by Ray Garton
“But you have to understand,” Mrs. Frangiapani said, “that this isn’t a place for you anymore—you can leave. Are you listening to Mrs. Frangiapani?”
“Where’s the flashlight?” David said. He stood in the dining room doorway. When he saw the boys, his chin slowly dropped.
Jenna thought about the flashlight and remembered where it was. “I’m sorry, honey—it’s in the basement.”
“The basement?”
They spoke in low tones. The boys did not seem to notice.
Jenna said, “Arty took one of their religious icons down there and something scared him. He dropped the light.”
“So he probably left it on. Do we have batteries?”
“On the shelf over the washer and dryer in the laundry room.”
David sighed. “So I’m going to have to go down those stairs in the dark,” he muttered as he turned to go back through the dining room.
Miles shot to his feet. “Just a second, Dad,” he said as he hurried out of the room and through the entryway.
Jenna stood and shouted, “Miles! Come back here!”
“It’ll just take a second!” Miles called as he ran up the stairs.
She heard him run down the upstairs hall to his bedroom. A few seconds later, he thumped down the stairs. He went down the hall to the kitchen and appeared beside David in the dining room doorway. He handed David his penlight, already turned on.
“Thanks, Miles,” David said, and headed back through the dining room.
Miles followed him.
“Miles, come back in here,” Jenna said.
“Okay,” he called from the dining room.
“Now, you boys listen to Mrs. Frangiapani,” the old woman said. “You need to leave here now. Just let yourself rise up and up and leave this place. The fat man has no power over you, he can’t stop you from—”
Faint, whispered voices, terse and frightened—the boys:
“He’s coming.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Go, go, go!”
“No, don’t go away!” Mrs. Frangiapani said. “You have no reason to be afraid!”
The figures in the dark dissolved and the room grew colder.
Instead of going out the kitchen’s rear door, down the hall, and back to the living room with Mom, Miles went to the laundry room. He did not feel safe in the dark and wanted his flashlight back. He went to the open basement door and peered down the stairs. He heard Dad’s footsteps on the dirt floor below, saw the narrow beam of his penlight moving through the darkness. He decided to wait there for Dad to come back up.
Seconds after the temperature dropped in the living room a second time, something rose up from the floor. It looked to Jenna like a dense swarm of gnats, a cloud of undulating blackness.
Mrs. Frangiapani stumbled backward as the cloud engulfed her. It swirled around her silently, then contracted, moving in close around her. It flexed like a muscle, and Mrs. Frangiapani cried out before collapsing onto the floor.
Lily came up off the couch.
The black cloud dropped slowly, then disappeared into the floor.
Jenna and Lily went to Mrs. Frangiapani. The old woman lay on her back, arms out at her sides.
“Mrs. Frangiapani,” Lily said, “can you hear me?”
Jenna picked up Mrs. Frangiapani’s right hand and rubbed the back of it. The old woman stirred, whimpered as Lily checked her wrist for a pulse.
“Should we get her on the couch?” Jenna asked.
“No, let’s leave her here for the time being,” Lily said. “Her pulse is good.”
“What do we do now?” Jenna said as they stood.
“To be honest, Mrs. Kellar,” Lily said, “I’m not sure.”
“Call me Jenna.” She turned and looked down at the spot on the floor where Miles had been sitting—he was not there. He had not come back in the room yet. She turned to the entryway, but he was not there, either. Her heart quickened its pace. “Miles! Miles, where are you?”
Miles stepped out of the laundry room and shouted, “I’ll be there in a second.”
“Come in here right now, Miles,” she said in the living room.
Dad’s footsteps started back up the stairs, and Miles hurried back to the basement door. Dad came up with the penlight in his mouth and the long black Mag-Lite shining in his right hand.
“It still works,” Miles said as he stepped back to let Dad into the laundry room.
Using his right hand, Dad clumsily took the penlight from his mouth and handed it over to Miles. “Wait here,” he said.
As Dad walked into the kitchen, Miles looked at the penlight and muttered, “It’s got spit on it now.” He wiped it on his jeans
Dad got something from a drawer, put it in his pocket, then came back to the laundry room. “Come down with me. I need your help.”
“Really?” Miles said.
“Come on, you go first.”
Miles aimed the penlight straight ahead as he started down the basement stairs. From behind him, Dad’s flashlight lit up the narrow staircase.
The light coming from behind Miles disappeared, leaving only the narrow beam of his penlight, which flickered out. Miles turned and looked up the stairs just as Dad pulled the door shut.
Dad faced the door at the top of the stairs, the flashlight tucked beneath his right arm. He threw a bolt lock on the inside of the door, then turned around and came down the stairs. The flashlight’s beam hit Miles directly in the eyes and made him glance away, but when he looked again, Dad had removed from his pocket the biggest knife from Mom’s knife drawer in the kitchen.
The penlight slipped from Miles’s trembling hand, hit one of the stairs, then fell through into the darkness below the staircase.
In a gravelly voice that wasn’t quite his, Dad said, “Go on, get down there, you fuckin’ puppy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Saturday, 11:26 p.m.
Jenna bumped into one of the chairs at the table as she hurried through the dining room in the dark. “Miles, where are you?” she said as she entered the kitchen. “David?” she said as she looked around the room. “Miles? Where are you?” She went into the laundry room and listened at the closed basement door. She heard a low, gravelly voice. The words being spoken were unintelligible, but the voice was enough.
“No!” she screamed as she grabbed the doorknob with both hands and tried to open the door. “Leave him alone! Let him go!” The door would not budge. She pounded on the door while trying to open it. “David! David, can you hear me?”
Footsteps rushed into the kitchen.
“It’s locked!” Jenna screamed. “My God, it’s locked!”
Lily and Claudia came into the laundry room, followed by Martha.
“Let me try,” Lily said.
Jenna stepped away from the door. Lily clutched the doorknob with both hands and threw her considerable weight into pulling on it. It would not open.
The basement was cold and damp and so dark that, without Dad’s flashlight, Miles would be unable to see anything at all. Miles tried to scream but could not. He made small breathy sounds as his chest rapidly rose and fell. Once off the stairs, he turned to face Dad as he came down the last few steps. The flashlight beneath Dad’s arm had tipped downward. Miles backed away from him over the dirt floor.
Dad moved differently as he came toward Miles. Hips forward, torso leaning back slightly, he walked with a lazy swagger. His eyes looked sleepy, but his mouth was curled into a grin that made Miles feel nauseated. The blade of the butcher knife he held in his fist looked enormous. Light from the flashlight held under Dad’s right arm flashed on the broad side of the blade.
“Miles?” Mom called in the kitchen. “David?”
Miles gasped at the sound of her voice. Dad did not seem to notice.
“Miles? Where are you?”
Miles backed into a stack of boxes. The damp cardboard felt cold through the back of his long-sleeve blue-plaid shirt. As Dad slowly clo
sed in, Miles became paralyzed. Even his lungs seemed to have frozen up, and he did not breathe. His heart was beating so fast, it seemed to hum in his chest rather than pulse.
“You’re gonna be a good puppy now,” Dad said, his voice low and gravelly and wet. “You’re gonna do as I say, or I’m gonna pound on you awhile. Got that, puppy?”
Miles wanted to nod his head “yes” and do whatever he was told, but he could not move.
Dad stopped a couple feet in front of him.
“No!” Mom screamed. She pounded on the basement door, struggled with the knob. “Leave him alone!, Let him go! David! David, can you hear me?”
Dad cocked his head a moment, as if to listen.
It’s not Dad! Miles’s mind screamed within the walls of his skull. It’s not Dad, it’s the fat man! Remember that! It’s not Dad!
“You gonna answer me?” Dad said. He hadn’t been listening to Mom at all, just waiting for Miles to respond.
Miles opened his mouth, but instead of talking, he began to breathe again, to pant. He nodded his head.
“Get down on the floor,” Dad—the fat man—said.
He moved quickly and got down on his hands and knees.
“On your back.”
He still could hear Mom’s voice on the other side of the door at the top of the stairs. She was talking with someone else and she sounded panicky, but it was just noise to Miles, because the fat man wanted him to lie down on his back in the dark and the only thing Miles could think was What is he going to do to me with that knife? His mind was too filled with horrifying possibilities to think about what Mom was saying. He found he was unable to move again.
“I said, get on your back.” The last four words were not shouted, but the way he said them—teeth clenched, spitting, growling—was worse.
With great effort, Miles forced himself to lie down on his back on the cold, lumpy dirt floor.
Dad towered over Miles, grinned down at him.
Miles remembered what had happened when Mom had hit Dad’s injured hand with a dictionary—he had become himself again. Miles could do that. Dad’s hand was in such pain already that he wouldn’t need a fat dictionary to hurt him, he could use his fist.
Dad knelt down, straddled Miles with his knees—It’s not Dad!—touched the flat of the blade to Miles’s cheek, and chuckled.
“You’re gonna be a good puppy now, aren’t you?” he said as he slid the knife’s large blade beneath Miles’s shirt.
“Why is this door locked?” Lily said. The door would not budge.
Jenna spoke rapidly. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know there was a lock on this door.”
“Claudia, call Chief Winningham,” Lily said. The feeling of dread she’d experienced in her visions filled her lungs like water and all she could think about was Miles.
Jenna stood in front of the washing machine, wringing her hands and breathing too fast, cheeks wet with tears. Martha was beside her with an arm across her shoulders.
“We’re not in his jurisdiction,” Jenna whispered, her words trembling. “We’re outside the city limits. Call the Sheriff’s Department. 911.”
Lily turned to Martha. “Would you call 911? Please?”
Martha hurried out of the laundry room.
Lily turned to Claudia and said, “Call the chief. Tell him to get back over here right away.”
“Do you think we need him?” Claudia asked. “I mean, with the Sheriff’s Dep—”
Lily moved close to Claudia and whispered in her ear, “I want his skeptical ass here to see this.”
“Are you kidding?” Claudia said.
“I’m not kidding. I want him here.”
“My cell phone’s in the living room,” Claudia said.
Lily said, “Check on Mrs. Frangiapani while you’re there.”
Claudia nodded and left the laundry room.
Lily was startled by a hand on her shoulder and spun around to find Jenna standing close.
Jenna spoke too fast in a half-whisper. “Ada said something to me—Ada, that’s the medium who came here for a sitting. She said the reason people only need to see her once or twice is that, by then, they’ve figured out they can talk to the dead themselves. She said anybody could do it. Might not get a response, she said, but it might be worth a try.”
“You know what, Jenna? You might have something there.” She turned to the basement door again and stood there a moment, thinking. She shouted at the door, “We know your secret, Leonard. Everybody knows. All the people who thought you were such a good guy—they all know now.”
Jenna suddenly moved forward a few steps and screamed, “Let go of my little boy, you bastard! Don’t hurt him! He’s your grandson, your own grandson!”
Lily put an arm around Jenna and led her back to the washing machine. She whispered in Jenna’s ear, “Please try to calm down, Jenna. Let me do this, okay?”
Jenna rubbed one hand down over her face as she nodded.
Lily went back to the door. “Everybody knows what kind of man you are, Leonard. Chief Winningham, everyone at the Eureka PD—your secret’s out.”
Martha returned to the laundry room and said, “Are we talking to Leonard?” She moved closer to the door and shouted, “This is Martha, Lenny. Remember me? You were a lousy lay, Lenny. You hear me? Screwing you was like screwing a little boy. Turns out that’s what you wanted all along. You’re a sick, pathetic coward, Leonard, and now everybody knows it. It’ll be in the paper and people will—”
A horrible sound erupted down in the basement—a growling, gurgling scream—and Jenna moved toward the door, one hand on her hip, the other on top of her head, clawing at her scalp. Her eyes were open to their limit and the corners of her mouth were pulled back in a grin of fear.
And the horrible sound went on.
A whimper escaped Miles when he felt the cold blade against his stomach. Dad cut off the buttons of his shirt one at a time. Miles heard shouting upstairs, but it sounded distant, far away. He stared up at Dad—It’s not Dad!—and glanced at the lump in his sweatshirt that was his arm in a cast and sling. Miles waited for the right moment. But he didn’t know if he could do it. It meant causing Dad a lot of pain—Miles did not want to do that. But maybe it was the pain of being hit that had allowed Dad to separate himself from the fat man. In that case, Miles had no choice.
“Goddamned women,” Dad muttered. He grinned down at Miles. “I don’t know what I wanna do to you first.” He pressed the tip of the blade to Miles’s throat. “Mebbe first, I’ll make damned good and sure you won’t struggle while I have my fun.”
Suddenly, a different voice rang out from above, clear and angry: Grandma’s.
“This is Martha, Lenny. You remember me? You were a lousy lay, Lenny. You hear me?”
Dad straightened his back and looked up at the door.
“Screwing you was like screwing a little boy.”
Hearing Grandma say that made. Miles wonder if he was dreaming.
Dad made a sound like a growl as he listened.
Miles realized the moment had come. Dad’s attention was on the door. Miles swung his right fist without thinking about it—otherwise he might never have done it. It connected with the back of Dad’s left hand.
Dad screamed as he fell back and off of Miles, who crawled backward. Dad dropped the Mag-Lite as he writhed on the floor and cried out in pain. Miles, suddenly on hands and knees, scurried over and grabbed it up. He could use it as a weapon, if necessary.
Dad sat up with his back against one of the wooden support beams beneath the stairs, legs spread, one knee bent. Perspiration glistened on his face. “Miles?”
Miles gasped when he heard his dad’s voice, not the fat man’s. “Dad?”
“Miles. Run. Get out of here. Now.” He sounded hoarse and exhausted, but there was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.
Miles did as he was told. His shirt had already been untucked, and now it hung open in front, its buttons somewhere on the dirt floor. He stepp
ed over Dad’s leg on his way to the stairs.
A hand closed on his left ankle and sent him pitching forward. He landed facedown in the dirt.
“Not so fast, puppy.”
Claudia returned to the laundry room and whispered to Lily, “He said he’s on his way. You should see the living room.”
“What? Why?” Lily said.
“She’s up and talking again, sitting on the sofa.”
“Talking to the boys?”
“Yes. The living room’s full of them. I had to go around to get in, because I didn’t want to disturb them.”
“Okay, let’s leave her alone and let her work.” Lily was amazed by how well Claudia was holding up. Lily’s hands were trembling and her voice was dry and cracked, all from fear. “You’re sure handling all this well.”
“Are you kidding?” Claudia said. “I’m about to crap my pants.”
Lily whispered, “I may join you.” She turned to Jenna. Martha stood beside her with an arm around Jenna’s shoulders again. Lily said, “Is there a window down there?”
Jenna shook her head. “No, nothing. It’s just a hole in the ground with cinder-block walls and a dirt floor. Shouldn’t we be doing something? There’s an ax around here someplace—we should be looking for it.”
“Where is it?” Claudia asked. “I’ll go. I need to get out of here.”
Jenna said, “Behind the garage, where all the wood is stacked, maybe leaning against the wall.”
Claudia hurried out as Lily turned to the basement door again. She was tempted to go out through the dining room to see for herself what Mrs. Frangiapani was up to, but she was unable to tear herself away from that door. Hoping to distract him from Miles, if nothing else, she continued talking to Leonard Baines.
Dad rolled Miles over and straddled him again on his knees. He backhanded Miles, hit his cheekbone with the butt of the butcher knife’s black handle, which protruded from the bottom of his fist. Miles cried out in pain, and the ground tilted beneath him for a moment.
“What kind of man are you, Leonard?” said a voice on the other side of the door. “You prey on children. You’re a coward—Martha was right. And she would know, wouldn’t she? She told us how childish and pathetic you were in bed.”
