She ran right through him and smashed into the wall. She was knocked backward, stunned, and fell to the floor, her nose broken and bleeding. Before she could recover, Debeau and Sam were by her side, pinning her down. Debeau quickly opened his bag and removed several lengths of chain and three padlocks. Sam rolled the girl over on her stomach and helped the priest secure Nora’s hands behind her back, twisting the chains tight and padlocking them securely.
Nora was kicking and squalling and cursing the men. Both Debeau and Sam were bruised from the heavy boots before they could chain Nora’s legs.
Wild, mad, hysterical laughter came from Jeanne’s room.
A red mist began slowly encircling the men and the howling child.
Debeau threw holy water on the mist. A silent scream almost deafened the men, the howl of pain so high-pitched it caused Debeau and Sam to wince in pain.
The mist pulled back, leaving the second floor landing. Debeau drove it further away with quiet prayers. The house became steamy hot and smelled of sulfur. The lights flickered off and on, dying down to a brownout. The brown-amber glow cast shadows about the house.
The house seemed to breath and sigh, almost in despair.
A million tormented screams filled the house, accompanied by the odor of burning flesh. The stench became almost unbearable.
“Ignore it,” Debeau said.
“Ignore it?” Sam cried. “How?”
“Faith, Sam.” Phillip spoke for the first time, his voice very deep, as if coming from a long distance.
Nora hunched and jerked on the floor, the verbal filth rolling from her mouth as she cursed God and her mother and father. She twisted and flung herself onto her back. She spat at the men and at the image of her father. Then she laughed as the mist deepened and thickened, once more encircling the gathering on the landing.
“Get away from me!” Sam told the mist.
The mist abruptly stopped.
“Help me!” Nora screamed.
The mist began another tentative approach.
The front door slammed open. Sheela stood framed in the open door, the snow swirling around her. She looked up at Sam.
“I love you, Sam!” she called.
The mist backed up.
Nora slumped back, her head resting on the carpet of the landing.
“Sam!” Sheela called. “Tell me.”
Sam looked at the woman and smiled. “I love you too,” he said. “I really love you.”
The mist backed farther away.
Sam straightened up from his crouch. He looked at Debeau. “Is that it?” he asked. “After everything that’s happened, this is all? No trumpets blaring? No great booming voices from the sky? We just talk about love and it’s over?”
“It’s just beginning,” Debeau said quietly.
Phillip had vanished, leaving nothing behind to signify he had ever made an appearance from out of the grave.
Nora raised her head and bit Sam savagely on his ankle.
Sam yelled and jerked his foot away from her sharp teeth. He resisted an urge to kick the kid in the teeth.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked the priest. “Just beginning?”
Suddenly men filled the foyer, running through the open door, almost running into Sheela. Connecticut state police and sheriff’s deputies.
“Jesus Christ!” Sheriff Ed Willis said, his eyes traveling from the dead men on the floor to Phil’s dangling body.
Mark stepped out of the den and emptied his pistol into the knot of cops before a Connecticut state police SWAT member shot him dead with a single shotgun blast. The sheriff was down with a gunshot wound in his leg. The chief deputy fell with a wound in his side, and two state police went down with wounds.
Before the gunsmoke had drifted out the open front door, the men stood in shock and horror watching Jeanne drift out across the second floor. She drifted through the air, still holding on to her dolly. Her feet were several inches off the ground. She drifted down the stairs, her feet not touching the steps. She hovered in front of the cops.
Jeanne sang, “Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children will burn.”
She laughed insanely and sank slowly to the floor, unconscious.
The rope holding Phil broke, dumping the stiffening body to the floor with a lifeless thud.
Nora began laughing.
“It is not over,” Phillip’s voice rang deeply throughout the house.
“What in God’s name is that?” Ed Willis spoke from the floor, his hands holding onto his wounded and bloody leg.
“Phillip Baxter,” Sheela said.
“Phillip Baxter is dead!” the chief deputy said with a groan.
“Well, there he is,” Sheela said, pointing.
The deputies and highway cops looked up. Phillip Baxter stood on the landing, misty and sparkling as he began to fade, once more making his way through the veil. His voice came to them all. “This is only the beginning. It is far from over.”
Then he was gone.
“Goodbye, Daddy dear!” Nora said with a laugh.
36
“You said you couldn’t win, Joe,” Sheela said. “But you did. We did.”
The survivors were sitting in state police headquarters.
“We won a battle,” Debeau said. “But the war is far from over.”
Sam felt drained. He was very tired. He wanted to go back to his apartment, take a long, hot bath, and lie down beside Sheela. He wanted to forget. But he knew that was impossible. He would never forget.
None of the survivors would.
But of them all, only a handful knew that what they had witnessed that day was only the beginning.
“Did anybody find that jack-in-the-box?” Sam asked.
“No,” Ed said. “It’s gone.”
A state police investigator entered the room. He looked confused. He sat down and looked at the five of them. “Here’s the way it’s going down, folks. Alec Tremain has been released from custody. Phil Baxter killed all those kids, and we can prove it. We’re still trying to unravel who killed what cop in that house. Mark’s prints are all over that meat cleaver and gun.” He sighed and shook his head. “Jeanne and Nora Baxter will be declared insane. Bet on that. Arrangements are being made to have them sent to a private institution for the criminally insane. We could charge you with killing those three members of that neo-Nazi group, Mr. Sobel. But making it stick would be another matter. As to . . . what you people claim to have seen in that house . . . well,” he once again sighed, “that just isn’t going to be made public. If any of you bring it up, it will be denied. Do I make myself clear?”
All agreed it was very clear.
“You will be notified when, or if, you are to testify. Good day.”
And that was that.
Or was it?
* * *
“A lot of loose ends still flapping in the wind,” Sam said to Sheela.
Spring was welcomed in the city; it had been a very harsh winter. Sam and Sheela had been married for exactly one month. They had honeymooned briefly, then returned to work, living in Sam’s remodeled apartment. Remodeled to Sheela’s specifications.
“What do you mean, Sam?”
“Judy and Matt Gipson. That little girl who one neighbor says was run down by that lady, who says she didn’t do it. I believe the woman. Something is very much the matter with Dean Ellis and Charles Brewer. That coach who went berserk and raped that young girl. And his wife; did you see that medallion around her neck? Six six six. It just . . . it’s all wrong, Sheela.”
“Joe said it was only the beginning, remember?”
“How could I forget? But the beginning of what? And where is Joe?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He called me and told me he had to go away for a time. To recover his strength for the next battle.”
“Again? We have to do all this again?” He smiled. “You wanna move to Seattle, honey?”
“I would if we could.”
<
br /> “But we can’t. Is that it?”
“You know it is.”
Sam walked to the window and looked out. “I don’t want to have to fight the devil again, Sheela. I really don’t.”
“But you will,” she said softly. “Won’t you?” She brushed back the hair off her neck, just for an instant revealing a tiny birthmark there. It was in the shape of a pentagram.
“Probably so,” Sam said.
37
“And how is our little patient this evening?” Dr. Kent asked a nurse.
“Same as always, doctor. She just sits on her bed, smiling.”
“Ummm,” the doctor said.
“A package came for her this morning, doctor. I wanted you to see it.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a jack-in-the-box.”
“Ummm. Who sent it?”
“A Mr. Gunsche, I believe it was. Oh, and doctor, the patients seemed to be rather restless all afternoon.”
“Probably the weather.”
“About that jack-in-the-box?”
“Oh, give it to Nora. What harm could a toy do?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Though known largely for his epic tales of the American West including The Mountain Man series, New York Times bestselling author William W. Johnstone began his career by writing some of the most frightening and nightmare-inducing novels of his generation, including The Devil’s Heart and The Devil’s Kiss, which have developed a cult following in the years since their first publication.
You can learn more about Johnstone’s books including upcoming releases and special promotions by visiting williamjohnstone.net or kensingtonbooks.com.
Look for these other horrifying tales from William W. Johnstone.
Jack-in-the-Box Page 27
