by Rick Hautala
This is crazy! This is insane!
A tremor of fear went through her when she considered that it all might be just a dream, and she was somehow aware that she was dreaming. Her throat closed off with an audible click, and her breath felt like bottled fire in her lungs.
“No … no,” she whispered as she stopped in her tracks. Holding up both hands, she stared at them in the eerie blue glow of moonlight and flexed her fingers. When she pinched the back of her hand, the pain was as sharp as a mosquito bite.
“No, damnit! I’m awake!”
In the short time she had taken to do this, the crowd of people had moved away from her, shifting and dissolving into the woods like soft currents of wind. Their torchlights had faded until there were no more than three or four, glimmering like faint stars through the dark tangle of the trees. Dianne had no idea where she was going or what she intended to find out or accomplish, but she forged ahead, following a narrow path that seemed to unscroll before her like a silver ribbon, shimmering in the moonlight. The voices were too distant for her to make out now, but still, hovering just at the edge of hearing, was the keening wail of a baby—a baby who was in great pain.
“What the hell is going on?” she whispered as she followed along the path at a brisk walk. When the way opened up, brightly illuminated by the soft wash of moonlight through the treetops, she broke into a run. The crowd seemed to be moving away from her no matter how fast she went. The night wind whispered softly in her ears, and she had a vague, uneasy sense of other unseen presences lurking in the woods all around her, watching and reaching out to her.
The path suddenly veered up a steep, rocky embankment. Without slowing her pace, she ran up it and found herself on a wide dirt road. The heavy foliage of pine and oak trees hung over the road like curtains. Along the center strip of the road was a Mohawk strip of long grass. Off to her left, she could hear a loud, tearing rush of noise and realized it must be the Saco River.
After checking up and down the road, Dianne started in the direction of the flickering torchlight. Before she had taken more than a dozen steps, she jumped into the brush along the roadside when an old-fashioned Model-A came chugging up behind her. It wound back and forth as its wheels tracked along the ruts in the road. Ducking behind a tree, she watched as a sputtering antique car rattled past. A faint glow of light from the dashboard lit up the two grim-faced men who were sitting in the front seat. Both of them were staring vacantly straight ahead, almost as if they weren’t really watching the road. The driver had a smoldering cigar that glowed like an oversized firefly stuck into one corner of his mouth; the man in the passenger’s seat had a shotgun resting across his lap. The dashboard light reflected off the five-pointed silver stars they had pinned to their shirts.
This is absolutely impossible! Dianne thought, but as soon as the car was past her, she stepped back out onto the road and followed in its wake, choking on exhaust fumes that hung in the air. Up ahead, she could see a large building. A tremendous throng of people was gathered all around it, many of whom were waving torches overhead as they all talked excitedly, hooting and yelling like madmen. Sparks and sooty coils of smoke spewed up into the night sky. The chorus of voices rose and fell as though tangled in the eddies of a fitful wind.
Dianne drew to a halt about a hundred yards or so from the building, at the edge of a wide field. Standing stiffly, she watched in rapt fascination as the crowd faced the old building. She strained to hear what they were saying but still could make no sense of anything. The voices weaved and blended together into one long, incoherent babble. She thought it might just be a trick of her eyes, but it seemed as though the torches burned with a dull, smothered light, as if the air between her and them was too dense to permit the light to pass freely. As people shifted back and forth, she had the distinct impression at times that she could see the torches and the rough, black outlines of the building right through the milling figures.
Above all else, the sound of the crying baby rose so sharply in the night it was like a slender, hot needle, piercing her eardrums.
The Model-A pressed slowly through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea to let it by. After pulling to a stop, both men got out and moved slowly toward the building. The driver walked with a confident strut while the passenger, looking more cautious, held the shotgun up to his shoulder and trained it on one of the windows in the small addition at the back of the building. The driver cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted something, but the sound was lost beneath the confused murmur of the crowd.
What is going on? Dianne wondered. What the hell is this place?
Fear sliced through her like a cold, stainless steel razor blade. Her body was trembling wildly. Sweat covered her face and arms, and made her nightgown cling to her body as if she had just been dunked in the river. She was torn between a frantic urge to run back to her house or move closer to the building so she could find out what was going on, but her body was frozen into immobility. She could do nothing except cover her mouth with both hands to keep from screaming when she saw what happened next.
With a swelling roar that sounded like a deep-throated belch, fire exploded like a gigantic orange flower from the windows and door of the small addition on the back of the building. Glass shattered, tingling like madcap sleigh bells to the ground. Weirdly flickering flames underlit heavy smoke as it rolled up into the sky, looking like a tornado of fire that blotted out the stars. With a single, collective gasp, the crowd fell back, their bodies seemingly made transparent by the raging flames. Firelight etched the lines of everyone’s faces, but all of them looked curiously cold and lifeless. The air was filled with the snap and crackle of burning timbers that exploded like gunfire in the night, but still, above that rose the shrill, agonized wailing of the baby. Before long, other voices joined in the warbling chorus of pained shrieks.
Terrified and entranced, Dianne watched as the fiery jaws opened wide and, like a hungry mouth, consumed the far end of the building. Through the sheet of flame, she thought she saw movement. Several people were moving about inside the building. She shielded her eyes with her hand as the heat pounded against her face with a hammering, prickly sting.
It’s real! I can feel the heat!
In spite of the heat, the two men from the Model-A stood their ground at the front of the crowd. Then there came the clean, sharp snap of gunfire. The man holding the shotgun grasped his chest with one hand and doubled over, falling to his knees. The shotgun dropped from his nerveless hand before he pitched face-first onto the ground. The other man dodged to one side, quickly bent down and snatched up his fallen companion’s shotgun, and then, going down on one knee, aimed at the burning building and blasted off two quick shots. A wild scream of pain sounded from behind the wall of flame. As the echoing thunder of the double shotgun blasts faded away like thunder, the fire suddenly died down as if it was being controlled by a dimmer switch. With a nearly audible whoosh, the thick, black night closed down around the scene like a curtain at the end of a play.
“Oh, my sweet Jesus,” Dianne muttered, staring in utter amazement at the building. Her legs suddenly gave out on her, and she sank slowly to her knees.
Everything was gone!
The crowd, the torches, the flames, the smoke, even the screeching cry of the baby. All of it. Gone.
The only thing that remained was the looming, dark hulk of the building, which stood out like a huge, black cutout against the star-sprinkled sky. A moist breeze wafted across Dianne’s sweat-streaked face, chilling her. From far off in the woods, an owl hooted. Overhead, a dozen or more bats darted back and forth, slicing the sky above the building like boomerangs.
What in the name of God is going on? Dianne wondered as she knelt there on the ground. How could something that had seemed so real simply vanish in an instant? She had seen and heard the people; she had smelled the smoke from their kerosene-soaked torches and the exhaust from the Model-A; and she had felt the hammering heat of the blaze. How could it all be go
ne just like that?
She was drained and exhausted, no longer able to sustain the high level of fear raging inside her. Feeling wrung out and numb, she got slowly to her feet and took a few steps toward the building. It loomed like a mountain against the night sky.
The building, she thought—at least that is real enough. But what in the name of Jesus is it?
It looked like an old factory or mill or something. Edward had lived nearby all his life, in the house not more than a mile from here through the woods. He certainly had to know about it. Why had he never even mentioned it to her?
And who—or what—were those people whose actions had lured her out here in the middle of the night?
They were gone now, and Dianne was left with the uncanny feeling that they had never really been here. Were they something she had imagined or hallucinated? Was her mind that messed up from her medication? If—somehow—they really had been here, how could they disappear so fast? Did she pass out or something after the fire had broken out and the gunshots had started? But it couldn’t have been for long. What the hell was going on?
She stared up at the building, its angled roof glowing eerily blue in the moonlight. Her glance darted back and forth between the vacant windows as she started walking slowly toward it through the knee-high grass and weeds. She stumbled now and again, but she held her course. Her gaze was focused on the far end of the building where she could clearly see the ruins of fallen timbers. No smoke trailed from it up into the sky, but she could easily imagine that the pile of rubble was charred black and still smoldering with glowing embers. She intended to go up to it and find out. Had this place burned flat tonight?
But once she crossed the weed field and entered the moon-cast shadow of the building, her attention was drawn to one of the large open windows directly in front of her. She stopped in her tracks and stared intently up at the black void that looked as solid, as dimensionless as polished marble.
A wave of vertigo swept through her as she stared up at the window, trying hard to focus on it. Everything in her field of vision went blurry and wiggly. She felt herself being pulled toward the window, and had to fight the vivid impression that she was falling down into a black void that had slid open underneath her.
Her breath hitched painfully in her throat when she caught a flicker of motion, black against black, inside the window. Unable to move or react, she watched as the blackness took shape. It folded outward, rippling like thick tar until the features of a sleek, black face resolved. Cold light highlighted the features that leered at her like a horribly underlit Halloween mask.
“Jesus … No!”
It was an old woman’s face. Her expression was frozen into a horrible grimace as she stared at Dianne with a wide, unblinking gaze. A deep furrow under her left eye gave her a horribly distorted look, as though one half of her face was made of black wax that had started to melt. Her frozen expression was one of astonishment … pure shock, as if death had caught her by surprise. Age lines crosshatched her features with dark, crooked gashes. Her thin lips were cracked, and her mouth was opened as if she was about to speak. As Dianne watched, horrified, the woman’s head suddenly snapped back violently. There was a loud crack sound that Dianne knew was a bone, breaking. With a faint, strangled scream, the apparition’s mouth sagged open like melting wax. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and from far away, Dianne heard a hoarse gagging sound as the woman’s tongue wiggled out from between her broken teeth like a bloated, black slug.
Dianne started to scream—a low, warbling sound that gradually gathered strength deep inside her chest, but it was muffled, trapped behind the wires that clamped her jaw shut. Her vision pulsated with flickering light that kept time with her racing pulse. The woman’s face, frozen like a mask carved out of black marble, glowed so brightly out of the darkness that it hurt Dianne’s eyes. Then, with a loud, dull concussion, the face disappeared, swallowed by the deeper blackness inside the window.
Feeling completely dissociated from her body, Dianne somehow found the strength to start running. She was aware of nothing but her blinding need to get away from this building. Like a disembodied spirit, she dashed through the field, down the dirt road, and into the woods. She wasn’t even certain if this was the way back to the house, but for now it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except getting away from that building and whatever horror was inside it.
Her arms and legs pumped furiously, and her breath roared into her lungs as she ran; but no matter how fast she ran, she was filled with the hollow, terrifying fear that the face of the old woman was following close behind her, staring at her, drilling the back of her head with vacant, death-filled eyes. And through the turmoil inside her mind, the only clear thought Dianne had was to get away … get away …
If she possibly could!
Chapter Nineteen
Unraveling
Early that next morning, Edward was surprised when he walked into the kitchen and found Dianne sitting at the breakfast table. She looked peculiarly slouchy, supporting her head with both hands with her elbows on the table. Her hair looked damp and disheveled, as though she had just stepped out of the shower and had not bothered to dry or comb it.
“Hey—” he said, taking a surprised step backward. “How long’ve you been up?”
“A while,” Dianne replied, her voice a raspy whisper as she shook her head and looked right through him out the window. Her eyes shimmered with a distant glow as though she had been staring for a long time at something far away.
Edward felt a tightening nervousness as he watched her. Obviously something was seriously wrong, but it was too early for him to think clearly. She looked so wound up and ready to explode that he didn’t want—or dare try—to pry out of her what the problem was. He said nothing as he shuffled over to the sink and got the automatic coffee maker ready to go. He flipped the switch, then leaned back against the counter, thinking it was more than a little bit strange that Dianne hadn’t even bothered to look at him. Even if, because of the wires holding her jaw, a morning kiss was out of the question, she could at least give him a token smile and hug like every other morning. But she just sat there, staring out the window at the gradually brightening sky. A thin, gray mist was slowly peeling away to reveal a powder blue sky. Through the open window came the distant song of a robin.
“Is it … Do you want to talk … about anything?” Edward asked, horribly aware of the low tremor in his voice.
Dianne sighed and shifted in her seat, but still didn’t look at him. Shaking her head, she grunted but said nothing. Edward was about to press her further when a thought hit him. Glancing at the wall calendar by the phone, he saw that she had an appointment with Dr. Collett today at one o’clock to have the wires removed from her jaw. She looked like she’d been up all night sitting here, worrying, and no wonder! She must be scared as hell about the appointment. Although she had never said as much, he knew she was self-conscious about going out in public. He wanted to say something comforting and reassuring, but—again—he didn’t know how or where to start.
The awkward silence was suddenly broken by the sizzling hiss of coffee dripping into the carafe. Uttering a low groan, Dianne’s eyes, wide with fear, suddenly snapped into focus. She glared at the counter as though expecting it to burst into flames. Before Edward could stammer an explanation, she saw what was making the sound and eased back into her chair. Still, her body looked rigid with tension as she shifted her gaze back out the window.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” she said after a long silence. The rasp in her voice was louder, harsher, but the tone sounded drained, completely defeated.
“Tell you about what?” Edward said.
A cold, tickling sensation filled his belly.
“About that old building out in the woods behind the house,” she said. Her voice was louder as she jerked her thumb toward the kitchen window.
“What—? The old mill, you mean—?”
“I don’t know what
it is,” she said. This time her voice had the sharp crack of a whip as she glared at him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about it?”
The cold prickling feeling in his stomach got stronger, but Edward forced himself to smile and say, “Tell you about it? Why, because it—it’s—” He shrugged and slapped his hands together. “It’s always been there, ever since I was a kid … I never really thought it was all that important enough to mention, I guess.”
“Oh, really?”
The wild gleam in Dianne’s eye sent off warning signals. She looked like a drug-addled nut case, even worse than when they’d had that argument about how the fire had started in their house. Edward was convinced it had more to do with her fears and anxieties about having the wires removed from her jaw today, but whatever it was, something was pushing her right up to the brink of sanity. Edward saw how close she was to breaking and wanted like hell to prevent it, but had no idea how.
“Look, it’s just an old sawmill that my grandfather ran back in the eighteen-hundreds, all right? It’s no big deal! It’s been abandoned for years—ever since I was a kid, anyway.”
“Abandoned, huh? Is that a fact?” Dianne said. She pushed the chair back and stood up to face him over the table. “There’s no one living out there that you know of?”
The crazy gleam in her eyes was brightening, as though the fear or panic or whatever it was inside her was surging out of control, and there was no way she could bottle it up or stop it. Edward shrugged again, but now that she was standing, he noticed for the first time that the bottom of her nightgown from the knees down was wet. It clung to her, outlining the smooth curve of her leg muscles. The hem was smeared with streaks of dirt, and leaves and twigs were stuck to the lacy trim. Her bare feet were caked with dried mud as though she had been engaged in a little predawn mud puddle wading.
