Nightmare Child

by Ed Gorman

  Letting a sob fill her throat, Diane started dropping the car into a forward gear, then slamming it back into re-verse in order to get traction and pull away from the wall of snow. Even through the closed window, she could smell tire rubber burning.

  Jeff's gloved hand appeared from nowhere and started opening the door. Somewhere behind him, Mindy was shouting again.

  Jeff's hand reached through the opening between the door and post.

  Diane pulled the door shut quickly and viciously, making Jeff cry out.

  Just then the car shot backward once again, both rear tires finally obtaining traction.

  This time it was Mindy who she ran into as she escaped, Mindy throwing herself on the trunk of the car and beating on the back window, her glowing eyes larger and more furious now. Diane deliberately fishtailed this time so that Mindy was hurled off the trunk and thrown into the wall of snow.

  Once on the street, Diane did not look back. She just drove, sobbing as she went. All she could think of was poor Jenny trapped in that terrible house and unable to escape.

  Then she thought of empty faces and glowing eyes.

  From two miles away, Diane could see the smoke smudge the dusk sky, heavy black smoke in several columns against wintry, crimson clouds, a silver slice of crescent moon in the west.

  Roadblocks had been placed at several main intersections, traffic rerouted around the seven-block area affected by the fire. Diane listened to updates on the radio as finally, she realized she'd gone as far as she could by car. Pulling into an alley behind a medical complex, Diane parked her car and locked it, then set off walking.

  The air, which should have been clear on such a chilly evening, was instead heavy with smoke. Diane coughed as she moved down crowded sidewalks toward the sky that was lighted now with dozens of emergency lights flashing across the clouds. Nearby, backup fire trucks rumbled down brick streets and emergency band radios crackled through the night like distant gunfire.

  Huddling in her coat; not expecting to be this cold, Diane broke into a trot…

  As she neared the intersection that was completely cordoned off, and where a block of buildings shot yellow-red dragon fire into the smoky sky, she saw a group of officials huddled around a police van.

  The closer she got, the more she saw everything in silhouette, dozens of men in rubber fire suits standing in relief against smoke and fire and lights. Several different TV crews competed for position by running cameras as close to the burning buildings as officials would let them get. For Diane, this was a scene from hell—nature out of control, small men doing mighty battle against what seemed, at present, anyway, an implacable foe. An uncle of hers had been a fireman and had died of smoke inhalation. She'd never forgotten the man, and every time she was around a fire, she thought of him and his early death, and the way her mother had mourned for years afterward.

  "Get the hell back, lady!" shouted a young fireman, drenched with water and holding a fire axe in his hand. "Nobody's allowed past that rope. Can't you read?" He sounded enraged.

  An idiotic idea came to Diane. She would explain to this young man about her uncle and then he'd understand…

  Shaking her head, hating her need for approval even under such circumstances as these, Diane said, as forcefully as possible, "I'm looking for the police Chief. Have you seen him?"

  "No, I haven't," the fireman said. "Now, get the hell back!"

  She was just about to give in to him when a familiar voice shouted, "Diane! Over here!"

  From the left side of the frenzy she glimpsed Robert Clark moving quickly toward her. Dressed in a gray gabardine topcoat with a black fedora, he managed to look both dashing and official.

  "It's all right," Clark said to the fireman, who merely shrugged and walked away. To Diane, he said, "People get a little testy after a while."

  She nodded. "I'm sure I would, too."

  "It's great to see you. And a surprise."

  "I was wondering if I could borrow you for a few minutes."

  He glanced around. "Sure. Even though the fire's still burning, everything seems to be pretty much under control. At least they've got it isolated now. Just give me a minute."

  Moving back toward the knot of men gathered around a hook-and-ladder truck, Clark had a conversation that seemed especially animated in silhouette—lots of gesturing and nodding and pointing. Finally, after giving them something resembling a salute, he moved away from the truck and came back to Diane.

  "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry."

  She said, "I'll just have coffee. I'm too keyed up."

  "I should stay within walking distance of the fire." She smiled. "That leaves us a choice of Arby's or Ma's Place."

  He smiled back. "Any place named 'Ma's' is bound to be bad."

  She laughed. "I'm afraid I agree."

  The restaurant was crowded with young married couples and their children. The aroma of roast beef and French fries hung pleasantly over everything. I can just taste all the cholesterol, Diane thought to herself.

  They took a booth near the back. Black night filled the windows. As Robert Clark went back up front for the napkins neither of them had remembered to bring, Diane looked out the window at a man and his small daughter in the parking lot. The wind was becoming so strong that they were being blown around as if in a hurricane. Finally, the man managed to get the car door open and his daughter installed in the front seat. Then he had to go through the arduous business of walking around the car and getting in on the driver's side.

  "I just noticed something," Clark said, sitting down and setting napkins in front of them.

  "That I went ahead and snuck a few French fries?"

  "You did?"

  "I confess."

  "Well, since I'm the Police Chief, I guess I can refuse to press charges." His bantering tone ceased. He looked at her somberly. "You're afraid of something."

  "How can you tell?"

  "Little things. I've never seen you bite your nails before, but you take a nibble every few minutes tonight. And the sighing. You're pretty good at it."

  "Anything else?"

  "Your eyes. Very lovely as always, but very troubled, too. In fact, a few times you looked on the verge of tears."

  "I sound like pretty great company."

  He surprised her by reaching across the table and taking her hand. "That's one thing you never have to worry about, Diane. You're always great company."

  Then he sat back, almost boyishly, and ate his formidable meal of roast beef sandwich, small order of fries, and vanilla shake. A few times, to complete the boyish image, he managed to have a vanilla moustache painted across his upper lip.

  Several times, Diane tried to bring up what she'd seen that afternoon, and tell Robert everything that had happened. She thought again of Jenny's voice, asking for her help. She still felt guilty for leaving the McCay's place, but, given the fact that Mindy and Jeff had been coming back, she'd really had little choice.

  Or was she simply rationalizing away her own cowardice?

  "Now's as good a time as any."

  Diane, lost in her own thoughts, glanced up from her coffee. "Pardon me?"

  "I said now's as good a time as any—to tell me what's bothering you so much."

  "I suppose you're right."

  "I know I'm right. You really need to talk, Diane. You look more worried by the minute."

  "I just keep thinking of Jenny."

  "So something did happen this afternoon. I had a feeling that was it."

  "I think I really let her down."

  "Tell me about it," he said.

  And so she did, the story coming out in a jumble of words and images. She described the appearance of the house, the curious circle on the kitchen floor with its evidence of animal slaughter, the dead animals upstairs, the feces and blood on the walls, and Jenny's voice, which curiously seemed to follow her throughout the upstairs.

  "So you never actually saw her?" Clark asked.

  "No."

&nbs
p; "Did you have any sense of which room she might have been in?"

  "No."

  "Did you call out to her?"

  "Yes."

  "But you never actually saw her?"

  "No."

  "Then you left?"

  Diane could tell by his tone that he thought it odd that she'd leave before finding Jenny. "I'm afraid I got scared."

  "From what you're describing, I don't blame you. It sounds pretty eerie."

  "I got frightened because the McCay's were coming back."

  He shrugged. "I'm beginning to understand."

  "You are?"

  He nodded solemnly. "You feel guilty because you left before finding Jenny."

  She felt her cheeks grow warm. "I'm afraid you're right. I wasn't very… brave."

  He touched her hand again. "On the contrary, you were very brave. Even with a gun I wouldn't have been too happy about going into that house as you describe it. A few years ago I worked on a series of satanic murders and I got pretty scared. Damned scared, in fact."

  She thought of the McCays' glowing eyes. Now seemed an ideal time to describe them to him. "So you believe in occult things?"

  He smiled bleakly. "Afraid I don't. These turned out to be some young derelicts who liked to kill people and who had tried to convince themselves that they were following orders from Satan." He shook his head. "Nothing satanic about it, I'm afraid."

  "Oh." She knew then that she would not tell him about the McCays' eyes. Suddenly, sitting there in the busy restaurant, she felt curiously alone, isolated.

  "Did I say something wrong?"

  "No. Why?"

  "You look…sad."

  "No, I'm fine."

  He studied her a moment longer, then said, "Like some more coffee?"

  "Please."

  While he was gone, Diane started thinking of Jenny again. Her voice. Her plea for help.

  "Actually, I wouldn't mind something a little stronger right about now," Clark said, setting down Diane's coffee.

  She looked up, forced a smile, nodded her thanks for the coffee.

  Seated across from her again, he said, "How about tonight?"

  "Tonight?"

  "Sure. We go in the McCay's place."

  "But how—"

  "With a search warrant, of course. You've given me enough to get a warrant with. Sounds like a pretty grotesque example of child abuse of some kind."

  "You're sure? That you can get a search warrant?" He sipped coffee and nodded.

  Diane allowed herself a moment of relief. Now it would all be over and Jenny would be safe. "That would be great."

  "I'll be at your place around nine. If you'll go with me, that is."

  "All right."

  "I don't want to make this any nastier than it has to be. The McCay's may be decent people who went astray somehow. But the blood and the feces—" He shook his head. "That sounds pretty serious."

  "Yes," she said, "it does."

  But what about their eyes, their glowing eyes? Doesn't that sound serious, too? But she knew, sitting there amid the clamor and the freezing wind that scooted up the aisle whenever anybody opened the side door—she knew that she could not tell him about their glowing eyes. It was her vanity. She did not want to put herself in the position of appearing…overwrought. And there's one more thing I should tell you, she could hear herself saying: Their eyes…they glow. Like…space creatures' or something.

  How else to explain them? Had she in her panic simply imagined those terrifying, empty faces? Or were the faces real?

  A little girl's laughter three booths away brought her back to reality. Arby's…Roast beef sandwiches…Little girls in pink parkas. These were the elements of reality…not people with empty faces and burning eyes.

  "Am I allowed to tell you how pretty you look tonight?"

  Coming back to the present, she said, "Now I know you must be interested in me. I'm a mess."

  "Well, if you are, you're the best-looking mess I've ever seen."

  This time, it was she who touched his hand. "I appreciate that, Robert, I really do."

  "One promise, all right?"

  Afraid he was going to say something that would make both of them uneasy, she said, "All right."

  "Don't do anything crazy while I'm gone."

  Relieved that he was talking about the situation with Jenny, she said, "I'm going home and locking my doors and waiting for you. Does that sound crazy?"

  "Not at all. Just don't try to contact the McCay's in any way. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "As I said, I shouldn't be any later than nine or so." He finished his coffee. "Maybe if we get lucky, there'll even be a good movie on the late show."

  She created a pleasant fantasy. "Hot popcorn, apple cider, a cozy fire, and—"

  "Clint Eastwood."

  "You're kidding! I was thinking more of Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand."

  Laughing, he got up, leaned over the table, and kissed her chastely on the forehead. "That's the only thing about you I don't like."

  Standing up, she returned his chaste kiss, putting it on his cheek. "Oh, give me time." She smiled. "You'll find lots of other things to not like about me."

  In cold turned bitter, she walked back to her car, wishing he were still by her side.

  Home meant warmth, home meant comfort, home meant the snug feeling of looking out the front window and watching snow swirl and sprinkle in the silver moonlight.

  On television Bob Newhart was cracking some funny lines with George the handyman. In the kitchen a pot of coffee was brewing and smelling wonderful in the process. Upstairs the electric blanket was already at work, preparing Diane's bed for her.

  She wondered how Robert was coming with the search warrant. He'd said he'd need one before they could get into Jeff and Mindy's place. Just then, the phone rang.

  Assuming it was Robert, she grabbed the receiver and let a smile make her voice rich with warmth. "Hello?"

  A fierce crackling noise filled the receiver's earpiece. She held the phone away and stared at it, as if looking at it would do some good.

  Putting the phone back to her ear, she said, "Hello? I've got a really bad connection on this end." An image came to her of phone lines downed in heavy snow.

  If anything, the connection was worse than before, sounding like pieces of aluminum foil being crinkled.

  "Hello? Why don't you hang up and call back? I can't hear a thing except static."

  Hanging up, she touched her fingers to her face and realized she was trembling. It had been one of those days.

  The phone rang, shrill even above the noise of the television.

  "Hello?" She said.

  The static again. This time it was not quite as bad, but still she could hear nothing.

  Or could she? Faintly, a human voice muttered words hopelessly lost in the roar of the receiver.

  "Hello?" she said again.

  Almost about to hang up once more, the words coming from the other end became slightly more coherent. Goose bumps covered her arms when she was finally able to make sense of the syllables being spoken. "Aunt Diane. It's me, Jenny. I need your help." My God—Jenny!

  "Jenny, listen to me. Where are you?"

  Static.

  "Jenny, can you hear me?" By now, Diane was shouting.

  The static grew so bad that she had to jerk the receiver away from her ear and hold it away from her body.

  She started biting her nails. Robert had been right. She always did that—tiny little nervous bites, like a cannibalistic version of the munchies—when she felt stressed out.

  She lifted the receiver to her ear again. The static was back at its previously tolerable level.

  "Jenny, can you hear me?"

  Distantly, almost as if from another planet, a young girl's voice said, "Yes!"

  "Are you in Mindy's house?"

  Again distantly, the young girl's voice said "Yes!" for the second time.

  "A policeman and I are going to come and get you i
n a little while. Did you understand what I said?"

  At first there was no response, only the wave of static again. Then, Jenny said, even more distantly than before, "I understand."

  "I love you, Jenny. I'm sorry I had to leave you this afternoon."

  Diane's heart broke, thinking again of how she'd been frightened off by Mindy and Jeff, leaving little Jenny alone. Presently, she had an image of Jenny in some dark upstairs room, whispering into the telephone above the static. The room would probably be decorated in savage swaths of red blood and brown feces.

  "Just say your prayers and everything will be all right, Jenny," Diane said. "Do you remember the special prayer I taught you that time? The one to Saint Christopher? He protects the unprotected, Jenny. Pray to him now."

  Faintly, faintly: "I will, Aunt Diane. I will."

  "I love you, Jenny."

  "I love you, Aunt Diane."

  And with that, the connection was broken.

  For the next ten minutes, Diane paced, biting at her thumbnail as she did so.

  She was overwhelmed by this sense of loss and vulnerability, imagining Jenny being held hostage somewhere in that dark and pagan house. She had still not been able to reconcile her impressions of Mindy and Jeff as the most upwardly mobile of yuppies with the two people who had defiled the house next door with satanic rites.

  She had just gone out into the kitchen for a cup of coffee when the phone rang again.

  Jenny?

  Stepping quickly to the yellow wall phone, Diane lifted the receiver and said hello.

  A breathless Robert said, "I got it."

  "Oh?"

  "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you? You've forgotten already, haven't you?"

  "I'm afraid I'm a little spacey today, Robert. Sorry."

  "That's all right. I'm spacey every day." He caught his breath. "I got the warrant. Judge Slocum hemmed and hawed, but he finally came through. I just wanted to tell you that I'm on my way out to your place."

  Knowing she would soon have to go back among the fetid, rank smells of the McCay house, Diane said, "I just want to get Jenny and get out of there."

  "I've even arranged that with the judge. We can take Jenny and you can keep her overnight until the caseworkers move in. Have you ever worked with caseworkers before?"