The box slowly opened, an ugly clown’s head appearing, bobbing and weaving forth. The jaws of the jack-in-the-box clicked and opened. Harsh words rolling from the mouth.
“Machen Sie di Tür zu!”
“What did he, it, whatever, say?” Mark asked.
“I don’t know,” Steve replied.
“My friend asked you to close the door,” Nora said. Her voice was not that of a little girl. It was hollow and deep and evil.
Steven closed the door. Both men were immediately aware of a foul odor in the house. Not the odor of death, but something else, something neither man could describe.
“Welcome,” Nora said. “You have a decision to make. Both of you.”
Together, the men raised the Bibles purchased at the truck stop’s gift shop.
“So you have made it,” Nora said. “So be it.”
“What do you hope to gain by all of this, kid?” Steve asked.
“I’ve already gained it,” Nora replied.
“I don’t understand,” Steven said.
“Even should I lose, I’ve won,” the girl told them.
“That makes no sense. What have you won? What have you gained by all this death and pain and suffering?”
Nora smiled sweetly. “Stupid, foolish men. You’re going to die for nothing. You can’t kill me. Nobody can kill me. I plan to destroy all of you. And then, because I’m just a little girl, what do you think will happen to me?” She laughed. “Nothing. Your courts will institutionalize me until I’m eighteen, and then turn me loose. I can wait. I have lots of time to plan and organize.”
The cops looked at each other, knowing the girl was right all the way.
“Clever of you,” Steven conceded. “So now what?”
Nora smiled. “Look at your friend.”
Steve turned his head. Turned his head just in time to see Mark jack back the hammer on his .357 magnum. “What . . . ?” Steven managed to say before Mark pulled the trigger. Steven’s brains splattered on the foyer wall.
Mark put the pistol back in his shoulder holster.
“Go wait in the den,” Nora told him.
The cop obeyed, moving as a zombie.
Nora sat down at the top of the stairs and waited, the swaying clown head beside her, its jaw clicking and snapping as it laughed and laughed.
“The Master is always right, child,” the jack-in-the-box said. “It is good that he came to you. This way is better.”
Nora did not agree, but she had no choice in the matter. The Prince had given her instructions. And the Dark One must be obeyed.
The child and her toy waited.
* * *
Shawn Cosgrave and Charlie Brewer stepped up onto the porch of the house. Like those who had preceded them, both men could feel the evil of the house. It was unnerving.
And both cops could smell the odor of fresh blood.
“I wonder whose it is?” Charles asked.
“One way to find out,” Shawn said, and pushed open the door.
Sitting in the car parked in the driveway of a family the sheriff knew was gone for the winter, Sheriff Ed Willis sat with his chief deputy, Jerry Asminov. The men had been there for several hours. And they were both becoming more and more curious.
Ed lowered his binoculars. “Well, there go Shawn Cosgrave and Sergeant Brewer. Now what in the world is going on, Jerry?”
“Maybe the DA was leveling with you?”
“Jerry . . .!”
“You asked me, I told you. What if he is right, Ed? Have you thought about that? If we don’t do anything else, we’d better check this thing out or we’re liable to wind up looking like a pair of fools.”
“Yeah.” Ed’s reply was anything but enthusiastic. “Did you log the time?”
“The second team showed up exactly one half hour after the first team. Ed? You wanna call the CHP?”
“No! You want to call the state police, Jerry? Tell them we’re investigating a witch?”
“I guess not.”
“That’s what I thought. Look, we’re close enough to hear any shots, right? We haven’t heard any, right? No signs of any trouble, right? Let’s just sit it out for a while longer.”
* * *
Nora looked at Cosgrave and Brewer. She froze them rock-still. “Listen to me,” the girl said. “I know neither of you wants to die. So I’m going to spare your lives. To serve me. Look at me!” she said sharply. The men could move their eyes, nothing else.
The eyes of the cops shifted, locking with the hard, bright gaze of the child dressed in black.
“You may speak when asked a question,” Nora told them.
“Yes,” the men said together.
“Do you wish to die?”
“No.”
“Do you understand how you may live?”
“Yes.”
“Is that agreeable to both of you?”
“Yes,” Charles Brewer said. Shawn remained silent.
“I thought it might be you,” Nora said. “You’re a damned fool.”
Shawn did not speak.
“Shoot him, Mark,” she commanded.
Mark Hooper stepped out of the den and shot Shawn between the eyes. Bits of his brains joined those left on the wall by Steven Blassingham. Shawn’s body tumbled to lie beside Steve’s.
“Did you hear something?” Ed asked his deputy.
“I didn’t hear nothing.”
“Must have been my imagination.”
“Thank you, Mark,” Nora said. “Return to the den.”
Yes, Princess,“” Mark said. His eyes now shone with an evil light.
Nora looked at Charles Brewer. “You may leave. Go to your and car and leave. Do not contact any of the others. You remember nothing. You will remember when you are told to do so. Who is your master?”
“Satan, Princess.”
“Go.”
“Now what?” Ed said, watching Charles leave the house.
“Weird,” his chief deputy agreed. He reached for the mike, hesitated, then pulled his hand back.
“Go ahead,” the sheriff told him.
“And tell dispatch what?”
Ed sighed. “Christ, I don’t know. Pull a unit in here, Jerry. Unmarked. We’ll take it from there.”
Neither man noticed the elderly woman walking slowly up the street.
* * *
Archie and Dean were only a few miles from the Baxter house. Those five remaining at the truck stop had grown silent. There was not that much left to say.
No phone at the truck stop had rung. And all knew what that meant.
“I wonder if they’re dead?” Sheela broke the silence.
“There are worse things they could be,” Father Debeau said.
They all knew what that meant.
“Time for us to go,” Ed said to Bob.
“You guys are nuts,” Sam said. “You’re over your heads in this thing. I wish both of you would just go on back to the city.”
Before either partner could reply, Debeau said, “Don’t go in the house, gentlemen. Drive to it, park outside and wait. If the police do happen to drive by and question you—although I don’t believe they will—tell them who you are and that you are waiting for Jeanne Baxter. You have to go over some matters pertaining to your law firm. Do not enter that house.”
“Then what good are we?” Ed asked.
“Witnesses,” Debeau said. “There must be someone left alive to tell what happened—or at the very least, remember it.”
“Be careful,” Sam told his friends. “We’ll see you in a little bit.”
Sam looked across the room.
Phillip sat at that same table, staring at him.
34
“What’s up, sheriff?” the deputy asked.
“We don’t know,” Ed admitted. He informed the two deputies about Dean’s visit that morning. And of the people who had entered the Baxter house. Only one leaving. Thus far.
“Ghosts!” the younger of the deputies said. “Witches?�
��
Ed Willis sighed. “That’s what the man said.” He paused as another car pulled up to the Baxter house, two men getting out. “Look, There’s Dean now. But who is that with him?”
“I’ve seen him a time or two at HQ. I think he’s a detective from Bridgeport. Yeah, Fremont’s his name.”
Before Willis could hail the men, they had disappeared into the house.
The deputies got into the back seat of the sheriff’s car. One said, “I feel weird.”
“Weird, how?” Jerry asked.
“I don’t know. Sort of, well, creepy.”
“So do I,” the sheriff admitted.
* * *
“Holy cow!” Archie blurted. “Look at all this mess.”
Dean looked at the dead cops and turned his head away, puking in a corner of the foyer.
“Oh, you’ll be easy,” Nora said.
Both men jerked at the voice. They looked at Nora, sitting on the steps. “Who’ll be easy?” Archie asked.
Before Nora could reply, a little girl’s voice drifted down from the second floor. The voice was singing a nursery rhyme. “Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can. Pat it and prick it, and mark it with B. Put it in the oven for baby and me.
“What the hell . . .” Archie muttered.
Jeanne danced by on the second floor landing. Her hair was all done up in brightly colored ribbons. She had pinned up the hem of a dress high above her knees. She had applied makeup as a child might, smearing the lipstick and putting on far too much rouge, coloring her cheeks like a clown. Even from the first floor the men could see her eyes were mad.
Jeanne held a doll in her arms, cradling it protectively. “Here comes a candle to light you to bed,” she sang. “Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.”
Jeanne whirled and danced about the landing, holding the doll close to her. “Here’s my little demon,” she said. She stopped her dancing and looked at the men. “Isn’t my little demon baby pretty? Pretty baby, pretty baby.”
“Hi, Archie,” Mark said, stepping out of the den.
Archie turned just in time to catch a glimpse of the meat cleaver in Mark’s hand. That was the last thing in this life he would see. The cleaver split his head open from crown to neck, spraying the walls with blood and brains.
Dean stood jumping from one foot to the other, making little grunting sounds.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he said.
“Be still,” Nora told him.
Dean stopped his hopping.
“Who saw him die?” Jeanne sang in her little girl’s voice. “I, said the fly. With my little eye, I saw him die.”
“That’s enough, mother,” Nora said. “Go to your room.”
Jeanne danced off, holding the doll, singing, “Pease-porridge hot, pease-porridge cold, pease-porridge in the pot, nine days old.”
The door to her room slammed. She was silent.
Nora looked at Dean. “Whatever you were, you will remain. Except for your mind. That belongs to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Princess,” Dean replied.
“When this is concluded, I shall direct you on the proper legal course. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Princess.”
“Tell those watching outside that nothing is happening in here. Now go. And wait for my orders.”
“Yes, Princess.”
Dean left the evil-filled death house and stepped outside. He walked to his car. The sheriff backed his car out of the drive, stopping Dean.
“What’s going on in that house, Dean?”
“Just continuing our investigation of the murders, Ed. Fremont from Bridgeport had some new evidence. Mrs. Baxter is very helpful, and Phil is . . . hanging loose.”
“Oh, I see. You need any help from us?”
“No. But thank you, Ed. Oh, tell your people there will be men and women in and out of the house all day. No need for concern.”
The sheriff looked relieved. “Good. Ah, Dean, you have, ah, changed your mind about that, well, little matter we discussed earlier?”
Dean laughed. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, Ed.”
Ed patted Dean on the shoulder. “Good, Dean, good. See you around.”
“Right, sheriff.”
Once more the snowy street was deserted.
* * *
Bob and Ed had stopped along the way and bought a large thermos, filling it with coffee. They had sandwiches prepared and topped off the gas tank. They settled down for a long wait, parking on the snowy, deserted street.
“What’s with this neighborhood?” Bob asked. “It’s eerie.”
“Yeah, but I want to know what’s going on inside that house,” Ed replied.
“Look!” Bob said, pointing toward the second floor.
Nora stood at the window, staring out at the men. The silver death’s-heads on her collars caught the light and glinted at the men. She was smiling and motioning for the men to come on in.
Ed opened his door.
“Where are you going?” Bob said.
“You take that side of the street, Bob. I’ll take this side. Let’s go to every house. Bang on the door. We’re investigators working on the kids’ murders. Come on.”
The men tramped through the snow up and down three full blocks. No one would come to the door. When they got back to the car, their feet were soaked and cold. They turned up the heater and took off their shoes and socks, placing the socks next to the blast from the heater to dry them.
“You get any response?” Ed asked.
“Not a peep. I could see people in the houses. But they acted like they didn’t hear my knocking. And I really hammered on the doors.”
“Yeah. Me too. And I could see dogs in some of the houses. They didn’t bark; didn’t even look up at my knocking. It’s like, well, something is blocking out reality. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah. And I know who is doing the blocking.” Bob let out a yelp of fear, dropping his cup of coffee.
“What’s that?” Ed asked. Any further words forming on his tongue were frozen there as his eyes riveted on the form outside the car.
Phillip Baxter stood on the snowy street, looking at the men.
* * *
“I still feel I should go in there with you,” Sheela said.
“No,” Father Debeau said. “You wait with Bob and Ed. I must confront the Dark One alone. It’s something I have known for some time.”
“Can you win?”
“No. But I can weaken his force. The rest is up to Sam.”
Sheela and Debeau parked behind the two lawyers and got in the back seat. They could tell the men were badly shaken still.
“Phillip?” Sheela asked.
“Yes,” Ed said. “He was standing right there! ” He pointed.
“So lifelike,” Bob muttered. “It got to me.”
Debeau picked up his small leather bag and opened the door, stepping out into the snowy cold. He opened his mouth to speak just as a scream came from the house.
“That’s the first sound we’ve heard from that house,” Ed said.
Nora appeared at a window of the second floor. Everyone could see her mouth was bloody. She grinned in a macabre leer and lifted one arm. She held a dripping bloody head in that hand. The head of an elderly woman. She raised the other hand, showing off the bloody knife. She stepped away from the window, disappearing from view.
“My God!” Sheela said.
“Phillip’s mother, I would guess,” Debeau said. “The old lady tried to help. Perhaps her dying did help.”
“How?” Ed asked, real anguish in his voice. He felt sick at his stomach at the sight of the severed bloody head.
“Nora is aided by Satan, certainly,” Debeau said. “But she is still a child. This much strain on her powers has to be taking a toll. I can sense the evil enamating from the house has abated. And more than slightly. The girl herself is weakening.” He looked at those seated in the car. “God be with you all.” Then he was walking towa
rd the house.
Debeau’s stride was firm and determined. Reaching the front door, he did not hesitate. He pushed open the door and stepped into the stinking house of evil and death.
He looked at the dead man sprawled bloody on the floor and said a small prayer. Lifting his eyes, he looked at Phil dangling. “Poor possessed boy,” the priest said. He prayed for Phil’s soul, softly but firmly. He lifted his head at the sound of derisive laughter.
Nora stood at the top of the stairs, still holding the bloody head of Mrs. Baxter. She tossed the head, and it bounced and fell down the stairs and rolled lopsidedly across the foyer floor, coming to halt only inches from Debeau’s shoes.
“My dear granny,” Nora said. “Isn’t she lovely?”
Debeau ignored the sarcasm and began praying. Nora reacted as if someone had slapped her in the face. She recovered and glared at the priest, pointing a finger at him.
“You’re dead, Debeau. Dead, dead, dead!” she screamed.
Debeau felt a heavy, invisible weight settle on his chest, forcing him back a step. He straightened up and continued his praying, ignoring the pain of the weight.
“Die!” Nora screamed, spittle flying from her mouth.
Debeau stepped forward, slowly, painfully.
The music began its morbid tune, but the music was draggy and off-key.
Debeau took a vial of holy water from his bag and hurled the glass at the girl. The vial broke at Nora’s feet, some of the liquid splashing on her boots and black trousers. Smoking holes appeared in the leather and cloth. Nora screamed in pain.
The priest smiled, knowing he had been correct in thinking the girl’s powers were strained to the limit.
Debeau heard the door open and close behind him. He did not look around.
Nora shifted her gaze to Sam. “Welcome to the party,” she hissed. “I’ve been waiting.”
“I brought someone to see you, Nora,” Sam said.
“I love surprises,” the girl said.
“Look behind you,” Sam told her.
Nora turned and began screaming as her father moved toward her, his arms outstretched, a smile on his face.
35
Nora squalled her fear and hate and revulsion at the sight of her father and rushed toward him, fury blazing from her dark eyes.
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