999

by Al Sarrantonio

  Dare was packing a suitcase that lay on the bed.

  “Do come in,” he said tartly. He didn’t look up.

  Freeboard flung the door loudly shut behind her.

  “I’m beginning to think that you’re right!” she said tremulously.

  She swooped to the bed, sat down and watched him arranging a shirt in the bag. “I’m beginning to think there are ghosts,” she admitted. Dare threw his hands into the air and quickly turned to her, squalling, “But I don’t want to be right about that!”

  “I’m getting freaked, Terry. Really.”

  Freeboard held up her hands to her own inspection.

  “Look at this! I mean, look at this! My hands are shaking!”

  Dare looked down and saw the trembling, then said softly, “Oh, my dear!” He dropped the lid on the suitcase and sat down beside her. Taking hold of her hands, he tightly clasped them in his own.

  “Why, my dear, dear Joan,” he said to her worriedly.

  He looked into her eyes.

  “Yes, you truly are frightened. Terribly.”

  She glanced at the telephone receiver; it was lying on its side on a bedstand. She could hear the dull ringing at the other end.

  “Is that the boat you’re calling, Terry?”

  “Trying. Tell me, precious, what has happened? Tell me all.”

  “Take a look out the window.”

  “There aren’t any.”

  “Right. Holy shit, Terry!”

  “What, Joan? What is it?”

  She bent and put a hand to her chest, as if trying to catch her breath. “I went outside,” she told him haltingly. “The sky’s clear, there’s a moon, big stars. But there isn’t any city there, Terry; there’s no skyline of Manhattan—no lights, no planes, no nothing!” She looked up into his eyes. “God, I’m really getting scared, Terry. What’s going on with this place? I wish—”

  She halted. Something was different. Her glance flicked over to the telephone receiver. Dare said, “What?” Then he followed her gaze.

  “The ringing,” said Freeboard. “It stopped.”

  The silence that had settled on the room was profound. It spoke of finality, of a chapter that was ending. And a new one, something alien, about to begin. Dare stood up, reached over, picked up the receiver and slowly put it up to his ear. Then he quietly placed it back down on its cradle.

  “It’s dead,” he said dully.

  The next moment the lights in the room dimmed down and from somewhere in the house came a jarring sound, like the muffled blow of a giant sledgehammer wrapped in velvet striking a wall. Freeboard turned a frozen look to Dare. “Terry?” He sat down beside her as another blow came, and then another and another, growing louder, coming closer to the room.

  “God, what is it, Terry? What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Freeboard gasped. Her eyes widened.

  “It’s coming up the steps!”

  “Is the door locked?”

  She shook her head and said, “No! It doesn’t lock!”

  “Oh, my Christ!” uttered Dare.

  Freeboard clutched him with both her arms.

  “Jesus, Terry, hold on to me! Hold me! I’m scared!”

  He glimpsed the child’s fear in her eyes, the helplessness. He took hold of her and held her tightly. “Don’t be frightened,” he said into her ear. “It’s all right!” And she might have believed it had she not felt the furious racing of his heart.

  They gaped at the door.

  The poundings were picking up speed, throbbing closer.

  “It’s out in the hall!” whimpered Freeboard. “It’s coming!”

  “Shh, shh, Joanie!” Dare hissed in her ear. “It may not know that we’re in here! Don’t move!” he ordered. “Don’t make a sound!”

  Dare thought of every ghost story ever written, of every imaginable malevolence conceived by every fantasist who ever had lived. Malevolence? No, that wasn’t what he felt was coming toward them; it was hatred, an implacable, terrifying fury.

  Her eyes wide with fright, Freeboard gasped.

  “Oh, my Christ!”

  The poundings had stopped in front of the door.

  God in heaven! thought Dare. Let me faint! Please let me faint!

  A flow of cold energy, sickening, enraged, flowed into the room in sheets, in waves. Then the presence, the stillness, at the door grew thicker. Moments later there were tiny creaking sounds, tiny thumps, like fingers feeling at the door frame, as if they were seeking an entry point. Freeboard jammed a knuckle of her hand into her mouth in an effort to stifle another whimper. There were tears in her eyes. Then the probings ceased and from the hall they heard only a threatening silence. And then they were gasping, crying aloud, at a deafening crash against the door. And then another and another, relentless, unceasing, a battering ram made of murderous thoughts.

  “Dr. Caaaaase!”

  It was Freeboard. Terrified. Shrieking.

  Abruptly the pummeling came to an end and Freeboard’s cry bled into silence and the frigid and weightless air of the room. Dare felt her trembling uncontrollably. “It’s all right!” he whispered in her ear, then put a comforting hand against her cheek. What’s the meaning of this ludicrous courage? he marveled. It would never have occurred to him the answer was love. He listened. A sound. A faint squeaking of metal. He looked and then gasped: the doorknob was turning! Dare quickly put his hand over Freeboard’s eyes and tried to remember the Act of Contrition. Then the turning stopped and reversed itself, easing back to its original position. The next instant the poundings resumed, but more softly, the hammerings more muffled and pneumatic. Throbbing like a heartbeat, they were moving away, growing fainter and fainter, more distant. Dare exhaled in relief and took his hand from Freeboard’s eyes. They were wide. “What’s happening?” she whispered in terror. “It’s going away,” he whispered back. And then suddenly the pounding started up in full force again, deafening, returning to the door with savage fury. Freeboard gaped and her lips were moving but her words were completely inaudible as a strident keening filled the hall and the door began to buckle and bow in its center, bulging and creaking and straining inward as if bent by an angry and unthinkable energy furiously attempting to break into the room. Freeboard’s mouth was wide in a scream of terror that not even Dare was able to hear. And then he was gaping at something, astounded, for though the door was still closed he could see two figures who were standing in the hall directly in front of it as if they were about to enter: motionless and silent, staring into the room, they were the priests he thought he’d seen in the other wing. The taller one, older, with a freckled face, held a book that was bound in bright red leather. With the vision the poundings grew faster, more violent; then abruptly the energy seemed to relent and it ebbed to a muffled, steady pulsing as the door creaked back to its original shape. Freeboard cupped a hand to her mouth and emitted a stifled sob. The soft poundings receded, moving slowly down the hall, growing fainter and fainter until at last they were gone.

  Freeboard took the hand from her mouth. “Jesus, Terry, I want to get out of this place!” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Me too.”

  “You think it’s gone?”

  Dare shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  He started to get up to go to the door but the Realtor quickly tugged him back down. “No! Don’t open it yet! I don’t trust it!”

  “Yes, you’re right,” he whispered back.

  They waited. And then voices. From below. Trawley and Case. Dare and Freeboard leaped up and moved swiftly to the door, opened it and rushed out into the hallway. Below them, Case and Trawley were ambling into the Great Room, quietly chatting. Trawley laughed. Freeboard called down to them loudly, “Hey!”

  Case and Trawley looked up. Dare and Freeboard were hustling down the stairs, rushing up to them. “My God, am I glad to see you guys!” exclaimed Freeboard. She was breathless. “Where in freak have you been?” she exclaimed.

  “Why, I w
as just showing Anna the rest of the house,” replied Case. “Is something wrong? Have you seen something? Tell me.” He fumbled at his pockets, as if searching for a notepad and pen. He examined their faces. “Yes, I see something’s happened,” he said.

  “No shit! Listen, don’t ever leave us like that!” Freeboard told him.

  “You’re so pale, dear,” the psychic observed. “And you too, Mr. Dare.”

  “I’m in tatters,” Dare declared. “Undone.”

  “Well, what was it?” asked Case. “What did you see?”

  “I don’t know,” Freeboard answered. With a knuckle, she brushed away a tear from her eye. “There was something. It came down the hall. It was trying to get in, it almost bent in the door!”

  “What door?” asked Case.

  “To my room,” said Dare.

  “First we heard this loud sound,” recounted Freeboard. “Like a sledgehammer pounding on the walls. The whole house shook, it filled up your brain! And then it—”

  “Excuse me,” said Case, looking past her. “Oh, Morna, dear?”

  Dare and Freeboard turned and saw the housekeeper standing close by. Where had she come from? wondered Dare.

  Morna’s eyes were on Case as she answered, “Yes?”

  “Have you been in the house this past hour?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you heard it,” said Freeboard.

  “Heard what, Miss?”

  “Heard what?” Freeboard giggled.

  “You heard nothing unusual, Morna?” Case asked. He was frowning and seemed dubious and uncertain.

  “No, nothing at all,” Morna answered serenely.

  “It was shaking the house!“ Freeboard blurted incredulously.

  “Yes, exactly!“ added Dare. “It was deafening!”

  Morna gently shook her head and said softly, “I heard nothing.”

  “Oh, well, shit!” muttered Freeboard. “So I’m looney toons.”

  “But I heard it too,” Dare exploded.

  “Tell me, Morna, where were you?” Case asked, his frown deeper. “I mean, just this past hour,” he added.

  “In the kitchen.”

  “This is crazy!” blurted Freeboard. She threw up her arms. “Will there be something further?” asked Morna.

  “You’re very sure, Morna?” Case persisted.

  “I am. Is that all, please? I can go?”

  Case held her gaze with some mysterious emotion in his eyes. It was something like longing. Or grief Then after moments he said softly, “You may go. And thank you. Thank you more than I can say.”

  “Yeah, me too. Thanks a bunch,” grumbled Freeboard.

  “Then good night,” Morna told them. She held Case’s gaze for another long moment, and then turned and glided slowly toward the hall at the end of the room, the one from which she first had appeared. Freeboard watched her, nonplussed. “Good night?”

  “There’s no question of what we saw and heard,” averred Dare. “Oh, well, heard, at least.”

  “You saw something?” Case raised an eyebrow.

  “No, not really.” Dare backed off it. “I’m afraid I misspoke.”

  “Oh, well, screw it. Doc, I want to get out of here,” said Freeboard. “Like tomorrow. First thing. If it means I have to swim back, I’m outta here. Really!”

  “Yes, ditto, as Joe Pendleton would say,” agreed Dare.

  Case looked puzzled. “Joe Pendleton?”

  “The boxer in Here Comes Mr. Jordan” Dare told him.

  “Ditto ditto,” said Freeboard. “I want out.”

  “Yes, of course,” replied Case. He seemed thoughtful, staring down at the floor as in an absent gesture he gently stroked and tugged at his lips. He shook his head. “In the meantime, we seem to have a mystery on our hands. But I think that perhaps we can solve it.”

  “How’s that?” demanded Dare.

  Case gestured toward the second-floor hallway.

  “There’s a camera been running up there through the séance, and another at the end of the hall. If there was anything there, it would appear on the film or on the sound track, in which case we’ll have learned what we set out to find and Mr. Dare can write a mesmerizing article about it. On the other hand, if nothing turns up on the film—no hammering sounds, no ghosts …” Case shrugged and let it trail off. Then he turned to look at Freeboard.

  “Would that ease your mind?” he asked.

  Freeboard set her jaw firmly. “It’s there.”

  * * *

  “Note the time code at the bottom right corner of the screen,” said Case. He pointed to the spot with his finger. “As you see it reads eleven thirty-three P.M.”

  He was standing by the library television set and on the screen was a view of the empty Great Room. Trawley, Dare and Freeboard watched from a sofa close to the warmth of the fireplace flames. “As you can see,” continued Case, “there’s nothing there. Nothing visible. No sound of any kind. No poundings. Neither camera turned up anything at all.”

  Dare looked flummoxed.

  “Oh, well, the microphones must have malfunctioned.”

  “No, they didn’t,” said Case. “Not this one, at least. Here, watch.”

  Within moments Case and Trawley appeared on the monitor screen as they entered the Great Room from a hall. Their footsteps, their quiet conversation, were fully and crisply audible.

  Freeboard stared at the screen and shook her head.

  “That’s just plain crazy,” she murmured. “It’s nuts.”

  “But no poundings and no ghosts,” reminded Case.

  “But I tell you we heard it!” Dare fumed. “There’s no question, it was absolutely there!” His cheeks had reddened.

  “Yes, it’s certainly a puzzle,” Case agreed. “No doubt of that.” Working buttons on the video camera he’d connected to the television monitor, he was rapidly rewinding the tape. “But now here’s an even deeper one,” he told them. He was shaking his head. “I just don’t understand it,” he said. “Not at all.” Then at last he said, “There. There’s the spot. Now look at this. It’s from when we did the séance.” Case touched a little button and the tape ran forward. Once again the Great Room was projected on the screen. Near its center was the game table, with the Ouija board resting atop it.

  The time code read 10:30 P.M.

  Freeboard gaped. “Hey, where are we? What’s going on?”

  The planchette atop the Ouija board was in motion, desultorily gliding from letter to letter. But no one was seated at the table. There was no one to be seen in the room, in fact, except, for a moment, a large collie dog who appeared at the entrance to a hallway and then hastily scurried away and out of view. Dare stared at the screen, his face blanching, and Trawley was mutely shaking her head. “The date’s wrong,” the psychic murmured. She was staring at the date just below the time code. “It says 1998.”

  “We’re not on the film,” said Freeboard dully.

  She was staring at the screen, uncomprehending and lost.

  Dare leaped to his feet. “Oh, well, for godssakes, this is ludicrous! Really! It’s mad! It’s clearly some sort of absurd mistake!” He looked over at Freeboard. The Realtor had jumped up with a wince of pain and began to move quickly away from the fireplace.

  “Holy shit, I’m burning up!” she grimaced.

  And then Trawley leaped up, and then Dare. “Where’s this godawful heat coming from?” he complained. He followed Freeboard and Trawley into the Great Room. Of them all, only Case seemed completely unaffected. He came to the library door and watched calmly, although not without a look of great interest and concern.

  “Dear God!” Trawley cried.

  With a look of surprise, she staggered backward a step, as if shoved by an invisible assailant. And then surprise was transmuted into gaping fear as she staggered yet another step back, and then another. “Someone’s pushing me!” she gasped. Another shove. “Oh, my God!” she started crying; “Oh, my God!”

  And now the sound of a b
low against the mansion’s outer wall.

  “Oh, my Christ!” breathed Dare in terror. “Oh, my Christ!”

  “I’m burning up, Terry!” cried Freeboard. “I’m burning!”

  The pounding at the outer walls continued, thunderous, painful, penetrating bone. Lamps and tables began tipping over, scraping, sliding, hurtling through the room while huge paintings were ripped by a force from the walls and sent flying, spinning through the air of the Great Room as agony and madness descended upon it, on the house, on their bewildered, burning souls. “Someone tell me what’s happening!” Freeboard screamed, hands pressed against her ears and the torment of the poundings, and suddenly Trawley was shrieking in pain as a bloodless furrow slashed down her cheek, as if plowed by an invisible white-hot prong. A ritual chanting in Latin began, nightmarish, reverberant, and low, as if murmured by a hundred hostile voices, and then Freeboard was lifted by an unseen force and sent hurtling, shrieking, across the room to slam into a wall with a sickening final thud and crunch of shattered bone. Dare and Trawley couldn’t see anymore, all their blood had rushed up into their brains as now they too were seized by the force and carried up swiftly, spinning, toward the ceiling, spread-eagled, eyes bulging in terror, screaming, until they had slammed into the mansion roof and then plunged to the floor like crumpled hopes.

  It was not a dream. It was real.

  PART THREE: DÉJÀ VU

  Chapter Twelve

  The carved front door of the mansion burst open as if by the force of a desperate thought. “Holy shit, is this a hurricane or what!” exclaimed Freeboard. Sopping in a glistening yellow sou’wester, she staggered and tumbled into the entry hall with a keening wind at her back. She turned to see Dare rushing up the front stoop, and Trawley, carrying a bag, behind him, slower, deliberate and unhurried. A rain of all the waters of the earth was pelting down.

  Freeboard cupped a hand to her mouth:

  “You okay, Mrs. Trawley?” she squalled.

  “Oh, yes, dear!” the psychic called back. “I’m fine!”