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

by Chet Williamson

  Gab buckled her daughter into the front seat and drove over to Katrina's while engaging Heaven in a sing-along to keep her from resisting the seat belt too much. Only a recent graduate of car seats, Heaven had at first rejoiced at the opportunity to be more grown-up, but she was known to complain of discomfort and attempt to subvert the belt by loosening it until there was enough slack to provide freedom of movement. That freedom might also send her crashing through the window if a sudden stop was necessary, Gab frequently reminded herself.

  Today Heaven was content as they rattled off tunes from the album they'd ordered from the ad on "Nickelodeon." The day was bright and clear with golden sunshine, and for the first time in several months Gabrielle allowed herself to wonder about happiness. Maybe she really was getting things back together. She was going out, doing something that interested her, which was a change from the way things had been lately. She'd devoted most of her attention to her job and to Heaven with little thought to other activities.

  Her devotion to Heaven was complete and without question, but it couldn't be good for either of them to hibernate. She didn't want Heaven growing up a recluse.

  Katrina lived in a quiet residential section which consisted mostly of small brick houses with neatly trimmed lawns. Once upon a time it might have been a neighborhood which would not have welcomed African Americans, but at least in this part of town that sort of thing was in the past.

  No FOR SALE signs had sprung up when they'd moved in, Katrina had observed. Her husband had a job with the city and wore business suits most of the time. She sometimes speculated that that and their quiet habits kept many of their neighbors content. "Maybe we'll have a domestic argument and throw a few pots and pans just so they won't be disappointed," she said once. 'Then they can say, 'Well, it's colored folk.' "

  Harris, her husband, was working in the front yard when Gab pulled into the driveway. He had traded in his suit for jeans and a polo shirt that morning, but she felt there was no concealing the fact that he was an accountant.

  "So you're going to hear the mystery writer speak?" he said as Gab helped Heaven from the car and they pulled some of her toys from the front seat.

  "That's right."

  "We'll take good care of Heaven," he said. "It's such a pretty day we thought we'd grill hot dogs outside." He squatted in front of the little girl so that he could look into her face. "Does that sound good?"

  "Yes," she said, smiling and chewing on the finger tucked in the corner of her mouth.

  "Say hello to Mr. Johnson," Gabrielle urged.

  "Hello."

  They walked to the front steps and Harris opened the door for them.

  The children were in the living room, watching television. Carl Matthew, who was six, and a miniature version of his father sans beard, sat on the floor with an assortment of toys spread around him. Seeing the visitors, he got up and stood slightly behind his father, peering around Harris's legs curiously. He recognized the visitors, but he was uncomfortable, a bit shy it seemed.

  Matissa, the baby, was smearing crayons across the pages of a coloring book. She looked up proudly from her work, her smile revealing gums through which teeth were just beginning to make their way.

  Katrina walked into the room, drying her hands on a dish towel, and also offered Heaven a bright smile. "Hi, honey."

  "Hi, Miss K'tina," Heaven said, still chewing on the finger. She was a bit flustered by the attention, and she rarely said Katrina's name successfully.

  "We're gonna have a good time today," Katrina said. "It's Saturday. We can watch cartoons and play. Does that sound like fun?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Yes, ma'am," Gabrielle reminded her.

  "I'm sorry."

  Katrina winked at Heaven. "It's okay."

  Gab handed over the toys they'd brought along. "You won’t hesitate to call if…?"

  "It's all going to be fine,” Katrina said. “You go have as much fun as you can, listening to a literary reading."

  Gabrielle smiled. "I'm just trying to get out a little."

  "Be good for you. Hustle or you gonna be late."

  Pausing only to bend and give Heaven a final kiss and warn her to behave, Gabrielle headed for the door.

  "I'll be back by one at the latest."

  "Fine, go," Katrina admonished. "Now."

  Gab grinned. "Got you."

  As she departed, the kids settled in the living room to watch "Scooby Doo." Leaving them occupied with that, Katrina went back to her work in the kitchen, while Harris set in on forms he'd brought from the office. For a half-hour, things were quiet. Then Carl Matthew's voice peaked out at the highest decibel a six-year-old's vocal cords could muster.

  "But we always watch ‘Gnelfs’ on Channel 7 after 'Scooby Doo' goes off," he insisted.

  "Don't wanna watch 'Gnelfs,’" Heaven protested, doing a fair job of amplification herself.

  "I'm not gonna change it," Carl Matthew stated.

  Katrina pushed through the swinging door to see them standing toe to toe in the center of the room.

  Harris, engrossed in his reading, had managed to shut out the racket in the way only a man could. Matissa also was ignoring the fracas. She was still busy defacing the pages of her coloring book.

  "What's going on here?" Katrina demanded.

  "She won't watch 'Gnelfs,’" Carl Matthew protested.

  With her face turned downward, Heaven continued to shake her head, her brow wrinkled defiantly, her hair swaying back and forth.

  Katrina decided to try a diplomatic approach. "Honey, Heaven had a bad dream about the `Gnelfs' this week. We don't want to make her watch them if they upset her, do we?"

  "You said dreams couldn't hurt anybody," Carl Matthew protested.

  "They can be frightening. Why don't we watch something else? There are other shows you can watch; we get a hundred channels."

  "That's old stuff."

  "Carl Matthew, you aren't but six. How can anything be old to you?"

  "I want to see 'Gnelfs.' Everybody watches it."

  "It's on all the time. On Saturday morning there are other cartoons you can watch."

  Shaking her head, Heaven turned from the two of them and ran through the swinging door, into the kitchen.

  Harris had finally roused from his work. He followed Katrina after her.

  She was sobbing, and tiny teardrops already trailed down her cheeks. “I don't wanna watch that show," she cried. "The Gnelfs are mean."

  Katrina knelt in front of her and hugged her. "It's all right, baby. We aren't going to watch it."

  Heaven gripped Katrina's shoulders and held tight. The child's small body was wracked with trembling.

  Lifting her into her arms, Katrina carried her over to the kitchen table where she eased her onto a chair.

  "It's going to be okay," she whispered.

  Settling back in the chair, Heaven wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her blouse. She was pale.

  "Is she doing all right?" Harris asked.

  "Oh, she's fine," Katrina said. "Aren't you, big girl? I'd bet you'd like some Kool-Aid."

  Heaven wiped her nose softly and nodded. She was still shaken up, but the prospect of Kool-Aid worked wonders in calming her.

  Harris followed his wife to the cabinet as she got a glass.

  "You think anything's wrong?"

  "Not really. Just nervousness. She's in a strange house, with us, her daddy's left her, and she had a bad dream this week. Even rehashing it was scary for her."

  "You said Gabrielle was worried about her."

  "She's watching every little thing because she's so worried about the scars of divorce," Katrina whispered. "Maybe we'd better keep what's happened between us. It's passed, and I'm afraid Gab would worry herself to death over it just when she's about to get her feet back on the ground."

  "You don't think she should know?"

  "Maybe I'll mention it later. Let's let her have a good day. She needs one."

  "Whatever you think."

&
nbsp; She moved past him to the refrigerator and took out a freshly made pitcher of "berryblue" flavored Kool-Aid. She poured a glassful and took it to the table.

  Seizing the glass, Heaven quickly swallowed a big gulp.

  "See, she's better already," Katrina said.

  The library meeting room had been recently remodeled in dark paneling that gave it the air of an intimate den. The lighting leaned toward dim, and the carpeting was thick and soft. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes being held on request or those awaiting return to other libraries.

  Gabrielle wandered in, feeling a bit uncomfortable. She had slipped on her wire-rimmed glasses to drive, and she kept adjusting them as she looked around at the sporadic clusters of people talking and sipping coffee from paper cups.

  They all seemed to know each other, but she recognized no one. The woman they had talked to at the restaurant, Mrs. Richardson, was nowhere in sight. She found herself wishing Katrina had come along, wondering if she would have been better off staying at home. More comfortable certainly, safer. She could have slept a little later if Heaven allowed it and then curled up with a book after fixing some breakfast and turning Heaven loose with the cartoons.

  She had a stack of romance novels which had been passed on by a friend at the office. She could have spent the day working through them, reading stories about people whose love lives worked out.

  She lingered around the door as the chatter from various conversations mingled into a hubbub. She had never been good at breaking ice. If she hadn't been pretty enough to draw some attention in high school, her shyness might have kept her a wallflower.

  Even Dave, back in college, had had to be persistent. They'd met while studying in the school library, but he'd had to stalk her through the rows of metal bookshelves for almost an hour before making contact.

  She began looking at the faces of the people in the crowd, hoping to sight the Richardson woman so she could approach her and say she was Katrina's friend. She felt awkward standing around by herself, as if people were noticing her from the corners of their eyes and wondering who she was and why she had invaded their activity.

  She was half considering making her way back to her car, poking around the mall for a while before picking up Heaven. Except she'd have to confess to Katrina who would give her a lecture. Gab didn't want to hear warnings about stagnation.

  "Excuse me."

  Turning, she found herself looking into the face of a young man with sandy hair and blue eyes. He was tall and attractive in his way, with a squared chin.

  "I'm looking for Mrs. Webster. Do you know which one she is?"

  "I'm afraid I'm lost too," Gabrielle said. She realized her tone was cool. Her protective mechanism had kicked in, sealing her emotions inside her.

  He looked past her at the crowd. "I don't know what she looks like," he said. "I've only spoken with her on the phone."

  He adjusted some books under one arm and checked his watch. He certainly is tall, Gab thought, and his dress is a little more casual than that of the others. He wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a leather jacket that hung open to reveal a stylish shirt.

  "I'm on time," he said. "I guess she's late."

  Realization began to sink into Gabrielle's brain. "You're the writer?"

  "Uh, yeah. I'm Jake."

  "Jake Tanner."

  He's just a writer, she reminded herself. No big deal. That is just what he does for a living. He's human, just like anybody at the office or the grocery store. It's not every day you meet a writer, though. Books are found in stores or libraries, but the people who write them live far away somewhere. You don't meet them.

  "So you're reading this morning," she said, almost wincing at the inadequacy.

  One corner of his mouth twitched, and it was a bit of a relief to realize he was nervous too. "Yeah. I don't know what the people here are going to think of it. I've always thought they were geared more toward literary things."

  He held up a copy of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. "I guess I'll give them a try," he said. "I finally sold something to EQMM, so maybe it's worthy."

  "I'm sorry I haven't read your books yet. But I've heard they're very clever."

  "They sell well here since I'm local," he said. "And I guess they move in other places. I'm getting ready to start a series."

  "Really."

  "My agent has an editor interested. I've been doing paperbacks, but these will be hardbacks."

  "That's wonderful." She was trying not to seem phony in her admiration. He couldn't be more than thirty. He must be very determined.

  "Uh, I don't, uh, know your name," he said.

  She was about to answer him when someone rushed past her.

  "There he is. There's our author."

  The woman was heavy, and her wavy hairdo would have been at home on a sixteen-year-old's head. On hers it looked out of place. Though past fifty, she did some clever things with makeup that were almost effective.

  "Mr. Tanner, I'm Delilah Webster."

  "My strength is in my hair," he said.

  She guffawed and took his arm. "Come this way."

  He cast a fleeting glance at Gabrielle before he was dragged into the crowd. People quickly converged around him.

  It happens every time, Gab thought. Just when they're breaking ground. Feeling defeated, she took a seat near the back of the room. At least she'd hear him read. That was what she'd come for anyway, not to make any connections. Besides, she'd probably misinterpreted his interest. If she hadn't been rescued she might have embarrassed herself.

  There it was again, that feeling of inferiority. No matter how many times she was assured she was pretty, she couldn't shake her insecurities. Nervously, she smoothed her skirt, wondering if its cut made her look overweight.

  After a few more minutes of milling around, they introduced Tanner, and he took his place at the podium. He seemed more at ease at the speaker's stand than he had in conversation. Though she would have died at being in front of a group, for him it seemed natural.

  He made brief remarks that drew laughs before launching into the story. It was more involved than she had expected, not a straightforward mystery. It was told in the first person, that being a young man who encounters a friend and slowly finds out the friend has just murdered his lover.

  The ending was chilling, and she found herself literally on the edge of her seat, leaning forward as he read the final words in a quivering voice. The emotion of the story was catching him too. He closed the cover of the small magazine softly and bowed his head slightly as people in the room began to clap. A slight smile crossed his face now, a sign of the nervousness returning. He was unsure of how to accept the crowd's reaction.

  After a few moments, he began to answer questions, queries about publishing, the writing process and the plotting of mystery stories. These he fielded without discomfort, walking around the side of the podium to lean against it.

  Finally the session drew to a close, and a few people tugged out paperback copies of his novels for him to sign.

  Gabrielle slipped from her chair and eased out the back door of the meeting room, feeling lost as the crowd formed again. She was about to climb into her car when she heard his voice again. He was calling out to her.

  "I still didn't get your name."

  Her palms tingled, and a nervous lump formed in her stomach. Why were these things so difficult?

  He walked toward her nervously, his tennis shoes squeaking as they struck the surface of the parking lot.

  She introduced herself. "I thought you did a very good job in there," she said.

  "They seemed to like it. Maybe I'll sell a few books. At least it gives me a chance to get out a bit. Writers spend a lot of time hovering over their computer terminals. It's a bit monastic."

  "The way accountants hover over their ledgers?"

  "I guess. You're an accountant?"

  She nodded.

  "Does your time budget include lunch today?"

  The clever
approach made her cautious. "I would've thought you'd want to linger in there awhile, basking in admiration."

  He laughed. "Not really. They have other business to discuss."

  Should she tell him about Heaven? That might immediately scare him off. Which was actually better, she decided. Let him run now if he had a problem.

  "I was supposed to pick up my daughter. I guess I could call my friend who's keeping her and let her stay a little longer."

  He grinned. "You aren't married, are you? Did I just walk out on another limb?"

  "Do authors have problems with lunching with married women?"

  "I write stories about murder. I don't want some jealous husband coming after me with a gun."

  "My husband's in California, and he's an ex." Gabrielle held up her left hand and wiggled the appropriate finger. "You were right when you checked it."

  He grinned, flustered a bit at being caught. Still, she figured it couldn't hurt to let him know she could be clever too.

  He was waiting in his car, an ancient blue Cutlass convertible. Since the sun was high he'd rolled the top back.

  She tossed her purse onto the seat and climbed in beside him, maintaining her cool act for the time being. No need to let all of her secrets be known. They could lower their shields over lunch. For the moment the war was still on. He was a man after all, and she was a woman. They were natural enemies.

  She found herself quivering inside at the thought of even casual involvement. I should have run to my car, she thought. I could have avoided this.

  Things were stable in her life. Except for the attention Heaven required, and the occasional anxiety over Heaven's well-being—was she selfish in that?—she was comfortable and reluctant to jeopardize her peace by introducing another variable.

  Yet as Tanner backed the convertible from the parking slot and pulled onto the street, she made no effort to escape. She'd already proven to herself that men could not control her or destroy her.

  Heaven consumed her hot dog without showing any signs of mental confusion or fear. In fact, she performed the task with single-minded determination. The food disappeared into her mouth in almost magical fashion.