by Rick Hautala
What amazed him, what he couldn’t believe was that, after all his dreaming and fantasizing, here he was, alone with Julie Sikes.
Again he looked at her. The thick, curly black hair framed her pale face against the flickering view out the side window. He studied the curve of her neck that led down to the swelling of her breasts.
Go ahead! his mind screamed. Reach out! Grab her! Everyone in town has had her, including your brother. Go on! Grab her. Just reach inside her coat and grab her tits! That’s what she probably wants. Why else would she pick you up?
The aching in his crotch began to throb.
You can have her! Take her! Just reach over into her blouse.
“So how’s everything been?” Julie asked.
It sounded innocent, but Ned thought he saw a sly glance in his direction that said a lot more.
“Ahh, pretty good, pretty good,” he answered, trying to sound at ease. “Been pretty busy.”
Julie smiled and looked at him. “Doing what?” she asked intensely.
“Nothing much.”
They drove a while longer in silence. Ned was cursing himself for not carrying on the conversation. He was wondering how he would ever get around to putting some moves on her.
“Did you go to Wendy Stillman’s funeral?” Julie asked after a moment.
Ned shook his head. “Couldn’t. Had to work.”
“Oh. Horrible, wasn’t it?”
Ned nodded and let his eyes wander down to the floor. His gaze immediately fell on Julie’s legs. He saw that they were spread apart slightly, and he wished he had the courage to run his hand up her thigh.
“So young, and to die like that. And no one even knows who or what killed her. I heard someone say that she might have been raped, too. That it might have been a person who did it.”
Ned gulped for a breath of air and managed to say, “I hadn’t heard.”
“Were you at the school decorating that night?” Julie asked. Again she looked at him, and Ned read more than simple conversation.
“No, ummm, I was busy,” he answered.
“So was I,” Julie said, apparently to herself. She dropped her hand into her lap and let it rest there. “Say,” Julie said, “are you planning to go to the Halloween party?”
Ned was afraid to reply, afraid to open his mouth for fear of what would come out. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the slippery sweat of his palms.
“I don’t think so,” he said finally. “I don’t have a date.”
Julie’s hand in her lap moved, and her skirt moved up about three inches. Ned ran his tongue over his dry lips.
“Would you, would you like to go with me?” he stammered. He looked at her intently, trying to mask his intense feelings.
A simple, flat no would have been enough and, feeling the way he did, it would have been accepted. When Julie burst out laughing, Ned felt his face flush with blood. He balled his hands into fists and wanted to hit her but, instead, he looked out the window at the road ahead. His eyes were stinging, and he carefully formed the word “Bitch.”
She had no right to laugh at me, he thought angrily. I should take her right now and teach her a lesson.
Julie’s laughter died away slowly, and then they both sat in silence as she drove up the Bartlett Road. When they came to the end of Ned’s driveway, Julie pulled over to the side of the road.
“It’s going to be dark soon,” she said, “and I’ve got something to do.”
“This is fine,” Ned said weakly. His ears were still stinging from her abusive laughter. He opened the door and stepped out, right into a puddle. Before he got out, though, he turned and looked at her once more. “How come?” he asked. “How come you won’t come with me?” The whining tone of his voice irritated him.
“Huh?” Julie asked dully.
“Why won’t you come to the Halloween party with me?” His foot was still ankle-deep in the water. His sock was thoroughly soaked and his ankle was starting to feel numb.
“Come on, Ned, don’t you think I’m a little too old to be going to something like that? A high school dance?”
“Not really,” he answered feebly. “It’s open to the public, and I know there’ll be other people there who have already graduated.”
“Sorry, Ned,” she said softly, and he thought she almost sounded sincere. She shocked him when she reached out and rested her hand on his leg. She squeezed his thigh slightly and said, “But who knows, maybe we can get together sometime.”
Walking up to his house, Ned was limping, the pain in his crotch was intense. “God, I’d love to get into her pants,” he muttered to himself.
.V.
“Jesus H. Christ!” Bob swore as he shook angrily on the locked cemetery gate. He had heard that, because of some recent vandalism in the cemetery, all but the front gates would be kept locked. He had forgotten all about it. Now he would have to go back up over the hill and walk around.
He looked up at the pointed spikes that lined the top of the iron fence. There was no way he could get up and over them without getting hurt. He shook a cigarette from the pack and lit it before turning back up the hill.
He picked his way carefully between the gravestones. The sun had set completely, and the cemetery pathways were indistinct, the footing unsure. When he reached the crest of the hill, he paused and scanned the small grove of cedars that surrounded the marble pillar where he had been sitting. As he turned to walk down the hill to the road, he caught a glimpse of motion beside the pillar, and when he turned carefully he saw the white cat slink into view.
Bob’s breath snagged in his throat. The animal looked at him intently. It walked back and forth a few times, rubbing its sides against the monument, then it sat down at the base and glared at him.
Bob knew he had to prove that this was just an ordinary animal, that the hunting for mice was good in the graveyard, and this cat had staked out its claim. He bent down and, snapping his fingers, called to the cat.
“Come here, kitty, kitty,” he said in a friendly tone.
The animal stood up and hunched its back.
Bob took a cautious step forward, still clicking his tongue. At first, the animal stood its ground, but just before Bob could have reached out and touched it, it darted away toward the cedars.
The animal moved with a quick feline grace that looked almost unnatural in the dim light. Before disappearing into the trees, the cat paused and looked back at Bob.
Bob threw his cigarette to the ground and followed after the cat. He wondered why he was doing this, why he wasting his time chasing after the animal, but he couldn’t deny the strange compulsion of the mystery he felt about it.
Bob stood for a moment on the edge of the grove, his nerves and muscles tensed. Suddenly a loud hissing-and-spitting screech shattered the quiet of the cemetery. Bob crouched and peered into the darkness under the trees.
Caution! Caution was what he needed now, he decided. He knew he should just leave the animal alone, let it be. It was probably in heat and mating in the grove. Bob knew he should just head on home, but something drew him forward. He entered the cedar grove.
He had taken no more than five steps in the enfolding darkness when that horrible feline shriek sounded again, right beside him. In a quick reflexive move, Bob dropped to his knees and spun around, raising his hands to his face. He recognized the white shape that had launched itself at him from the darkness. There was a sharp stinging on his cheek as the cat’s claws raked across his face.
And then it was gone. As quickly as it had attacked, the white cat vanished into the night. Bob stood up, confused and wondering. His cheek was stinging with pain. He brushed the slash with his fingers and they came away sticky with blood. He turned and ran wildly from the cemetery.
.VI.
The thin tendons in her arms strained and stood out like pencils beneath her skin as Julie carried an armload of groceries toward the house. It was almost nine o’clock.
She got up to the door, fiddled with
the lock until it snapped, and then bumped the door open with her butt.
She dropped the groceries on the counter with a huff. It wasn’t until she turned back around that she saw the man’s jacket hanging on one of the kitchen chairs. She immediately recognized it as Frank’s.
“Hello?” she called out, not too loudly as she walked over and glanced into the darkness of the living room. “Are you in here?”
She flicked on the overhead light and saw that the room was empty. She then moved to the door jamb. The shades were drawn, and she could hear the faint ticking of her alarm clock. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw the mountainous bulk on her bed. She cocked her ear, listening carefully, and then she heard Frank’s shallow breathing.
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” she whispered softly as she went back over to the counter and started putting the food away.
She emptied the bags quickly and was just folding the last empty bag flat when she heard Frank mumble incoherently. Julie tensed. “Please, please don’t wake up.”
“Mmmmmm, no. No! No!” Frank moaned. There was a loud rustling of sheets, followed by a loud thump.
Did he bump the wall or fall out of bed? Julie wondered. The silence descended again, and Julie went over to the sink, where she stood watching the faucet drip for a long time.
On tiptoes, she crept back to the bedroom door and looked in. Frank was lying, spread-eagle, across the bed. Sheets and blankets were tangled around his legs. His breathing sounded louder, more labored. Not wanting to disturb him, Julie was about to leave when she noticed the pile of clothing at the foot of the bed. She looked at it intently, trying to distinguish the clothes from the bedspread.
“Ahhh,” she whispered softly, “there it is.” Glancing over her shoulder, as if afraid that she was being observed, she slid into the darkened room, went over to the bed, and snatched Frank’s shirt from the floor. Cursing the floorboard that creaked under her weight, she sneaked back into the kitchen with the rumpled shirt held tightly in her hand.
Once in the light, she held the shirt out at arm’s length and examined it. “Same one,” she muttered, when she saw where she had cut a small piece of cloth from the shirttail.
Frank’s voice suddenly shattered the silence. “No! God! No!”
Julie quickly rolled the shirt into a ball and held it behind her back. She expected to see Frank come out of the bedroom. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Then she heard Frank turn over in the bed and groan.
She exhaled slowly. Again she held the shirt up for inspection, then she went over to kitchen table and spread it out. The blue cotton was faded and worn.
“Well,” she said, thoughtfully rubbing her chin, “maybe last time I didn’t have enough for it to work. Maybe I need more.” She grasped the shirt by the pocket and gave it a quick tug. The pocket let go easily with a soft hiss. She folded the pocket carefully in half and then put it into one of the counter drawers. She crumpled the shirt back up and threw it back at the foot of the bed.
When the shirt hit the floor, Frank jerked up into a sitting position. “The eyes! The eyes!” he screamed in a hissing voice. “Like fire! Burning, flaming eyes!”
Fighting back the initial surprise, Julie sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed Frank’s shoulders. She shook him wildly. “You’re OK, Frank. You’re just dreaming!”
His arms flailed, trying to beat her away. His eyes were open wide, staring. “No! No! No! Awwwwwwwww.”
“Will you wake up?” Julie shouted. She slapped him sharply on the face. “Goddammit! Wake up!”
Frank dropped back onto the bed. His eyes flickered and then opened. They were wild and glassy. His body was slick with sweat, and his hair was plastered to his forehead.
“Hey, man,” Julie said, more calmly, “you were having one hell of a dream!”
Maybe it is working, she thought excitedly.
She started to rub his shoulders, and she could feel him loosening up. “Take it easy. It was just a dream.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Frank muttered as he rubbed his face with his hands. “Just a dream, but God, it was like no dream I ever had before.”
It really could be working! Julie thought. She made an effort not to let her excitement show.
“God, you wouldn’t have believed it!” Frank said with a deep rattle in his throat.
“You scared the shit out of me when you cried out.”
Frank sat slumped on the bed, his mouth drawn tightly at the corners. His eyes still looked distant and glazed. Air hissed between his teeth as he inhaled. “Christ, it was terrible.”
“Well it’s over now. Just relax,” Julie said soothingly. “What was it? What did you dream about?” she asked.
If it’s just starting to work, maybe it works just on the dream level at first.
A thickness clogged Frank’s voice as he spoke. “I can’t remember for sure. It was something big and dark. It was trying to surround me, to, like, swallow me up.” Frank shivered as the dream came back clearer in his memory. “It felt like it was trying to eat me. Then—Oh, God! Then I saw that it had eyes. Terrible, burning green eyes! And I had this sensation that, like, I was being ripped apart.” His voice cut off with a sharp intake of air.
Julie sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Frank’s shoulders and speaking soft words of comfort. All the while her mind was screaming: It is! It is beginning to work!
Chapter Eight
.I.
Friday, October 31
Bob glanced at his watch as he drove rapidly down Old Jepson’s Road toward the high school. It was almost seven-thirty. The Halloween party started at eight. The janitor was going to let the band in early so they could set up, but Bob wanted to be there too, just to keep an eye on things.
Up ahead on his right, he saw the school parking-lot lights glowing brightly. As he pulled into the parking lot, he could hear the band tuning up. There would be a loud blast of music that would last for a few seconds and then stop abruptly. Bob skidded to a halt near the walkway, making sure to leave his car directly under a streetlight. He noticed Lisa’s car parked off to the side.
He got out of the car, made sure he locked the doors, and then raced up the walkway to the school. In one of the alcoves, he passed a knot of students who were smoking. He wondered what they were smoking, but decided not to take the time to find out yet. It was more important to make sure everything was set for the dance.
When he entered the gym, he saw that the band members had left the stage and were milling around the refreshments table with a group of girls. He also saw that the red spotlight had not been changed, that it still directed its fiery beam onto the middle of the floor. It brought back a clear memory of Wendy, and he had to fight back the pained emotions.
Lisa was standing at the far corner of the gym, silently surveying the scene. Bob almost laughed aloud when he saw that she was dressed like a medieval fairy princess. She was wearing a long gown that trailed a piece of gauze from the pointed cap.
“Fantastic,” he called, as he walked toward her, smiling. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come up with something.”
One of the students standing near the stage looking at the band’s equipment turned around and shouted, “Hey, Mr. Wentworth. I really like your mask!”
He laughed with embarrassment as he joined Lisa. “Well, fair maiden, are you set for a stomping good time tonight?”
Lisa raised the magic wand she held and tapped Bob lightly on the shoulder. “At midnight,” she said solemnly, “you will be transformed into a pumpkin.”
“Oh, great. Just what I need.” He stood beside her and scanned the gym. Indicating the band, he asked, “Are they any good? From what I heard in the parking lot, they sounded pretty loud.”
Lisa smiled. “They have to be loud or they aren’t any good. Don’t you know anything?”
Students were beginning to wander into the gym. At exactly eight o’clock, the band took the stage and lit into their first number. A few students
made it onto the dance floor; others wandered over to the refreshments.
Bob watched as several paper cups were filled with punch. He realized that the punch looked very dark, and he looked over at Lisa. “Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or does that punch look like blood?”
Another cup of punch was poured, and Bob watched the thick red stream fill the cup.
Lisa nodded. “It’s not your imagination. It’s someone’s idea of a joke, I guess. Gruesome, if you ask me.”
Bob rubbed his hands together and said in a ghoulish voice, “Perhaps it is an acquired taste.”
As more students arrived and began dancing, the motion of their bodies sent the crepe decorations swaying gently. The gym started to feel quite warm, so Bob grabbed Lisa’s arm and led her over to the punch bowl. “Let’s take out lives into our hands and try that stuff,” he said.
Lisa shook her head. “You can if you want to. I’ll stick to the water fountain.”
Bob picked up a cup and took a cautious sip. “Ummm. Not bad. Not bad at all,” he said, smiling. “I was right, it is an acquired taste.”
Lisa smirked and looked out at the dancers on the floor. “You can acquire mine,” she said.
The band finished one song and, after barely enough of a pause for applause, they broke into another.
“Hey, I know this one,” Bob said with surprise, when the opening notes of “Satisfaction” filled the gym.
Lisa nodded and walked onto the floor, trailing the gauze behind her. She scooped it up and held it as they danced. Bob noticed that Lisa was keeping a respectable distance from him.
As they moved about the floor, doing steps Bob didn’t even think he remembered, Bob kept surveying the students in the gym. Everybody looked as though they were having fun. The only disappointment was that not many of the students were wearing costumes.
They finished their dance and, as the band worked into another number Bob didn’t recognize, they walked back over to the refreshments to try some of the Halloween cupcakes and cookies. Bob bit into a pumpkin-face cookie. He took the punch ladle and began to stir the tick red punch. He felt a wave of revulsion as he poured a glass and offered it to Lisa.
