Bad Little Girls Die Horrible Deaths: And Other Tales Of Dark Fantasy

by Harry Connolly

  I dropped the paper to the floor and summoned my sight. The effort made me dizzy, but grief and horror gave me power.

  There, inside the bed, I could see two figures. One was dead and already crumbling to dust. The other was the most rare and precious jewel in the world.

  The Home Made Mask

  I suspect this is the story that most readers will read first. If you jumped straight to the back of the book to check out this long-promised Twenty Palaces short story (actually a novelette, but who's counting?) I hope you'll sample some of the other fiction, too.

  Anyway, Ray and Annalise both appear in this story--as you would expect--but only in small ways. Also, it takes place a day or two after the ending of Circle Of Enemies, and nothing in it could be considered a spoiler for the novels, except for the first eight words of this second paragraph. Just be warned that this isn't from Ray's POV.

  ------ ---- ------

  David wanted to know, once again, how much she loved the desert. He was from Maine, although he'd also lived in Juneau, Charlotte, Brooklyn, and Portland. He always said Brooklyn with special emphasis, as though it was a magic spell to dampen a girl's panties.

  "How much do you love the desert?" he'd ask every half hour or so. Everything was new to him and he couldn't stop marveling at it. For Carly, who had grown up in Vegas and still lived here mainly because her nest egg wasn't large enough for her to flip the bird at the empty sky and scorching heat, it was just scrub and rock and a lot of browns and yellows. Nevada was the color of old bruises.

  "Oh, I love it," she assured him. "Sometimes I forget how much. It helps to have someone with a new perspective to remind me."

  She expected that would please him and it did. What the hell, he was cute and outdoorsy--practically half a McConaughey--and her dating life lately… well, it had been a bit of a desert.

  So here she was in the passenger seat of his rattling old Corolla, driving out to an estate owned by one of David's buddies where they could hike a secret trail. He'd been in Vegas six months and already had a friend with property who let him drop by unannounced. Carly wasn't even supposed to visit her mother without calling first.

  Which is how she found herself, an hour later, deep in the desert just after sunrise in the ass end of August, with three liters of water in a Camelbak David loaned her, smearing sunscreen on her arms. "Don't forget your pretty little fingers," David said.

  Ugh. "Are you sure this is okay? Who lives here?" She gestured toward the padlocked chain link gate, which had a NO TRESPASSERS sign hung at eye level. In the rural desert, a sign like that was usually backed up by a well-stocked gun cabinet.

  "My friend Bill," David answered. "He gave me the key, like, two months ago. See?" He held up a little brass key, then jogged over to the gate and unlocked it. "I've been here once before by myself, but the view is so incredible that I'm dying to share it." The gates had to be lifted free of the dirt to swing open; Carly admired David's long calf muscles as he walked them inward. He was so cut he could have modeled human anatomy. Then, as if he'd forgotten something important, he rushed back to the car and took a blanket from the trunk.

  Please. If David thought he was getting laid out in the desert sun with the snakes and the coyotes--on a friend's property, no less, when that friend might actually be watching… well, calves or not, the only bush he was going to see was more of this screwbean mesquite.

  "It's not far, I swear. I have to be at work by one, so I promise it's not far."

  Carly glanced down at her pale, stocky legs. Was it so obvious that she wasn't a hiker? She had muscle there, even if she didn't have a lot of visible veins and tendons to show them off. Hmf. She swung the borrowed Camelbak onto her shoulder, tossed David his, then marched through the gate.

  David caught up quickly. "The trailhead is right over here."

  Carly had been on desert trails before, obviously, but they'd been in national parks with trailhead markers, stairs for the very steep parts, and guardrails to warn hikers away from dangerous spots. This was something different; twice they had to scramble up a four-foot tumble of rocks, and once, after the trail had gained them a few dozen feet in altitude, they had to walk along the edge of a narrow cliff. Carly didn't like the look of it: if the trail collapsed, it wouldn't be like plummeting off the top of a skyscraper, but breaking your legs in the desert in August was almost as dangerous. A fall like that would still kill you, but it'd take its time about it.

  She took out her phone and checked. No bars. Perfect.

  At about the twenty minute mark, David said they were half-way there. Then he pointed toward a stony outcropping that would give a commanding view of the property in one direction and the desert in the other. I occurred to her that the "incredible" view David was so excited about would probably be utterly typical to her. Still, he was so excited about sharing it that she decided she would pretend to be amazed, for his sake. Why not? It didn't cost anything.

  Just then, David stopped dead in the trail. He stared into a little cluster of banana yucca, his face utterly blank. "David?" He barely responded to her voice, and the skin on Carly's neck tingled with dread.

  He quirked his head. "What is that?"

  Carly tried to follow his gaze, tingles running all down her arms. Had he spotted a coyote or a rattlesnake? She squinted against the rising sun but couldn't see any animals. There was the trail ahead of them, another branching trail that led down into the valley below--possibly out to "Bill's" house--and a surprisingly tall cluster of yucca plants.

  She was about to ask David what was up, when he pointed toward the base of one of the plants. He was so tense that he pointed with his entire fist; he couldn't unclench it. "There, at the base near us."

  It wasn't the most specific directions Carly had ever heard. She tried to see what was bothering him and, to be honest, was becoming annoyed. There was pair of stones, some withered yucca leaves, and a mound of what looked to be gardening top soil someone had put their laundry into--

  "That's a dead body," Carly said. While the conscious part of her mind had been confounded by the color and position of it, her subconscious mind had registered the fingers, the outstretched arms, and the head. There was a secret part of her that lived by its instincts, that raced ahead of her waking mind, and she knew she needed to start trusting that inner self more.

  Which meant she was never going to sleep with David. Not ever. Oh well.

  "We should go," David said.

  That he'd suggested leaving urged her forward. "Do you think that's your friend Bill?"

  "No, it… Maybe. He hasn't been into the store in a few weeks. At least, not during my shifts. But I think that body's been there a long time. It's really dried out. Like, mummified."

  Mummified? That she had to see. David had promised to show her something incredible, hadn't he? How many chances would she get to see a dead body without becoming a cop or something? She took a few more steps down the slope of loose stones, wary of the thought that she might be clumsy enough to lose her balance and spear herself with a yucca leaf. "Don't worry," she said, when David made a gutteral noise of protest. "I won't get close."

  The body looked papery, like an abandoned wasp's nest. It was wearing a teal Rail Riders nylon shirt, men's long tan shorts, and hiking boots that must have cost three times what Carly had paid for hers. That was a guy lying dead down there, a guy with money but no taste. She tried to see if there was a bullet hole in it or something, but it was impossible to tell. Could snake venom have done this?

  The thought of snakes was enough to dissuade her from going any closer, but she had a prey's sudden certainty that it was already too late.

  The mummified arms bent at the elbow and the head lifted off the ground. Carly gasped and David screamed. The thing moved toward her and this couldn't be a prank, not if David was going to scream like that, not unless it was his friend Bill behind this freaky oh my god!

  Prank or not, Carly scrambled backward up the hill. The corpse--God, it
looked like a real honest-to-shit corpse--pushed itself to its knees and scrambled toward her. Its head was a fire-blackened skull with no eyes. Thin grasping fingers reached for her… it would have been a good time to scream if she'd had the breath for it and it would have been a perfect time for David to come help her right fucking now--

  The dead not-a-prank man grabbed hold of her wrist. Before Carly could even try to break free, a bout of vertigo threw her off-balance. The whole world seemed to spin around and around, the sky, the earth, the wind, the stars, the emptiness between the stars, so vast, so burning sour, so much darkness, so much light, so many muddled thoughts, so much raw, ferocious hunger for life and time… Everything felt so huge yet she could have swallowed it all and gone hunting for more more more more…

  Then she pitched forward onto the stony slope, which hurt her knees terribly, and she was looking at the thing, but now she was the one holding it.

  Carly let go instantly. Somehow, the thing looked just like her. Somehow it had stolen her shape, but at the moment she released it, it began to turn the color of used paper coffee filters, then even darker than that. The thing screamed, and Carly wanted to scream too, but her throat was so dry.

  But so was the thing. It shriveled up again like an old wasp nest and fell onto the trail at David's feet, having become a corpse again, except it now mimicked her.

  She'd beaten it. She'd broken the connection between them and it had shriveled up before it could finish copying her. She'd won. She'd won and lived!

  "You asshole!" She turned to David, who stared at her in wide-eyed horror. "You were completely useless, you completely-useless-piece-of-shit asshole!" He stepped back as though he had some reason to be afraid of her, then turned and sprinted back down the trail, those fine calf muscles on full display.

  "God, what an asshole." Carly needed a moment to get her bearings. The cluster of banana yucca was behind her. The corpse of that weird mummified thing was between her and the trail, and--oh, shit, it was wearing her clothes.

  Her white UNLV tee was right there, on that dried up corpse, and so were the tight hiking shorts that showed off her ass muscles. She stepped forward again and felt her feet moving inside too large boots and she knew, even before she looked down, that she was wearing those expensive men's boots along with the Rail Rider outfit.

  Shit! Had David drugged her or something, then switched her clothes? She pulled the shirt away from her body and, to her horror, saw that the inside was crusted with dry ashy skin.

  Carly screamed for real this time, quickly shedding the boots, shorts and top. Of course David hadn't even had the decency to let her keep her sports bra. Naked in the warming sun, she scrambled to a patch of sand at the side of the trail and began scrubbing her skin.

  Oh god oh god so revolting! She was going to have to shave her entire body, head included, when she got home. She scrubbed furiously; her back was the hardest part because she couldn't see what progress she was making, if any.

  The sun was dangerously hot by the time she finished. Actually, finishing was impossible. There was no point at which she felt honestly clean, only that she couldn't make herself feel any less repulsive by scrubbing between her toes and at the crack in her ass. She cautiously approached the trail again. David had dropped his blanket when he'd run away, but hadn't stripped off his Camelbak. God, she was so thirsty.

  Carly wrapped the blanket around her and padded barefoot to the corpse of that creature. It had taken--or been dressed in--all her clothes, including her own Camelbak. Everything was covered with more of that revolting ashy peeled skin, no way was she going to touch it. Still, she pulled her phone from the belt holster. The holster itself was ugh, but she just couldn't live without her phone.

  Still no bars.

  David had abandoned her. God, what a creep. If she ever saw him again, she was going to… She had no idea what she'd do, honestly, although she felt a twist of regret that she hadn't cursed him out better. She'd been too flustered even to throw a motherfucker his way.

  She was thirsty. Unfortunately, the only water nearby was in the pack on the dead thing's back. Carly didn't even have to get near it to see that there were gross curly peels of dehydrated flesh stuck like burned pork rinds to the mouthpiece.

  Her stomach did a flip flop. At some point, she knew, she would be so thirsty that she would wipe off that piece of plastic and drink from it, but that hour had not arrived. Not yet.

  "David took the car," she said aloud. Again, her subconscious was racing ahead of her waking mind. David had run off and the creep had been too spooked--and too ashamed, probably--to wait for her. She tried to imagine him waiting for her by the side of the road, but considering his expression when he ran away, the idea was ridiculous. He was gone, and he'd taken her purse with him.

  A gleam of metal caught her eye. As the sun rose, it reflected off a solar panel to the west of her. The second path she'd noticed led in that general direction, and it seemed a good bet that "Bill," whoever he was, might be at the end of that trail. She started down it.

  The soles of her feet were soft; by the time she rounded a bend and saw the house, they were bruised and unhappy, but thankfully not yet bleeding.

  The house itself was some kind of futuristic rich man's desert hideaway: all steel, glass, and copper, with solar panels, water tanks, and a smashed satellite dish. No one answered the doorbell--not even for a naked woman--and she could see nothing but darkness and expensive furniture through the windows.

  There was a nozzle on the outside of the water tank, and Carly began to drink. It was a law of the desert that a stranded person couldn't be denied water, right? Even if the water was kind of stale and tasted like rusty spoons? She drank and drank, her mind becoming still and empty.

  Unfortunately, the tank ran empty before her thirst was fully slaked.

  The next question was whether she should break into the house or not. The sun was already high enough to be dangerous--how had she lost so many morning hours?--and the sunscreen she'd rubbed onto her arms and hands didn't seem to be doing much. What's more, she had to admit that this stylish metal house held a powerful appeal. There was a peaceful isolation to be found here, with no wires hooked up to the outside world, and no obligations to family or community.

  But Carly didn't do anything more than try the doorknob to confirm it was locked. This was rural Nevada; if she broke in she was more likely to be shot than offered a sandwich and a robe. Still, in front of the house was a long driveway that led to another gate and a road beyond; at least she wouldn't have to walk more than an hour back to the place where David had abandoned her.

  Shit. Was she really going to have to walk out to the road in nothing but a blanket? She glanced back at the empty water tank. It seemed so.

  The gate was locked, of course, but she could push it far enough to slip through the gap. The driveway just beyond had been weirdly vandalized: someone had dug a trench across it, like putting a speed dip between the gate and the rest of the world. Carly stepped carefully across and came to the road.

  The asphalt burned her feet, so she had to walk on the shoulder. She had, quite honestly, no idea where she was or even what road this was. She was alone in the middle of nowhere. Anything could happen to her out here. Anything. If the wrong vehicle stopped…

  Barely ten minutes ticked by before the first car approached from behind. It was a Volvo station wagon, and it screeched to a halt after it passed her, then slowly began to back up. A woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window and leaned out. "Oh my Lord, honey, are you all right?"

  It occurred to Carly that this moment could have been just as dangerous as the moment when the pretend corpse had lunged at her.

  "Stop the car!" the woman said. The Volvo jolted to a halt. Little faces appeared above the back seat. They were just little kids seeing yet another inexplicable adult thing in an inexplicable adult world.

  Then Carly blinked, and it seemed that everything changed. The woman, the kids in
the backseat, even the driver--what she could see of him--suddenly became connected by thick black cords. It was as though someone had taken a filter off her vision and a monstrous web had been revealed. What's more, the cords were not just inside the car--they extended out from it, through the glass and metal, across the landscape, as though they were miles and miles long.

  Those black cords--the web--whatever it was, terrified Carly beyond all reason. They vanished just as suddenly as they appeared, and for a moment she was sure they had been a hallucination. Maybe the pretend dead thing had been a hallucination, too. Maybe David had spiked her Camelbak.

  The passenger finished fumbling with her seat belt and stepped out of the car. For a split second, the black cords reappeared, looking wet and weightless as they tracked her movements. They vanished before Carly could look away, but she couldn't help gasping and stepping back.

  "It's okay," the woman said. Carly dared another glance. The woman looked to be Japanese and might have been in her early thirties. Her hair was tied up with an old blue rag and her clothes were threadbare and worn. "It's okay, miss. Are you… Do you have anything on under that blanket? Because I can give you clothes. Don't run." It was as though she was reading Carly's mind, because even though the woman was no longer the center of horrible moving web--like some kind of human spider--Carly almost ran barefoot back the way she'd come. "Please don't run away."

  "I won't." Carly wrapped the blanket tight around herself. The driver opened the door and stood, but he didn't approach. He was Hispanic, maybe a little younger than the woman, and just as threadbare.

  "Have you been hurt?" the passenger said. "We can take you to the hospital, if you need that. If you've been assaulted. We can take you anywhere you want, okay? It's up to you. But just let me get some clothes out of the back of the car for you."

  She offered sweat pants, a loose long-sleeved tshirt and a pair of flip flops. She folded them carefully and set them on the ground as though she was trying to entice a stray dog with a pile of hamburger. The black cords didn't reappear; Carly must have imagined them. The woman--who introduced herself as Marie--held the blanket while Carly changed. Her husband John kept his distance. No other cars passed by.