. He looked fuller now, not so starved and haunted.

  He untied the hand-painted scarf around her neck and slowly unbuttoned her coat and the top of her dress, baring her throat. Her heartbeat quickened in fear. His hand, now as warm as it had been chilly, slid down inside her bra. His fingers rubbed her left nipple until it firmed.

  “How long’s it been?” she asked quietly. “Since you’ve had a woman?”

  He paused to answer. “A long time. Maybe too long.” He looked at her strangely.

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  His lips curled into a nasty smile. “Whatever I like, Carol. Whatever I like.”

  His mouth came down hard onto hers, pinning her back against the velvety seat. She felt stifled but he held her so tightly she couldn’t escape him now. She focused on keeping calm, remembering how she had to play this. It was the only way.

  She reached up and touched his cheek with her fingertips only. His skin felt hot, smooth and waxy. She pushed his face away gently, sensing that any aggression would be countered immediately and crushed. Maybe because the pressure was so light he pulled back.

  “I have a deal for you,” she said, breathless.

  He threw back his head and laughed. A car headlight streaked through the side window. Light glinted off his teeth. It was only a second but she was startled by how pointed the incisors were, and long.

  “Where did you get the idea you have anything to bargain with?” he asked, still obviously amused by the idea.

  “How about my body? You want it, I can give it.”

  “I’ll take it whether you give it or not.”

  “I know that,” she said softly.

  He eased up on her hair but continued staring. The street lights showed his face as inquisitive so she took advantage of it. “I don’t think you remember how to make love to a woman.”

  Carol kept her voice soft and level, her eyes holding his. She had played this scene before, or one similar enough that she could improvise her lines.

  For a brief second he looked stern, angry. But suddenly he laughed again. “You’ve got guts, I’ll say that. It’s going to be a pleasure breaking you.”

  “I know you’re trying to scare me, but you don’t have to.

  You can have me freely. I’ll give my permission.”

  He pulled her hair, forcing her head back again. “If you think I need your permission, you’ve got a serious problem with reality.”

  Carol instructed herself to remain calm and to keep eye contact. This was no time to panic. She knew if she could save her life, and there was no certainty about that, she had to stay in control, play this carefully, not let the terror take hold. He’ll use my terror against me, she warned herself. He’s a master at intimidation.

  “All I’m saying is I think I can give you what you want. We both know you can take it, but it might be more interesting if I give it.”

  He continued holding her head back, his face over hers. He looked tight, controlled, impossible. She knew she was inches away from catastrophe. After what seemed an eternity he said,

  “Let’s hear this ‘deal’.”

  Carol touched his cheek again. His skin was almost too smooth. She would have found the texture and contours of his face fascinating if the situation wasn’t so dangerous. She ran her hand through his stylishly-cut hair. He looked confused.

  “I can give myself to you,” she said seductively. “I can be warm and wet and open. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  He caught her hand. His face was stern again. “And?”

  “Let me go.”

  “Now the pleading!”

  “I’m not pleading.” Her voice was firm, a little annoyed, the fear disguised. “This is a contract. We both know you’re a blood fetishist. But you can get blood from anybody, can’t you? I’m offering you something better. My blood’s not special, is it?”

  “No one’s blood is special, but it’s all important.”

  “Are you saying you have a hard time finding it?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, then, mine isn’t a great loss.”

  He hesitated and Carol felt she had gained a slight edge.

  “Tell me something? The police. When you say you have contacts, what’s that mean?”

  He let her hair go again and faced front. “I say exactly what I mean.”

  She decided to humor him, stalling for time. “The town hemophile, right? Everyone knows and fears you. You’re wealthy enough that they let you have whoever you want, don’t they, just so you’ll leave them alone.”

  “Of course. Normally I take what I need from people passing through the city. The man by the river was unfortunate but he shouldn’t have interfered. The death was accidental; he died of a sudden cardiac arrest. The autopsy shows the only wound on his body is a small cut on the neck. The police believe it happened when he fell. He suffered some loss of blood-- not a significant amount—at the moment of death.” His look challenged her to contradict him. “Besides, the material witness seems to have vanished.”

  She didn’t believe him about the old man but found herself shuddering. No one will be looking for me, she realized. I
’m really in his power. It took all her willpower to keep from showing the fear she felt.

  They had left the harbor road, crossed over the Pont de Cubzac and were now traveling along a two lane-highway. A sign ahead read: Soulac-sur-Mer, 90 KL. Traffic was almost non-existent.

  “Here’s my offer,” she said finally. “We spend the night together, just you and me. At my hotel.”

  He laughed sarcastically. “Guess again.”

  “Your place, then.” She tried humor. “Or do you sleep in a crypt?”

  He looked contemptuous. “Let’s hear the rest of this.”

  “Well, we’ll go wherever you like. We’ll be together as much or as little as your schedule allows. I’ll do anything you want me to, willingly, eagerly. Tomorrow morning you let me go, without taking my blood. I’ll leave Bordeaux immediately, I won’t tell anybody and you’ll never hear from me again, I promise.”

  He tilted his head, looking at her as though she had just said there were cyborgs standing on the side of the road trying to hitch a ride. Finally he said, “I can take some blood. It’s like giving to the blood bank. You won’t be affected, unless I let you drink mine, and there’s no chance of that. Membership in this club is exclusive—by invitation only.”

  Carol thought about scaring him off by telling him she probably carried the virus. But that would destroy her only bargaining chip. And she found it shameful to admit. The fact that he imagined he was some kind of vampire was unnerving enough so she said nothing but kept eye contact.

  He folded his arms across his chest. A few seconds later he said, “There are two flaws in your plan.”

  “What?”

  “You think you’ll do whatever I want willingly. You can say that now but there are things you won’t be so eager to do.”

  “I’ll do them, whatever they are. I promise.”

  He sneered, disbelieving.

  “And the second problem?” she asked.

  “The second is that one night isn’t much of a trade-off.”

  “What’s a fair exchange?”

  “There is no fair exchange, only what I want. That’s all that matters here!”