I’m in!
Chapter Seven
From now on, staying in would be the trick. To manage that, Mark needed a hiding place.
He glanced at the guide in the foyer. A heavy-set brunette. Busy answering someone’s question, she didn’t notice him. He followed a few people into the parlor.
Though not here for the tour, he figured he should look as if he were, and try to blend in with the others. Besides, he really liked the parlor exhibit.
Ethel Hughes, or at least her wonderfully life-like mannequin, was a babe. On the other side of a thick red cordon, she lay sprawled on the floor, one leg raised with her foot resting on the cushion. She was supposedly the first victim on the night of August 2, 1903, when the beast came up from the cellar and tried to slaughter everyone in the house. It had ripped her up pretty good. Better yet, it had ripped up her nightgown.
The replica of her nightgown, shredded in precise accordance with damage to the tattered original (now on display in Janet Crogan’s Beast House Museum on Front Street), draped Ethel’s body here and there but left much of it bare. For the sake of decency, narrow strips of the fabric concealed her nipples and a wider swath passed between her parted thighs. Otherwise, she was nearly naked.
A year ago, taking the tour by himself, Mark had noticed that one of the strips was out of place just enough to let him see a pink, curved edge of Ethel’s left areola. He’d gazed at it for a long time.
Today, nothing showed that shouldn’t. He found himself staring at Ethel, anyway. So beautiful. And almost naked. What if a wind should come along . . .?
How? The windows are shut.
Cut it out, he thought. She’s nothing compared to Alison or Officer Chaney. She’s not even real.
But she sure looked exciting down on the floor like that.
The image returned to his mind of the day he’d seen Ethel with the shred of cloth off-kilter.
Quit it, he told himself.
Only one thing mattered: hiding.
Late last night in his bedroom, Mark had pulled out his copy of Janice Crogan’s second book, Savage Times. In addition to containing the full story of Beast House, along with copies of photos and news articles, it provided floor plans of the house. He’d studied the plans, used them to refresh his memory of what he’d observed during the tours, and searched them for good a place to hide.
So many possibilities.
Behind the couch in the parlor? Under one of the upstairs beds? In a closet? Maybe. But those were so obvious. For all Mark knew, they might be routinely checked before closing time.
He needed someplace more unusual.
The attic seemed like a good possibility. Though visitors weren’t allowed up there, its doors were kept open during the day. He’d heard that it was cluttered with old furniture, even some mannequins that had once been on display. He could probably hide among them until closing time . . . if he could get into the attic unseen.
That would be the hard part. A guide was usually posted in the hallway just outside the second-floor entrance. And even if he should find the door briefly unguarded (maybe if he created a diversion to draw the guide elsewhere), he would hardly stand a chance of making it all the way to the top before being spotted.
I’ll at least go upstairs and check it out, he thought. The attic would sure be better than the alternative.
After giving Ethel a final, lingering gaze, Mark turned around and stepped out of the parlor. The heavy-set guide was keeping an eye on people, but paid him no special attention. He turned away from her and started to climb the stairs.
Halfway up, someone behind him said, ‘Is this fuckin’ cool, or what?’
He looked back.
The wiry guy who’d spoken, a couple of stairs below Mark, was maybe twenty years old, had wild eyes and a big, lopsided grin. He wore his headphones over the top of a battered green Jets cap.
‘Pretty cool,’ Mark agreed.
‘It’s fuckin’ bullshit, y’know. I know bullshit when I see it. But it’s fuckin’ cool bullshit, know what I mean?’
‘Yeah. It’s cool, all right.’
‘Beast my fuckin’ ass.’
‘You don’t think a beast did this stuff?’
‘Do you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Only one sorta beast does this sorta shit – homo-fuckin’-sapien.’
‘Maybe so,’ Mark said.
At the top of the stairs, he joined several people who’d stopped at Station Three. Reaching down inside the zippered front of his windbreaker, he pretended to turn on his tape player.
The guy from the stairs knuckled him in the arm.
‘Love this Maggie Kutch shit,’ he said. ‘Man, she must’ve been fruitier than fuckin’ Florida.’
Mark nodded.
‘Name’s Joe,’ the guy said. ‘After Broadway Joe, not that fuckin’ twat in Little Women.’ He cackled.
‘I’m Mark.’
‘Biblical Mark or question mark?’
Mark shrugged.
‘First time?’
‘In Beast House? No, I’ve been here a few times.’
‘Where you from’
‘Here in town.’
‘I came up from Boleta Bay. I gotta come up and do the house two, three times a year. It’s like I’m fuckin’ addicted, man. I stay away too long, it’s like my head’s gonna blow up like fuckin’ Mount St. Helen.’
Mark nodded again, then turned his face away and pretended to listen to his audio tour.
Beside him, Joe’s player clicked on.
Around him, people were starting to move toward Lilly Thorn’s bedroom. He heard a faint, tinny voice from Joe’s headset. Though he couldn’t make out the words, he knew they came from Janice Crogan and he knew what she was saying.
. . . After finishing its brutal attack on Ethel, the beast ran out of the parlor and scurried up the stairs, leaving a trail of blood . . .
She then gave instructions to leave the player on and follow the replica blood tracks into Lilly Thorn’s bedroom.
Joe turned toward Lilly’s room, looked down at the tracks on the hardwood floor and smirked at Mark. ‘Bloody footprints,’ he said. ‘I fuckin’ love it.’
Mark walked beside him into Lilly’s room. About a dozen other people were already inside, listening to their headphones and staring at the exhibit.
Behind the red cordon, a wax dummy of Lilly Thorn was sitting up in bed. Unlike Ethel, Lilly looked alive and terrified. This was how she might’ve appeared immediately after being awakened by the noise of the beast’s attack on Ethel. Soon afterward, she had blocked her bedroom door shut and escaped through a window . . . surviving . . . but leaving her two small boys behind to be raped and murdered by the beast.
Joe chuckled and muttered, ‘Fuckin’ pussy,’ in response to something he heard on the tape.
What if he STAYS with me?
He won’t, Mark thought. He’s just doing the tour.
Let’s just see . . .
Mark turned around and took a step toward the bedroom door. Joe grabbed his arm. ‘You gotta listen to the spiel, man.’
‘I’ve heard it before. Lots of times.’
‘Yeah, me too. But you know what, you get new stuff every time.’
Mark shook his head. ‘It’s always the same.’
‘Yeah, the words. But not you. Every time you hear ’em, you’re a different dude so they mean different stuff. You pick up new shit, know what I mean?’
‘I guess so.’
‘So you gotta listen to the whole thing, really listen. Got it?’
‘Got it.’
Joe let go of his arm.
Mark, nodding, reached down inside his windbreaker and pretended to turn on his tape player again.
Chapter Eight
He’s just hanging out with me during the tour, Mark told himself. All I have to do is walk through it with him, then he’ll go his way and I’ll go mine.
Maybe.
Or maybe he’ll say we s
hould have some lunch together or why not take a walk down Front Street and have a look at the museum?
That’s not what’ll happen, Mark thought. Long before anything like that goes on, Joe is going to notice that my headphones aren’t connected to anything.
The pretense of being on the tour was only meant to fool casual observers. Mark had never considered the possibility that someone might latch onto him.
If Joe finds out I’ve got no tape player . . .
No telling what he might do. For starters, he’ll probably ask a lot of questions. Then he might report me.
Mark put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. Joe shut off his player and turned his head.
Grimacing, Mark said, ‘Gotta go.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Don’t know. Something I ate. Feels like the runs. Gotta go.’
‘Okay, man. Later.’
Bent over slightly, Mark walked quickly out of the room. In the hall, he didn’t look back.
If he comes with me, I’m screwed.
In case Joe was following him, Mark stayed hunched over on his way down the stairs. Plenty of people were on their way up, so he kept to the right. None paid him much attention. He could hear people behind him, too.
Please, not Joe.
At the bottom, he glanced back.
Five or six people were on their way down, but Joe wasn’t among them.
Mark continued toward the front door. He was almost there before he caught himself, remembered that he didn’t need to use the restroom, and changed course.
‘Excuse me, are you all right?’
He turned toward the voice.
It belonged to a girl wearing the tan blouse and shorts of a Beast House guide. This wasn’t the husky one he’d seen earlier. This guide was slender with light brown hair and a deep tan. Mark quickly looked away from her and mumbled, ‘Bathroom.’
‘The restrooms are around back. Just next to the gift shop.’
Nodding, he muttered, ‘Thanks.’
Just great, he thought.
He started toward the front door.
Now I’ll have to leave and come back in.
‘A lot quicker if you go straight through,’ the guide said.
He stopped and turned toward her. ‘Huh?’
She pointed at the hallway beside the stairs. ‘Take the hall, go through the kitchen and out the back door. When you leave the porch, the restrooms’ll be straight ahead.’
‘Am I allowed to go out that way?’
‘Anybody tries to stop you, tell ’em Thompson says it’s okay.’
‘Okay. Thanks a lot.’
He hurried past her, past the foot of the stairs, and into the hallway. With a glance back, he saw that she wasn’t following him. He was alone in the hallway. He quickened his pace and entered the kitchen.
Nobody in the kitchen, either.
My God, I don’t believe it!
Believe it, he thought.
He hurried through the kitchen, but not toward the back door – toward the open pantry.
He entered it. Before he could reach the stairs, however, he heard voices from below.
Of course, he thought. Obviously, I can’t be that lucky.
The cellar was at the end of the audio tour . . . the pièce de résistance. Nobody actually following the audio tour should be here yet, but some had obviously ignored the tape and rushed on ahead.
Damn!
Starting down the stairs, Mark reminded himself that his plans had never included the idea that he would find the cellar deserted. He’d just figured, if one thing led to another and he ended up needing the cellar as a last resort, that he would find other people here and he would need to play it by ear.
It’s not exactly a last resort yet, he told himself.
But things happened and I’m here.
In the light from the dangling, bare bulb, Mark saw only four people in the cellar. A young man and woman were standing at the cordon, peering down at the hole in the dirt floor. Next to the woman stood a small girl, maybe four years old. The woman was holding her hand. Off to the side, a husky, bearded guy stood staring into the Kutch tunnel through the bars of the door.
The little girl didn’t have headphones on. She looked over her shoulder at Mark and said, ‘Hi.’
Mark smiled. ‘Hi.’
The mother frowned down at the girl. ‘Don’t bother the man, honey.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said.
The bearded guy turned around and said to Mark, ‘A shame they don’t open up the tunnel.’
‘Yeah,’ Mark said.
‘I’d love to see the tunnel.’
‘Me, too.’
‘And the Kutch house.’
‘Yeah. Same here.’
‘I mean, that’s where half the good stuff happened and we don’t even get to see it.’
‘Well, it’s still occupied.’
‘I know that,’ the man said, seeming a bit miffed that Mark doubted the breadth of his knowledge. ‘Maggie’s daughter. What I hear, she’s as deranged as her mother was. Five’ll get you ten she’s got a critter or two over there right now.’
‘Maybe,’ Mark said. He turned away from the man, approached the cordoned-off area around the hole in the floor, and stepped up beside the little girl. The mother and father looked at him, then returned their attention to the hole.
Mark looked at it, too, though he’d seen it many times before.
Just a hole in the dirt, probably only a couple of feet in diameter.
Can I fit in there? he wondered. Sure. I must. It’s big enough for the beasts and they’re bigger than me.
‘That’s where the beast comes out,’ he explained in a voice plenty loud enough for everyone to hear.
The little girl looked up at him. Her parents turned their heads.
‘We know,’ said her father. ‘We’ve seen the movies, too.’
‘Have you read the books?’ Mark asked.
The father shook his head and resumed looking at the hole.
‘What’re you looking at?’ Mark asked.
‘What do you think?’ the father asked.
The mother gave Mark a tiny frown.
‘Waiting for the beast to come out?’ Mark asked.
‘Please,’ the man said.
‘It might, you know.’
The girl, gazing up at him, raised her eyebrows.
‘Yesterday,’ Mark said, ‘a beast came popping up out of this very hole and snatched a little girl.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘She was just your size.’
‘Don’t touch my daughter,’ the mother said.
‘Excuse me.’ He removed his hand.
The father glared at him.
‘And stop trying to scare her,’ the mother said.
‘I’m not trying to scare her. I just wanted to warn her. This big white naked beast actually popped up yesterday and grabbed a little girl no bigger than your daughter and dragged her down into the hole with it.’
The daughter looked good and scared.
Her father whirled toward Mark. ‘Look, kid . . .’
‘The girl was screaming.’
The mother said to her daughter, ‘He’s making this up, Nancy. He’s a mean person and . . .’
Crouching low enough to look the girl straight in the eyes, Mark said, ‘It ate her up!’
She screamed.
The mother threw her arms around the girl.
The father stomped toward Mark. Red in the face, he stormed, ‘That’s enough out of you, young man! That’s more than enough!’
Putting up his open hands, Mark backed away. ‘Hey, hey. Take it easy, okay? I’m just concerned about your little girl, man. You don’t want her to get eaten up by a beast, do you?’
The girl screamed again.
‘We’re getting out of here,’ the mother blurted. She picked up the girl. ‘You, too, Fred. Come with us right now.’ She hurried toward the stairway.
Fred glared at Mark, then looked at his wife and said
, ‘I’ll be right with you, honey.’
‘Now! He’s just a trouble-maker. He probably wants you to hit him so he can sue us. Don’t give him the satisfaction.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll be right with you.’
‘No you won’t. You’ll come now!’
Fred sighed. Then he leaned in close to Mark and snarled, ‘What I oughta do, you little fuck, is rip off your head and shit down your neck.’
‘What you oughta do,’ Mark said, ‘is lay your hands on some original material.’
Fred cried out in rage and reached for Mark’s neck.
As Mark lurched backward, the wife yelled, ‘FRED! NO!’ and the bearded man leaped out in front of Fred to hold him back.
‘It’s all right, fella,’ the bearded guy said. ‘Take it easy, take it easy. The kid’s just a little wise-ass. Don’t let him get to you. Huh? Come on, now. Come on.’
Holding Fred like a friend, the bearded guy walked him toward the stairway.
With the sobbing child in her arms, the mother climbed the stairs backward to keep her eyes on the situation.
Fred, still held by the bearded guy, started up the stairs. He muttered, ‘It’s okay. I’m fine. You can let go.’
But the bearded guy held on.
Near the top of the stairs, the mother halted. In a shrill voice, she announced, ‘You, young man, should be ashamed of yourself. You’re a nasty, horrible creature. What’s the matter with you, saying such awful things to an innocent little child! I hope your skin falls off and you rot in hell forever! And rest assured, we will report you! You’ll be out of here on your insolent little ass!’
They resumed their climb up the stairs.
The moment all four were out of sight, Mark swung a leg over the cordon. He hurried over to the hole, sank to his knees, then leaned forward and lowered himself headfirst into the darkness.
Chapter Nine
I did it! I did it!
Feeling gleeful and scared, Mark skidded and scurried downward. The slope beneath him was very steep at first. After it leveled out, he belly-crawled forward a little farther. Then he stopped and lowered his head against his arms.
He was breathing hard. His heart was thudding. Though he felt sweaty all over, the air in the tunnel was cool. It smelled of moist earth, but the dirt beneath him didn’t seem wet.
The Complete Beast House Chronicles Page 111
