Jack-in-the-Box

by William W. Johnstone

  Now she would get the others, one by one. They would pay dearly for taunting her. Oh my, yes.

  And now, Nora thought—time for a little fun.

  Nora stared at the closed casket, her eyes glowing. A cracking sound interrupted the minister’s words. He fell silent. The bier shifted, the casket trembled. The metal legs collapsed, the casket tumbling to the floor, the lid springing open. Gloria’s charred little body rolled out, sprawling in death on the floor.

  The church was filled with screaming people, adults and kids alike. People were running all about, not knowing what to do. Some were being sick on the floor of the church.

  To Nora, the sight was hysterically amusing. She could scarcely contain her laughter.

  * * *

  “You can’t be serious! ” Phillip blurted. “Nora the child of Satan?”

  “To my way of thinking, Phillip, all signs point to it. I’ve confronted this before.”

  “I should order you out of my house!”

  “I would leave.”

  Phillip waved that off. “You know I don’t mean that. What signs are you talking about?”

  “What she did last evening is a good starting point.”

  “I was dreaming all that.” Phillip stubbornly stuck to his story.

  “I doubt it.”

  Phillip said nothing.

  “How about that woman calling your name?”

  “What has she to do with Nora?”

  “She’s involved.”

  “I don’t believe it. That . . . person simply broke into this house, and I caught her. She is probably an escapee from some institution.”

  “That’s what the voice told you, wasn’t it?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Locked up, she said.”

  “And . . . ?”

  Phillip shifted away from that. “I know one thing I’m going to do. I’m going to burn that damned jack-in-the-box.”

  “Then you do believe the old toy is playing some part in all this?”

  “I . . . suppose, Father. I don’t know what to believe. I am going to destroy it, though.”

  “We must be very careful attempting that, Phillip,” Debeau cautioned him.

  Phillip picked up on the we. “It’s just a toy, Father.”

  “It is much more than that, Phillip. According to legend, the old jack-in-the-box was at one time a major element in satanic worship. It once belonged to a commandant of a Nazi death camp. It can cause evil in otherwise innocent people. It has a long and very bloody history.”

  “If it’s the same jack-in-the-box as described in the legend.”

  “It is,” the priest stated. “I felt the evil when I approached the house.”

  The house! Phillip thought. Could it be the house? Nonsense! he mentally brushed that from his mind. It’s just a house. He looked at Debeau, looking at him. Somehow he felt the priest was reading his mind.

  Phillip expelled breath in a long sigh. His head still ached, but the pain was abating. In his mind the jack-in-the-box was secondary. He wanted to know about that woman in his attic. and who had hit him from behind? He said as much.

  “I don’t know who struck you. But could the woman have been your sister?”

  “Joe, don’t you think I would have found out if I had a sister? My father left me a very comfortable estate. It was never contested. I have never found any papers pertaining to a sister being institutionalized anywhere. Monies would have had to be paid to keep her in any kind of facility. Believe me, I have gone over dad’s papers many, many times. I simply do not have a sister.”

  “Then why don’t you call the police and report the attack?”

  It was just the beginning of a day of long sighs for Phillip. He added another to his mounting score. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He knew; he just didn’t want to say it. And he knew he wasn’t fooling the priest. He was afraid. He began pacing the den. He knew he had to start checking birth records. He had to talk to people who had known his father and mother. But that was going to be difficult, if not downright impossible. Phillip could barely remember the old neighborhood in New Haven. If he had a sister, there would be a record of it. Somewhere. He told Father Debeau of his thoughts.

  “Yes, I agree. And I’ll help you. Right now, let’s take a look at this jack-in-the-box.”

  They searched Nora’s room thoroughly. The jack-in-the-box was not there.

  Or was not visible.

  That was in the mind of both men. But neither wanted to put it into words.

  They shared a silent look and continued their searching.

  Phillip found the filthy clothing Nora had been wearing the previous evening. He was hesitant even to touch the filth-encrusted garments. When he looked up at Father Debeau, there was sadness in his eyes.

  “Truth time, I suppose, Father.”

  “Yes. I am so sorry, Phillip. Please believe me.”

  Phillip nodded his head. He was so confused. He did not know what to believe or what to do. “I saw Nora leave for school. She did not have the toy with her.”

  “It’s hiding from us.”

  “Joe, it’s . . . it’s just an object. It can’t hide all by itself.”

  “Legend says it can do anything it wishes to do. Providing it has someone to do its bidding. We’re not going to find it until it is ready for us to find it. What are you thinking?”

  “Let’s look outside. Try to find where that woman went.”

  Father Debeau and Phillip tracked the mysterious woman’s trail as she had torn through bushes and thick underbrush in the woods behind the Baxter house.

  But the trail ended abruptly at a small creek. Debeau went south along the bank, Phillip heading in the other direction. They could not find where the woman had left the cold waters of the creek. By the time they met back at the starting point, the snow had intensified. The men trudged back to the house, neither of them being dressed for any prolonged outside winter activity.

  Unanswered questions were strong in Phillip’s mind. He worried them about in his aching head. Who was the woman in the attic? How long had she been up there? And why? Where did she fit into this puzzle? Surely she fit in somewhere. Was the unknown woman on the phone correct? Was the woman his sister? Did he have a sister? Was all this some sort of sick joke being played on him? My God, who would do such a horrible thing?

  No, he answered some of his silent questions. No, it was no joke. He was sure of that. He could think of no one who would do such a thing. And Nora . . . what about her? He had almost convinced himself it had all been a nightmare. But finding the filthy clothing had proven that to be only wishful thinking.

  Back at the house, Father Debeau declined Phillip’s invitation to come in. “I have to return to the city. When do we start checking birth records?”

  “In the morning.”

  “Can you meet me at the station in Stamford?”

  “Second train?”

  “I’ll be on it.”

  And once more Phillip was alone in the big house.

  He prowled the attic, flashlight in hand, the strong beam touching the dark pockets where the unshaded light bulbs did not reach, creating pockets of deep shadows.

  What he found nauseated him.

  Whoever the woman was—or whatever she was, the odd thought came to him—it was obvious she had been living in the Baxter’s attic for some time. Months, at least. Phillip found a pile of dry gnawed-on bones, taken, he guessed, from their garbage. Behind several wooden crates—Phillip had absolutely no idea what might be in the crates—he found where she had been hiding and sleeping. A heap of disgustingly filthy blankets, a dirty, tattered old dress, and a pair of old torn tennis shoes. An old coat of Jeanne’s. He remembered that Jeanne had discarded it . . . God, more than two years ago. He had put it out for the trash pickup.

  Two years ago!

  Had the woman been living up in the attic for two years? Obviously so.

  He cast the beam of light around the odious living area of the stranger.
On the wall by her blankets, tacked above the floor at eye level, was an upside-down cross.

  Never much of a fan of horror movies and books, Phillip nonetheless knew what that symbol meant.

  Devil worship.

  The house creaked. Phillip froze, listening. He raised the beam of the flashlight. A sigh of resignation passed his lips.

  Just above the cross was tacked a small photo of Nora.

  10

  He was sitting in the den when he heard the sounds of Jeanne’s car pull into the drive. He knew Judy Gipson had gone with her into the city; he hoped Jeanne had dropped her off at her own home. He didn’t feel he could tolerate any of Judy’s gushing, breathless conversation.

  Jeanne was alone. She breezed into the den, her arms filled with packages.

  “Need any help?” Phillip asked.

  She shook her head. “No, this is it. Did you have a good day?”

  He grunted. “You’re back early. I didn’t expect you until this evening.”

  “Oh, we went to the mall in Stamford. Found some darling things.”

  “That’s good.” Then he told her what had happened that day, leaving nothing out. He did not tell her about his encounter with Nora the past evening. From the look on her face, she was having a difficult enough time accepting even a part of what he was not telling her. And Phillip couldn’t blame her.

  She listened, her face first paling, then reddening from ill-concealed anger. “You’re crazy!” she blurted. “You’re lying!”

  Her reaction did not surprise him. He gingerly touched the back of his head. “Then come over here and feel this. But please do it carefully, darling.”

  She gently touched the bump on the back of his head. She grimaced and said, “How did you get that?”

  “I just told you, Jeanne.” He stood up. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  He had left the door as it was, broken at one hinge.

  “Good Lord, Phillip!”

  He led her through the attic to the spot where he had discovered the blankets, the upside-down cross, the small photo of Nora. He was afraid it would all be gone, vanishing as mysteriously as it had appeared, like most of the events in his life during the past few days. But it was all in place. He shone the flashlight beam on the filthy blankets and clothing, the small pile of gnawed bones.

  Jeanne gasped and backed up, her face reflecting her disgust.

  “Still think I’m crazy or lying?” Phillip asked.

  She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. “I want you to . . . please get rid of that disgusting stuff!”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What?”

  “I want her to come back.”

  “Now I really think you’ve gone off the deep end. This . . . person is obviously insane. And you want to entice her back here, endangering us all? Phillip, be reasonable. Get rid of this junk. Did you call the police?”

  “No.”

  “No? For God’s sake, why not?”

  He wasn’t ready to tell her the real reason he hadn’t called the police. Not yet. “Because I want the truth, Jeanne. All of it.” He pointed to the blankets. “This person, Nora’s behavior, everything weird that’s been happening, it’s all tied in. I have no proof of that, none at all, but I know it is true.”

  “Oh, I see now. Oh yes,” Jeanne said, her initial anger returning. “It’s always back to Nora, isn’t it, Phillip?”

  “Jeanne, I didn’t say any of this was her fault. I just said it’s all tied in. Give me credit for a little intelligence, will you? You’re thinking like an overprotective parent while I’m trying to reason this out. Work with me on this, Jeanne. Please?”

  She stared at him, refusing to reply.

  “I’m not blaming Nora, honey.”

  “Oh yes, you are! Now wait a minute, Phillip. Just hold on. You said the woman came at you out of the attic, right?”

  “I was wondering when you’d put that together.”

  Neither of them heard Nora enter the house. She climbed the stairs and stood very silently, listening to her parents.

  Jeanne said, “Then who hit you on the back of the head?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Two crazies living up here?”

  “God, I hope not.” He wondered what she would say if he told her about his encounter with Nora?

  “Then . . .?”

  “I don’t know, Jeanne.” Then he decided he would level with her as much as he could. He told her about the phone calls, the voices insisting he had a sister. He told her about Father Debeau, and that the priest had seen the woman as well. He did not tell her about seeing Dr. Harte.

  “And you taped the phone call?”

  “Yes, I did. The second one. But you are not going to like it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the content,” Phillip said, hedging somewhat.

  “I’m sure part of it concerns Nora. You’re always picking on her.”

  Ever since the tension between them had increased, Phillip had noticed that Jeanne would sometimes avert her eyes when speaking to him. He wondered about that.

  On the landing Nora listened to every word, her dark eyes shining with raw hatred. She had implanted the dream-thought into her father’s mind last night, so she felt sure she was safe on that. But her friend had been discovered and was gone. And that angered her.

  Now she knew what she must do. It was early, and she had planned on having more time. But she couldn’t wait much longer.

  Nora slipped quietly down the stairs and reopened the front door. Cold wind blew in. This time she slammed it shut.

  Phillip had just asked if Jeanne was having second thoughts about Nora when the door slammed. Was that relief on her face at not having to answer the question? He thought so.

  “Nora?” Jeanne called.

  “Yes, mother.”

  “Go into the den, darling. Mother will be down in a minute.”

  “Yes, mother.” Nora went into the den and looked at the twin eight-by-ten pictures of her mother and father on the mantel. Both of them were early photos of the couple. The girl leaned close and spat into her father’s face, the spittle dribbling down the glass front. She hunched her hips obscenely toward her mother’s photo. Then she smiled.

  “Answer my question, Jeanne,” Phillip said.

  Again, Jeanne would not meet Phillip’s eyes. “Are you going to tell the kids?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But you’re especially not going to tell Nora, are you?”

  “That is correct. Why are you refusing to answer my question?”

  Jeanne turned around and walked away, her back stiff with anger. She walked down the stairs, leaving Phillip with more unanswered questions than before mulling about in his mind. She’s hiding something from me, Phillip thought. She isn’t lying, as I originally felt, but she is hiding something from me. But what in the world could it be?

  The dream, the vision, that propelling thrust and glimpse into the future hit Phillip hard, striking him with much more force than ever before, numbing him.

  A child was laughing. Phillip felt sure it was Nora. Parts of the house were a wreck, furniture smashed and broken, some drapes torn down, lying wrinkled on the floor. As before, Jeanne was down on the floor, her mouth bloody. “I’ll kill you!” Phil was shouting at his father. The boy held a gun in his hand. “I’ll kill you, Dad. Leave me alone, goddamn you.”

  “You no-good little bastard!” Phillip snarled at his son. “I’ll kick your goddamned head in, boy!”

  Phil raised the gun. The gun looked somehow familiar to Phillip.

  The big house seemed to sigh.

  Nora’s wild, insane laughter was joined by that awful dirge from the jack-in-the-box.

  The vision faded.

  Phillip stood in the attic, gently rubbing the back of his head. He sighed and walked out of the attic, cutting off the lights. As he reached the foyer, the doorbell rang. He opened the door. A woman he did not know stood
on the snowy steps, looking at him.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Baxter?”

  “Yes. May I help you?”

  “I’m Mrs. Strassel. Mrs. Carter has been hospitalized and will be out for some time. The agency told me to come over and introduce myself. If I am acceptable, I will replace Mrs. Carter.”

  Phillip opened the door wider and motioned for the woman to come inside. “Please come in out of the weather, Mrs. Strassel.” The woman inside, Phillip closed the door and looked at her. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mrs. Strassel, but aren’t you . . . well . . .”

  She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. “A bit too old for housekeeping work?” she finished for Phillip.

  Jeanne joined her husband in the foyer just as he was saying, “Well, to be perfectly frank, yes, that’s what I was thinking.”

  “I’m sixty-three, Mr. Baxter, and fit as a fiddle. I come with excellent recommendations. I don’t do heavy housework and I don’t do windows. I am not just a good cook, I am a superb cook. I can work the month of December and perhaps a week or so into the New Year. I am an expert pastry chef and can fix main courses that I guarantee will put twenty pounds on you in a month.”

  Both Phillip and Jeanne smiled. Jeanne said, “Well . . .”

  Nora joined them. “Hi!” she said brightly. “I’m Nora. Are you going to be our new housekeeper?”

  “My, what a pretty little girl,” Mr. Strassel said. “Well, I might be your housekeeper. Would you like that? ”

  “Oh yes. I can see we’re going to be friends right off.”

  “That settles it,” Jeanne said. She looked at Phillip. “We have parties planned for this month, plus that New Year’s Eve thing that it’s our turn to host. We must hire someone.” Phillip shrugged. He never got involved in matters concerning the domestic help. Jeanne looked at Mrs. Strassel. “Are you married?”

  “Call me Else. No, I’m a widow. Mr. Strassel passed away some years ago.”

  “Would you consent to live in for a month, Else?”

  “I usually do, Mrs. Baxter.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. The housekeeper’s quarters are just off the kitchen. They’re not large, but they’re very comfortable. Your salary . . .”

  Else waved that away. “Standard agency rate, Mrs. Baxter.”