The Complete Beast House Chronicles

by Richard Laymon

  ‘That’s good,’ Gorman said. ‘That’s a lot better.’ He stepped around Janice and climbed above her. ‘Almost there,’ he said.

  Three stairs from the top, another dizzy spell hit her. Her stomach convulsed. She lunged forward, pressing her head between the planks, and vomited through the gap behind them. When she finished, she lay there gasping and sobbing.

  ‘Quick!’ Gorman said. ‘My God, it’s sitting up!’

  She jerked her head free and looked down at the tunnel entrance. From this angle, she couldn’t see the beast at all.

  Neither, she realized, could Gorman.

  She raised her face, blinking tears from her eyes. ‘You can’t . . .’

  ‘Damn you!’ he bellowed. ‘Come on!’

  She raised her arm toward a higher step. He grabbed its wrist with both hands and tugged, jerking her up and forward. Her cheek hit the edge of the landing. He dragged her. She scraped and bumped over the remaining stairs. With a final yank he threw her onto the landing.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Up.’

  She couldn’t force herself to move.

  Gorman stepped over her. He planted a foot beside each hip, and clutched her sides. A finger dug into the bullet hole under her arm, stunning her with a bolt of pain. He lifted her. First to her knees. Then to her feet. As she tried to lock her knees, he swung her around and pushed.

  She plunged head first. She seemed to fall forever, a scream swelling in her chest as the stairs below drifted up at her. She flung an arm across her face. The arm went numb. The plank it hit burst apart. The top of her head skidded across the next one as her legs flew high and swung down. The edges of planks slammed her back and buttocks and legs. They scraped her back, bumped her head as she slid. Then she came to a stop, her rump on the cellar floor, her back against the stairs.

  ‘My goodness,’ said a voice above her. ‘You fell.’

  She brought her head forward, feeling a dim sense of relief that she could move it. Her legs were stretched out across the dirt. They seemed to belong to someone else. A sneaker had been lost in the fall. She wiggled her bare toes.

  ‘But you’re still alive.’ She heard footfalls on the stairs. ‘You must be part cat. Are you part cat, Janice? You’re harder to kill than your mother was. A regular Rasputin.’

  Across the cellar, near a stack of bushel baskets, a hand reached out of the ground.

  Out of a hole in the cellar floor.

  A dead-white hand, smudged with dirt but glistening in the lantern light. A hand with long, hooked claws.

  Janice tumbled forward as something – Gorman’s foot? – thrust against her back. Grunting, she sprawled face down.

  Gorman rolled her over.

  He straddled her, sat on her belly, smiled down at her. ‘Unfortunately,’ he said, ‘you broke your head in the fall.’ He gripped both sides of her head. ‘I’m not sure I’m strong enough for this, but we’ll give it the old college try.’

  She drove a fist into his side. He grunted and his face twisted.

  ‘Oh, you’re a tough one.’ He started to smile again, but then he looked up and his mouth sprang open. A shadow fell across Janice. The beast stood above her, reaching for Gorman. He sucked in a loud breath and flung out an arm to ward the thing off. His other hand went to his hip. Lifting her head, Janice saw him try to tug a revolver from his front pocket. He jerked the gun free as the beast’s hands clamped the sides of his head. With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Janice flung her right arm across her body, grabbed the rising barrel, and tore the gun from Gorman’s hand.

  The beast lifted him by the head. His feet swept past Janice’s face. His shrieks hurt her ears.

  She rolled over. Braced on her elbows, she turned the revolver around and cocked it.

  The beast still had Gorman by his head. He waved his arms and kicked and screamed as it shook him. Then it flung him against a section of shelves. Wood splintered. He fell sprawling to the floor under an avalanche of jars. ‘Shoot it!’ he cried in a choked voice. He staggered to his feet. He stumbled backwards as the crouching beast lurched closer.

  Janice fired.

  The slug knocked a leg out from under Gorman.

  He flopped onto his back. The beast sprang onto him. He let out a piercing scream as its snout thrust into his groin, snapping and ripping. Soon, he was only whimpering. The beast raised its head and seemed to stare at him for a few moments. Then it scurried up his body, opened its mouth wide, and bit into his face.

  Janice watched.

  She watched until Gorman no longer groaned and whimpered, until the convulsions stopped shaking him and he lay motionless.

  The beast climbed off him. Its body was smeared with Gorman’s blood. It turned toward Janice and stared at her.

  Its penis thickened and grew and stood upright.

  She fired.

  The bullet whined off the stone wall beyond its head. Hunched over, the beast hesitated. Janice aimed at its chest. As she squeezed the trigger, the creature lurched aside. It sprang across the cellar floor toward the tunnel where the other beast lay dead. Janice swung the pistol, fired again and again. Then the hammer fell with a dry clack. The beast vanished into the tunnel.

  29

  Tyler stopped abruptly when she heard the sound – a single pop that surged down the tunnel from behind. ‘A gunshot?’ she whispered.

  ‘Aye,’ said Captain Frank.

  She stood motionless in the dark, hanging onto the old man’s hand, and wondered what it might mean. Nora had a pistol, but had left the house and probably wouldn’t be back yet. That left Gorman. Who – or what – had he fired at?

  ‘Trouble back there,’ Captain Frank said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s not poke.’

  With a nod that he wouldn’t see in the blackness, Tyler pulled his hand and led the way forward. Her shoulder bumped a wall. She stepped to the right, and kept going.

  Another gunshot resounded through the tunnel, followed soon by a quick flurry that all ran together and might have been three shots or four.

  What’s going on back there?

  ‘Lord,’ muttered Captain Frank.

  Tyler stood still. She listened for more gunfire, but heard only the thump of her heartbeat and the old man’s quick breathing.

  ‘Strange business,’ she said.

  His hand was hot and slippery in her grip. She kept hold of it, and started walking again. She swept the pistol from side to side ahead of her, feeling for walls. Her knuckles brushed moist clay. She turned slightly away.

  She wished they hadn’t left the Coleman lantern behind.

  With light, they would be out of this tunnel by now, not staggering blindly along its twists and curves.

  They must be nearing its end.

  But the tunnel seemed to stretch on forever.

  With Abe in the lead and Jack covering the rear, they had walked the length of the upstairs corridor. Every door was shut. At each of them, Abe pressed himself to the wall and tried the knob. Every door was locked.

  At the end of the corridor, he whispered to Jack, ‘Let’s start by the stairs and smash them open.’

  They were halfway back when a door swung open twenty feet ahead. They crouched and took aim.

  ‘We’re comin’ out.’ Abe recognized the husky voice of Maggie Kutch. ‘Don’t shoot us.’

  ‘Come out slowly,’ Abe said. ‘Keep your hands in sight, and they’d better be empty.’

  Through the doorway sidestepped a young woman. Maggie, behind her, had a hand around her neck and held a revolver to her head. The woman cradled a baby in her arms. It was silent, but awake and fingering a strap of her nightgown.

  ‘Drop your guns,’ Maggie said.

  ‘You drop yours,’ Abe said, ‘and place your hands on top of your head.’

  ‘I’ll shoot her brains out.’

  The possibility sickened Abe. Without their weapons, however, they would be at Kutch’s mercy. He had little doubt that she would fire
on them the instant they were disarmed.

  ‘You’ll be dead,’ Jack said, ‘before she hits the floor.’

  ‘Let’s not have any shooting,’ Abe said. ‘Leave the woman here with her baby, and you can walk out. We won’t make any moves to stop you.’

  ‘Think I’m a fool?’ Kutch asked. ‘You drop your guns before I count three, or else. One.’

  ‘Don’t do it,’ Abe warned.

  ‘No, please,’ the woman begged. She clutched the baby to her chest.

  ‘Two,’ said Kutch. Her voice sounded calm, as if she knew they would give up their guns to save the woman.

  Tyler stepped into the dim blue light of the cellar. She stood motionless, gazing at the two bodies that hung from the far wall, thinking for a terrible moment that they were Abe and Jack.

  Captain Frank bumped her side. ‘Lord,’ he whispered.

  Her eyes lowered to the torn body of a woman sprawled on the floor. She pulled her hand from Captain Frank’s grip, covered her mouth and turned to the stairway, and flinched as she heard gunshots from somewhere above. She raced across the carpet. She grabbed the railing. She started up, taking two stairs at a time.

  With a look over her shoulder, she saw Captain Frank running in a drunken weave to catch up. She couldn’t wait for him. But as she started to turn away, a pale shape sprang from the tunnel’s darkness.

  ‘Behind you!’ she yelled.

  The old man was too drunk or too slow. Even as he started to turn, the lunging beast rammed clawed hands down on his shoulders. He cried out. His legs folded. The beast batted the side of his head. Growling, it bared its teeth. Its snout darted toward the back of his neck.

  Tyler fired. The blast stunned her ears. The revolver jumped.

  She had aimed high, afraid of hitting Captain Frank. Her bullet plowed up a tuft of carpet near the wall.

  The beast stared up at her. Its slanted eyes didn’t blink. Its snout was smeared red, but not with Captain Frank’s blood. Tyler remembered the gunshots she’d heard in the tunnel. They had been fired at this thing. Whose blood . . .?

  It scurried off the back of Captain Frank and rushed forward in a low crouch with its knuckles on the carpet like a gorilla. It was almost to the foot of the stairs when Tyler squeezed off another shot. Splinters exploded off the banister. The creature jerked its head aside as flying needles of wood jabbed its face. Its right eye spat fluid. It slapped a hand to its face. Screeching, it staggered backwards.

  Tyler aimed at its head and fired and missed. She aimed at its chest and fired. Her bullet slashed a red streak across the top of its shoulder.

  She tried to think.

  How many bullets had she fired?

  The beast was standing upright with its head back, roaring with pain or rage. It should be an easy target, but the angle was bad, shooting down like this.

  If she tried to finish it off, she would empty her gun. Then what good would she be to Abe?

  Captain Frank’s gun!

  It lay on the carpet near his body.

  Unfired. Full.

  If she could get to it . . .

  Holding her revolver with both hands, she aimed at the chest of the beast and squeezed the trigger.

  The gun bucked. The creature grabbed its side, just above the hip. Spinning, it fell to one knee.

  With the noise of the blast still ringing in her ears, she raced down the stairs. She rushed at the beast. She stabbed the muzzle against its head above an open hole where its ear should have been. Its elbow rammed into her thigh, knocking her leg back, twisting her. The front sight carved a gash across the side of its head as she started to fall. She jerked the trigger and wished she could call back the bullet because she knew, even as the gunshot crashed in her ears, that she had missed.

  When Kutch said, ‘Two,’ the corridor roared.

  Abe and Jack both fired at the same instant.

  Abe had chosen, as his target, the area to the right of the young woman’s ear. Maggie’s gun was there. Half of her face was there, too, visible behind the woman’s head.

  Jack must have picked the same target.

  Maggie’s pistol leaped from her hand as if kicked, and bounced off her forehead. Her cheek blew open with a spray of blood. She flopped backwards. The woman with the baby hurled herself aside, hit the wall with her shoulder and sank to her knees. The baby cried wildly.

  Maggie lay on her back. She didn’t move.

  Side by side, Abe and Jack ran forward. Abe stopped in front of the young woman. Jack went on ahead to check on Maggie.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Abe asked.

  She nodded. She stroked the head of her baby, and looked up at Abe. ‘Don’t let . . .’ She slipped a knuckle into the crying baby’s mouth. Its wailing stopped. It sobbed and gummed her fingers. ‘Don’t let them get you,’ she said. ‘They’re . . .’ A muffled boom interrupted her. A gunshot from somewhere in the house.

  ‘Jack, take these two outside.’

  ‘Maggie’s alive.’

  ‘Leave her. Get these two . . .’

  Jack’s head jerked sideways. He swung his weapon. Abe pivoted, but before he could bring up his revolver a beast leaped onto him. It was half the size of the creature they had killed in the tunnel, but its weight caught him off balance. He fell onto the woman and baby, rolled off them, and let his gun fall so he could grab the throat of the beast as its mouth thrust toward his neck.

  ‘Drop that knife!’ Jack yelled.

  Abe heard more far-off gunshots.

  Then he glimpsed a fat woman in the doorway with a butcher knife. Her face was wrapped in bandages. He cried out in pain as claws raked his back. Then he was on top of the beast. It twisted and thrashed under him, and gurgled as his thumbs dug into its throat. Its claws tore at his sides and arms. Letting go with one hand, he smashed a fist against the side of its head. He struck it again. Then its teeth snapped shut on his fist. Pain shot up his arm. His left hand released its throat. He grabbed the top of its snout, forced his trapped hand down, and yanked the jaws wide. A gristly, cracking sound. The beast flinched rigid. Abe pulled his bloody hand from its mouth. The jaw hung slack, the tongue drooping out one side.

  He ducked as it swung at him. Claws dug into his scalp, forcing his face down against the slick flesh of its chest. He drove fists into both its sides. The claws eased up. He shoved himself backwards, shaking his head free. Its penis rubbed his cheek. He jerked away from it, lunged farther back, and grabbed the beast’s ankles.

  It sat up, swatting at him, missing. On his knees, he dragged it. He lurched to his feet, pulling it along the carpet as it flailed the air and kicked its trapped legs.

  ‘Hold still!’ Jack yelled. ‘I’ve got it.’

  ‘Mine,’ Abe grunted. He lifted the squirming beast. It flapped its arms. Its head slid across the carpet, then left the carpet. Abe swung the creature upward, turning, and slammed it against the corridor wall. Its head thudded on the wood. He released its ankles. It dropped to the floor.

  As it tried to get up, Abe stomped on its head. He lost his balance, stumbled across the corridor and hit the wall. The fat woman in the doorway was staring at the beast, shaking her head and mumbling. Jack held his pistol on her. The butcher knife lay at her feet.

  Breathless, Abe staggered over to her. He picked up the knife. He knelt over the writhing beast, flipped it onto its back, and slashed its throat. A hot splatter of blood blinded him, sprayed into his open mouth.

  Tyler landed on her back in front of the kneeling beast. She started to bring up the gun. The beast knocked it from her hand. She flung up her other arm to block a blow to her face, but not in time. The impact dazed her. Her arm fell to the floor. She wanted to struggle, but her body seemed too weary. She felt as if she were outside herself, observing.

  The beast straddled her.

  Its claws hooked into the front of her sweater and ripped.

  Its hands felt slimy on her breasts. Did they leave trails like a snail? Its claws scraped slightly, almost
tickling. Its head moved down. Its tongue rasped over one of her nipples. Fluid from its punctured eye dribbled onto her chest. Its nose was cold like a dog’s. Then she felt teeth on her breast, on the underside and top, and she knew it had her whole breast inside its mouth. Its tongue swirled and thrust.

  The mouth went away. The cool air of the cellar chilled her wet flesh. The mouth took in her other breast. It was not so gentle, this time. Its teeth squeezed. She tried to lie still, but her muscles tensed. The jaws clamped tighter. The pain cleared her mind. She was no longer distant and observing, but she didn’t dare to struggle. Not now. Not with her breast in its teeth. The creature squirmed, pulling on her. Then it let go.

  Claws scratched her belly. They dug under the waistband of her skirt and pulled with such force that her rump lifted off the floor. Raising her head, she saw the beast on its knees between her legs, ripping away her skirt. It gave a final yank, and flung the garment aside.

  She saw its huge, erect penis.

  No!

  Jerking her knees high, she rolled. Her foot brushed the creature. Then her legs were clear and she kept rolling, kept flipping herself over. She didn’t look back.

  Facedown, she shoved herself off the carpet. She staggered forward. The stairway was far to her left. She ran for it, and heard a rumbling growl behind her.

  Claws pierced her shoulders. Weight pressed down, collapsing her legs. She fell. The floor hammered her knees and palms. With the beast on her back, she crawled closer to the stairs.

  It reached under her. It gripped her breasts. Pulled. Her hands left the carpet. She was squeezed against its slick chest, lifted off her knees. Its teeth caught the side of her neck as if to hold her still. She felt its penis between her legs, shoving her higher as it carried her toward the stairs.

  Kicking and squirming, Tyler clutched the creature’s hands and tried to tear them away from her breasts. They squeezed more tightly. The claws dug in, piercing her skin.

  The beast slammed her down against the stairs. The edges of the risers pounded her body. She felt the hands go away from her breasts. Claws scraped along her ribs and sides. They dug into her hips. The shaft began to slide backwards.