by John Saul
Don't you like it? he silently taunted. Well, now you know how I feel when you're always picking at me!
His rage—a rage far stronger than he'd ever felt before—continued to grow, until he was on his feet, moving toward the altar. Drawing closer to the cross, his arm outstretched, he pointed directly at his mother's pain-ridden face with a quivering finger.
"Die!" he hissed. Then his voice rose. "Die," he shouted. "God damn you! Just die!" His voice cracked, and he dropped to his knees. "Die!" he breathed once more. His rage spent, his head dropped forward onto his chest and his eyes closed.
Luke's whole body trembled, then stilled, and finally, depleted, he opened his eyes again.
The candles Jared had arranged on the workbench were guttering—one of them had already gone out.
The visions he'd seen—the hallucinations of the glorious cathedral—had vanished, leaving only the black-painted reality of the basement room. Luke's heart was hammering, his whole body was covered with a sticky sheen of sweat, and his breath came in panting gasps. His legs feeling as if they'd barely support him, he moved back to the mattress, letting himself sink into its softness, lying back against the wall as his respiration and his pulse slowly returned to normal.
He felt both exhausted and exhilarated, and as the minutes crept by, he listened to the discordant sounds of the music that still blared from Jared's boom box. As the last chords faded away, he finally spoke. "Jeez," he whispered, turning to gaze at Jared in the flickering light of the few candles that were still burning. "Where'd all that come from?"
"Where'd what come from?" Jared asked.
Luke frowned uncertainly. "D-Didn't you see it?" he stammered. "It was like—like some kind of huge church or something. And there was a cross." Haltingly, he tried to describe what he'd seen, what he'd felt, but even as he spoke, the details began to fade from his consciousness, until all that remained was the memory of his exhilaration.
And the anger.
Then he looked at his watch.
One o'clock.
It wasn't possible! He'd only gotten here a little while ago—it couldn't have been more than an hour.
Could it?
He looked again—the numbers on the face of his watch hadn't changed. And he felt exhausted. His muscles all hurt—even his bones seemed to be aching.
The church! That must be it—he must finally be feeling the effects of the hours he and Jared had spent cleaning the church that afternoon. "I—I better get outta here," he mumbled, scrambling to his feet. "My mom's gonna kill—" The words died on his lips as a flicker of a memory rose in his mind, then vanished so quickly he wasn't even certain what it was he'd remembered.
Something about his mom, and—
—and what?
Nothing. Whatever it was, it was gone. "Better get goin'," he muttered.
Jared waited until Luke was gone, then relit the candles on the workbench. Every detail of what Luke had seen was still etched sharply in his mind, as was every word Luke had uttered as he'd stood pointing an accusing finger at his mother's image.
Luke himself might not remember what he'd said, but Jared did.
"Die, God damn you! Just die!"
Then he heard another voice—a voice so faint he could barely make out the words at all.
"No," Kim's voice whispered. "No, Jared, don't..."
Jared hesitated, the match in his hand flickering above the only unlit candle on the workbench.
"Don't," Kim's voice whispered once more, but so faintly now that her words were easy to ignore. "Don't do it, Jared. Please don't do it...."
Jared lowered the match to the wick.
The flame shrank, nearly dying away.
But then the wick glowed red, caught fire, and flared up.
The memory of Kim's softly whispered words was lost as the blinding light expanded once more to fill the room.
"No, Jared! No!"
Kim's own shriek jerked her awake, and she sat bolt upright. A flash of terror came over her—a terror such as she'd never felt before. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
A dream! It had been nothing but a dream!
The mists she'd been lost in, the darkness she descended into, the vast cathedral she'd seen—all of it had been a dream!
And the figure she'd seen, the evil figure she'd recognized as Jared—nothing but a nightmare.
She sat in the darkness. Though the night was warm and unseasonably humid and her face was sticky with sweat, she felt chilled as well, almost feverish. She got out of bed, pulled on her robe, and went into the bathroom. She flicked on the light, turned on the tap, then washed her face with cool water, rinsing the salty perspiration away from her skin. Finally she looked at herself in the mirror.
She looked exhausted, as if she hadn't slept at all. But the clock on her nightstand said it was after one, so she must have been asleep. Her complexion looked pasty and her hair hung in lank strings around her face. As she reached up to comb it back with her fingers, the mirror reflected a flicker of movement from behind her, and she whirled around, scanning the room.
Nothing!
It must have been her imagin—
And then she saw it.
A rat—the biggest rat she'd ever seen—was climbing out of the toilet, its wet fur matted down. As Kim screamed, the rat bared its teeth, hissing at her. Then another rat climbed out of the bowl, and another.
As Kim screamed in horror she jerked the bathroom door. The latch stuck.
Trapped!
More and more rats erupted from the toilet as Kim's heart raced. They were coming toward her, skittering across the floor toward her bare feet—
"NOOOO!" As the terrified shriek rose from her throat, Kim yanked at the door one last time and it flew open. Sobbing, she stumbled out into the hall just as her parents came through the doorway to their own room at the far end of the mezzanine.
"Kim?" her mother called. "Kim, honey, what is it?"
She hurled herself into her mother's arms, shaking, unable to speak. She pointed toward the bathroom door, which she'd jerked closed behind her.
Her father started toward the closed door, but she reached out, clutching at him. "No," she croaked. "D-Don't. Don't go in there."
Ted looked at her. "Don't go in? Why?"
Kim struggled to speak. She could still see the rats boiling up out of the toilet, their teeth—hundreds of needle-sharp fangs—bared, hissing furiously as they swarmed toward her. "R-Rats," she finally stammered, her voice quavering, her body still trembling at the memory. She began sobbing again. "They were coming out of the toilet, Daddy."
Janet's arms tightened around her weeping daughter. "Call someone, Ted," she said, her own voice shaking now.
But Ted was moving toward the closed bathroom door again.
"Don't!" Kim wailed as his hand closed on the knob and he started to turn it. "Oh, God, Daddy—"
But it was too late. The latch clicked open, and the door swung inward. Gasping, Kim's arms tightened around her mother and she shrank away from the terror about to emerge from the bathroom.
Silence hung over them as Ted pushed the door wider and stepped inside.
Then he was back and looking worriedly at his older daughter. "Honey, there's nothing there," he said softly.
Kim huddled deeper in her mother's arms. "No," she said. "I saw them. I know I saw them."
Ted spread his arms helplessly. "Take a look," he said, stepping away from the door. When Kim made no move, he came back and took her hand. "It's all right, Kim. Just look. I'll be right beside you."
Her heart racing, Kim let go of her mother and let her father lead her toward the open door. At the threshold she tried to pull away, the memory of what she'd seen still vivid. Yet now, as she peered into the brightly lit room, she heard nothing, saw nothing.
Warily, her fingers clutching her father's hand, she edged closer.
Behind the door! That was it—they were hiding behind the door, and as soon as she was inside they would swarm over her.
She gazed around.
Her father was right.
The water in the toilet was still, and there was no sign of the swarming rats she'd seen a few moments ago.
"A dream," her father told her. "It must have been a dream."
Saying nothing, Kim let her parents lead her back to bed, let her mother tuck her in as if she were a little girl. But after her mother kissed her good night and reached for the light, Kim stopped her. "Leave it on," she whispered. "Please leave it on."
Janet hesitated, then smiled reassuringly at her daughter. "All right," she said. "But just remember, darling—it was only a dream. Just a terrible dream. There's nothing here that can hurt you." She kissed Kim once more, then slipped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. "She'll be all right," she told Ted as they returned to their own room. "She's just leaving the light on for a few minutes."
But it wasn't for just a few minutes.
It was for the rest of the night.
And even with the light on, Kim could still see the rats, hissing at her, snarling at her, waiting for her to turn off the light so they could sink their teeth into her.
Not until dawn, when the rising sun finally washed the images away, did Kim fall into a restless sleep.
CHAPTER 25
Sandy Engstrom felt her nerve slipping away when she was still a block away from the Conway house. All week, ever since Kim had invited her to sleep over tonight, all the stories she'd heard while she was growing up had been creeping back out of her memory. Nor had it helped that most of the other kids she knew thought she was crazy even to think about spending a night in the Conway house. Jolene Simmons hadn't even bothered to try and be polite. "You'll be lucky if you don't get killed!" she said. "Everyone knows all the Conways are crazy! That's why Father Mack's going to make sure they can't open a hotel. In fact, I hear he's planning to make them move right out of town!"
"How's he going to do that?" Sandy countered. She put on her bravest face, but knew she sounded more anxious than scornful.
"Well, if you didn't spend all your time with that Kim person, you'd know, wouldn't you?" Jolene glanced around to see who might be listening, and her voice dropped. "There's going to be a meeting on Saturday night, and Father Mack's going to make sure they don't give Mr. Conway a permit. He's going to make sure everybody from St. Ignatius is there, and everyone's going to tell your father he can't give Mr. Conway the permit."
"It's not my dad who decides," Sandy said. "It's the whole council."
Jolene groaned. "Well, whatever. It won't make any difference who decides, because everybody in town is going to talk against Mr. Conway. I mean, everybody knows all the things that have happened in that house!"
"Nobody knows anything," Sandy protested, but even she could hear the uncertainty in her voice. After the conversation with Jolene, she told her mother she'd changed her mind about the sleep-over, but her mother shook her head.
"If you don't go to Kim's Friday night, everyone will think we believe all that dreadful gossip. And that won't be good for your father at the meeting on Saturday. He intends to help Ted Conway get his permits."
And that, Sandy knew, was that. The Engstroms would put up a solid front, no matter how Sandy might feel. Sandy had almost demanded to know why what she did would make any difference, but she already knew. As long as she could remember, she'd lived by a single rule: whatever she did reflected on her father; therefore it was most important never to embarrass him in public, or contradict him. And that meant that no matter how frightened of the Conway house she might be, there was no way to cancel the sleep-over.
And, of course, it was Jared's house, too. Sandy had been very, very careful not to mention her crush on Jared to anyone, but all through the week, the thought of Jared's gorgeous blue eyes sent small, delicious shivers of excitement racing through her.
Now, though, as she turned onto Pontchartrain Street, all the fears rushed back. It's just because it's almost Halloween, she told herself, but as she glanced around at the glowing jack-o'-lanterns that grinned and leered from every porch, she felt no reassurance.
Her step slowed. She could see the house at the far end of the street, off by itself, looming against the starry sky, casting an enormous shadow in the moonlight. She felt a chill. Most of the second floor was dark, and even on the first floor, only a few lights were lit. The porch lights were on, one on each of the columns that flanked the front door, but even they looked dim, as if the house were swallowing up the light itself. Too late to go back home. Reluctantly, she stepped onto the broad porch and rang the bell. But as she waited for the door to open, she felt eyes—unseen eyes—watching her.
But that was silly! It was nothing more than the jack-o'-lanterns on the porches and the stories that had been tumbling through her mind that were spooking her. Still, the sense of someone watching remained. Cautiously, she looked around into the gathering darkness.
Was that a flicker of movement, over near the carriage house?
Sandy strained her eyes, peering into the shadows that surrounded the building, but she could see nothing.
Every shadow seemed to hold some unseen menace. Suddenly, all she wanted was to be safely inside the house. Then, just as she reached for the bell again, Kim opened the door. Relief flooding over her, Sandy quickly stepped inside.
Jake Cumberland waited in the shadows until the door closed behind Sandy Engstrom. Then he began his nightly ritual....
The first surprise came as Sandy peered into the huge entry hall. A great gleaming brass chandelier hung from the soaring ceiling, flooding the space with enough light to drive every shadow away. The floor, intricately inlaid with half a dozen different kinds of wood, looked as if it had been installed only a few days ago, instead of more than a century earlier. The space was freshly painted in a bright off-white, and she gazed in wonder at the soaring staircase at the far end of the hall.
"It's really beautiful," she said in an awed whisper, looking around in wonder. "Is it all like this?"
Kim shook her head. "It's just getting started. Some of the rooms upstairs are still really creepy."
The eager light in Sandy's eyes faded. She glanced around uneasily. "Where's Jared?" she asked.
"He's not here," Kim said. "Dad gave him enough money so he and Luke could go to the movies, and told him not to come home until at least eleven. Want to see the living room?" Concealing her disappointment at Jared's banishment to the movies, Sandy followed Kim toward the set of doors leading to the living room. As they were crossing the entry hall, Kim's parents came down the stairs.
"We'll be with Sandy's folks," Janet said, "and we should be home by ten-thirty. Molly's sound asleep, and I don't think she'll wake up. But if she does—"
"I'll give her a bottle of juice," Kim finished. She looked anxiously at her father. "You told Jared he can't bring Luke home, didn't you?"
"I told him he couldn't bring Luke home unless we were here," her father told her. "But I couldn't very well forbid him to bring his friend home at all, could I?"
Kim shrugged in reluctant acquiescence. "I guess."
"Okay. And remember, if you need anything, just call us at Sandy's house."
A minute later they were gone, and with the departure of the adults, Sandy's carefully controlled fears threatened to break free of the restraints she'd barely managed to put on them. At Kim's next words, her nerves frayed even more.
"Let's go upstairs," her friend said. "I'll show you some of the rooms."
Kim led Sandy up the stairs, but before taking her into any of the ruined rooms her father hadn't yet gotten to, she took her to her own room, which looked nothing like it had a few weeks earlier. Kim explained how her dad had stripped the rotting wallpaper away, repaired the plaster, and put on new pape
r in a bright flowered pattern that matched the bedspread on the huge four-poster bed as well as the curtains. A thick carpet covered the floor, and a chandelier, glittering with crystal, was suspended from a gilded medallion in the center of the ceiling.
"It's really nice." In the bright light of Kim's bedroom, Sandy's fears began to ease. "Are all the rooms like this?"
"Dad's going to make them all different," Kim said. She led her friend down the hall toward the room two doors down. But ten feet away, Sandy stopped short.
Something—some image she couldn't quite make out—seemed to have flickered in front of the door for an instant. She rubbed her arms as a chill came over her.
"I don't want to go in there," she announced.
Kim eyed her curiously, her head cocked. "It's just a room."
Sandy shook her head. "It doesn't feel right," she insisted.
"What do you mean?" Now, as she remembered the terrors she'd experienced a few nights before, her own heart began beating faster. But her terrors had been caused by nothing more than nightmares. "How does it feel?"
Sandy hesitated. The chill had passed as quickly as it had come. The door looked just like all the other doors that opened off the mezzanine. "I—I don't know," she stammered. "I just thought—" She stopped, embarrassed. "I'm okay," she said.
Kim opened the door and they stepped into a room lit only by the glow of moonlight coming in through the window. Even in the shadowy light, Sandy could see that it had once been a nursery. An ancient-looking crib stood near the window, and though the wallpaper was faded, she could still make out a pattern of teddy bears dancing across the walls. But the room felt strange.
Unlived-in.
She remembered the story she'd heard so many times while she was growing up, of the baby that George Conway's wife had given birth to, but who had never been found.
And then Sandy knew.
This was the room intended for that baby.
Sandy heard a sound, but it was so faint that for a second she wasn't sure she'd heard it at all. "Listen!" she said, her voice low. "What was that?"
