The Stake

by Richard Laymon

Now it was too late.

  Pete appeared at his side, stepped forward and picked up the blanket.

  Larry felt as if his skin were on fire.

  “Been checking her out, huh?”

  Deny it?

  Pretend you don’t know how the blanket got on the floor?

  Pete’s no idiot. He’d spot that lie in an instant.

  “Yeah,” Larry said, trying to sound lecherous. “Just had to. She’s such a doll I just couldn’t help myself.”

  “Can’t blame you. What a mug. What a bod.”

  “Gives a new definition to feminine pulchritude.”

  “Gives a new definition to ugly,” Pete said.

  “Seriously, though, I didhave to take a look at her yesterday. Research. Came time to describe her for the book, and I wanted to get it right.”

  “Right, sure.” It was apparent from his tone that Pete believed the story. He shook open the blanket and spread it over the corpse, covering Bonnie from her shoulders to her ankles. Then he bent down again and pulled it up to hide her face. “That’s better,” he muttered.

  “Why don’t I take the front?” he suggested.

  They lifted the coffin and carried it back through the garage.

  “I’ll go first,” Pete said. “Should work better that way, since you’re taller. Try to keep your end high.”

  He started up the ladder backward, moving slowly. As the box tipped upward, Bonnie slid toward Larry until the casket stopped her feet. The blanket dropped away from her face.

  Larry raised his end of the box. Bracing it against his chest, he stepped closer to the ladder. The front kept rising. The blanket slipped down. The stake caught it, and the blanket hung from the wooden shaft like a cape tossed over a wall hook.

  When Larry reached the base of the ladder, he realized he wouldn’t be able to climb with the coffin pressing against his chest. “Wait,” he called.

  Pete stopped.

  Larry lowered it to his waist.

  “Okay.”

  Pete resumed climbing.

  Larry mounted the ladder’s first rang. Bonnie stood almost vertical inside the coffin.

  “Oh, boy,” Larry muttered.

  “You okay?”

  “So far.”

  “I’m just about there.”

  Larry shoved the casket upward with his knee, planted the toe of his shoe on the next rung and tried to rise. His foot slipped. As it dropped to the rang below, he lost his grip. The bottom edge of the casket pounded the ladder.

  “Shit!” Pete yelled.

  Larry grabbed the box’s sides.

  Something moved above him. He looked up.

  He shouted, “No!”

  Bonnie, standing rigid, teetered forward and plunged straight down at him.

  It seemed to happen very slowly. The blanket fell from the stake and drifted toward her feet. Her dull blond hair flowed behind her head. Her right arm stayed tight against her side, but her left arm swayed down from the elbow as if reaching for him. Her mouth seemed to be stretched into a delighted grin.

  He heard himself squeal.

  He heard Pete shout, “Watch out!”

  Hurling himself off the ladder, he staggered away and flung up his hands. He caught Bonnie by the sides, just under her armpits, and tried to shove her away. But her weight drove him backward. He stumbled off the edge of the platform.

  He seemed to fall for a long time.

  His back slammed the concrete floor.

  His hands lost their grip, and the body crashed onto him, the blunt end of the stake ramming his chest. He twisted his head aside. Dry teeth struck his cheek. Hair floated down, tickling his face like spider webs.

  Larry bucked, throwing her off, rolled away and scurried to his feet. He stared at her. He gasped for breath. He felt as if a horde of ants were crawling on his skin, but he looked down at himself. Except for a snag and a smudge of dirt on the chest of his T-shirt, he saw no evidence of the encounter.

  “Are you all right?” Pete asked.

  Larry moaned. “I’ve been better.”

  “Right with you,” Pete said, and dragged the empty casket up through the opening. Larry heard it scoot along the attic floorboards. Then Pete rushed down the ladder. “Guess maybe we should’ve tied her in.”

  “Yeah.” Larry wanted to rub his crawly skin, but not with hands that had touched the body. “I’ve gotta shower,” he said.

  “Don’t blame you. Gross-out. Let’s take her up, though, huh?” Pete crouched over Bonnie’s head and slipped his hands beneath her shoulders. “Take the legs, buddy.”

  Larry shook his head. “I... uh...”

  “Come on, don’t be a pussy.”

  He looked at his hands. “Don’t wanta touch...”

  “For God’s sake, Lar! She was all overyou. Come on, grab hold. We can’t just leave her here.”

  Pete lifted. The rigid body didn’t bend. Bonnie slanted down, straight as a plank, from her head at Pete’s waist to her heels against the garage floor. “Guess I can just drag her,” he said. “Save you from messing your hands. You can bring the blanket, can’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Relieved, Larry crouched and picked up the blanket.

  He watched Pete turn the corpse around and walk backward. Bonnie’s heels sounded like newspapers sliding along the concrete.

  Pete backed onto the platform. When he stepped onto the first rung of the ladder, Bonnie’s feet rose off the floor. Her Achilles’ tendons scraped the edge of the platform.

  And left flakes of brown skin behind.

  Larry winced.

  He didn’t want to touch her. But it pained him to see her getting hurt.

  She’s notgetting hurt, he told himself.

  The backs of her feet pounded the ladder rungs as Pete climbed higher.

  Larry rushed forward. He tucked the blanket under his right arm, grabbed Bonnie’s ankles and raised them. Holding both feet against his left side, he started up the ladder.

  “Good man,” Pete said.

  Larry climbed carefully. He kept his eyes away from the corpse. At the top the heat was stifling.

  They lowered Bonnie into the coffin. He spread the blanket over her, then hurried down. Pete came after him. They folded the ladder. A yank on the rope sent the trapdoor swinging upward on its springed hinges. It slammed shut.

  As they headed for the house, Larry realized that he felt guilty about leaving Bonnie in such a dark, hot place.

  Don’t be ridiculous, he thought. She’s dead. She doesn’t feel a thing.

  “When do you think we oughta pull the stake?” Pete asked when they reached the living room.

  “The sooner the better, I guess. I’ll want to do some research on Sagebrush Flat, though.”

  “Right, good idea. Maybe they had some vampire troubles. Maybe that’s how come the place was abandoned.”

  “We’ll see. Anyway, I need to fill up more pages somehow.”

  “Right. And I need to pick up a video camera before the big event. I want to tape the whole thing, you know? It’ll be great.”

  “Yeah.” Larry opened the front door for him.

  “See you later, bud. Going good, huh?”

  “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about the women catching on.”

  Grinning, Pete slapped his arm. “See you later. Don’t let your meat loaf.”

  When Pete was gone, Larry hurried to the bathroom. He threw his clothes into the hamper and rushed to the tub.

  As he stood under the hot spray of the shower, he wondered why he hadn’t mentioned finding the ring. He should’vetold Pete about it, told him that the body was a girl named Bonnie Saxon who was graduated from Buford High in 1968.

  How come I didn’t? he asked himself.

  Pete’ll find out sooner or later. He’ll realize I kept it from him.

  So what?

  Twenty

  “Good morning, ma’am.”

  Lane swung her locker shut and turned around. “Well, hi, stranger.”


  Jim’s hands were pushed into the front pockets of his jeans. Smiling, he drew them out for her to see, and slipped them in again. “Keeping ‘em to myself,” he said.

  “Good for you. You’re learning.”

  “Did you have a nice trip?”

  “It was okay. I missed you. How was Candi?”

  “Oh, she was grateful. She’d like you to go away more often.”

  Lane tried to hold onto her smile, but she felt it being tugged down. Her arms tightened around the binder and school books clutched to her chest.

  “I was kidding.”

  “I know.”

  “Youbrought her up.”

  “I know. Dumb, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t go out with Candi. Or anyone else. Not as long as I’ve got you.”

  Lane’s smile came back. She lifted an eyebrow. “Think you’ve gotme, do you?”

  “Hell, you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. Give me one of those hands.” She moved to his side, dropped one arm away from her load of books and squeezed his hand when he offered it. “Want to walk me to the library?” she asked.

  “The library?”

  “I’ve got an errand.”

  “It’s only ten minutes before the first bell.”

  “Shouldn’t take very long.”

  Holding hands, they made their way through the crowded hall.

  “Is it still on for Friday night?” she asked.

  “Sure. I hope so. Rather go out Saturday, but...”

  “Hamlet.”

  “I know. What a drag.”

  Outside, they cut across the quad. Jim opened the library door for her. “Guess I’ll make myself scarce,” he said. “Ol‘ lady Swanson and me don’t exactly hit it off. See you at lunch?”

  “Fine. See you.” Lane gave his hand another squeeze, then let go and entered the library. She headed straight for the circulation desk. There, Miss Swanson was busy checking out books to several students.

  “Ol' lady Swanson” was probably no older than forty, an attractive woman with very short red hair and a freckled face. But Lane knew what Jim meant. Though the woman was hardly ancient, her rigid posture and high, thin eyebrows suggested a severity that made her seem older than her years.

  She’d always been nice to Lane, but she seemed to enjoy visiting grief upon students who acted up. Kids usually referred to her as “the bitch.” She was also known as “the dyke” and “the shithead.” Henry, perhaps the most literate of her detractors, preferred to call her “the Scarlet Pimple.”

  After the last student wandered off, Lane stepped up to the desk.

  “Good morning, Miss Swanson.”

  “Lane? How are you?”

  “Fine. I was wondering if you could help me. Are old yearbooks kept around somewhere?”

  “Indeed they are. We’re missing certain years, of course. Books flyout of here if I’m not constantly on the alert. The students are a pack of thieves. And several of the teachers are just as bad, if I do say so myself.” Her left eyebrow climbed her forehead. “What year would you be interested in?”

  “Nineteen sixty-eight.”

  “That’s long before I took over. Matters were an absolute shambles back then. I’ll take a look, but don’t be at all surprised if ‘sixty-eight is among the missing.”

  Lane smiled politely and said, “Thank you.”

  Miss Swanson entered the office behind the circulation desk and stepped out of sight.

  Lane leaned forward. She propped her elbows on the desk and crossed her feet. She waited.

  “And how are you this fine morning?”

  Before she could turn around, Mr. Kramer appeared beside her. “Oh, hi!” she blurted, and felt the warmth of a blush.

  “All rested up and rarin‘ to hit the books?”

  “Sure. I managed to reread Hamletover the weekend,” she said, hoping he would be pleased by the news.

  “Wonderful.”

  He smelled wonderful. After-shave lotion? His cheeks looked smooth. They had a faint bluish hue where his beard would be if he grew one. She wondered if he ever had trouble shaving the deep cleft in his chin.

  She met his eyes for a moment. They were soblue. She looked away and said, “It’s really amazing. I get more out of the play each time I read it.”

  “Well, old Billy Shakespeare was no slouch.”

  She laughed, then faced forward as Miss Swanson returned to the desk. The librarian held the tall, thin volume of a yearbook. Seeing Mr. Kramer, she smiled and color came to her face. She suddenly looked softer, more feminine, younger.

  “Good morning, Shirley.”

  “Mr. Kramer. May I help you with something?”

  He shook his head. “Just visiting with one of my ace students, here.”

  Miss Swanson nodded, and turned her smile to Lane. “You’re in luck, young lady.”

  “Terrific. How long can I check it out for?”

  “I’m afraid you won’t be ableto check it out. Rules of the house. You may peruse it to your heart’s content, but it remains in the library.”

  Lane wrinkled her nose. “Not even overnight?”

  “I’m afraid not.” She glanced at Mr. Kramer as if seeking approval. “If we allow the yearbooks to leave the library, we soon won’t have any at all. You understand.”

  “Yeah.” Lane shrugged. “Well...”

  “Now please, those are the rules.”

  “This is my fault,” Mr. Kramer said. “I asked Lane to pick the book up for me.”

  “Oh?”

  He reached out and slipped it from Miss Swanson’s hands. He nodded. “Yes, this is it. ‘Sixty-eight. Is there a problem with mechecking it out?”

  “Why, no. Of course not. Let me write up a card.” She slid open a drawer, took out a blank card, and jotted down, “Buford Memories, 1968.”

  “I really appreciate it,” Mr. Kramer said as he signed the card.

  Miss Swanson blushed even more. “Quite all right. Will you be able to return it tomorrow?”

  He glanced at Lane. She nodded. “I should be done with it by then.” Lifting the book, he said, “Thanks again, Shirley.” He tucked the book under his arm, gestured for Lane to follow him, and walked out to the quad. “Here you go.” Handing it to her, he gave his face a silly, terrified expression. “For heaven’s sake, don’t lose it.”

  Lane laughed. “I’ll be careful.”

  They walked together. “How come you’re interested in a yearbook that old?” he asked.

  “Oh, it’s for Dad. He’s planning a novel that has stuff happening in ‘sixty-eight. He wants to check out the hair styles, clothes, that kind of thing. Thanks an awful lot for handling Miss Swanson.”

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  Lane felt a pleasant glow spread through her. “I wish there was something I could do for you.”

  “Well, if you mean that, I can always, use an able hand to help me correct papers.”

  “Great. When?”

  “Can you spare half an hour after school? I still have those spelling tests from Friday that need to be marked.”

  “Sure.” The bell rang.

  “Uh-oh. We’d better get to first period. See you later.”

  Nodding, Lane watched him hurry away. She took a trembling breath, then forced her weak legs to carry her forward.

  * * *

  She set her lunch bag and drink down on the table beside Jim, then peered across the cafeteria. Henry and Betty weren’t at their usual table. Someone else must’ve beaten them to it. But she spotted her friends at the other side of the crowded room. “Back in a minute,” she told Jim.

  “Forget something?”

  “I have to see Henry and Betty.”

  Jim rolled his eyes upward, suffering.

  Lane patted his shoulder, then hurried away.

  She found them sitting across from each other, Betty ripping open a bag of taco chips with her teeth while Henry lifted a brown paper sack out of his briefcase.

  “H
iya, guys,” she said.

  Henry twisted around and grinned up at her. “Salutations, my darling.”

  “Eat road apples,” Betty told him.

  “I have to stay after school today,” Lane said. “I guess you’ll need to get home under your own power.”

  “No prob-lem,” Henry said.

  “Detention?” Betty asked.

  “Ha! Me? Don’t you wish.”

  “So what gives?”

  “I’m staying late to help Kramer grade papers.”

  Betty pounded a chubby hand against her chest. “Be still, my heart. How’d you wangle that?”

  “Just lucky, I guess.”

  “He’s not Tom Cruise, you know,” Henry pointed out.

  “You wouldn’t know a hunk if one fell on you,” Betty said.

  “They fall on me every time I go to RE. It’s among their favorite sports.”

  “Anyway, I’d better get back to Jim. I just wanted to let you know.”

  Betty leered, advised, “Keep your shorts on,” and jammed a taco chip into her mouth.

  “Degenerate,” Lane said.

  The girl nodded eagerly as she chewed.

  Lane made her way back to Jim’s table and sat down beside him. “See? Back already.”

  “Have a nice chat with Tweedle Dee and Dumb-dumb?”

  “If you aren’t going to be nice, I’ll scram.”

  “Okay, okay. Just kidding. So what gives?”

  “Aren’t you the curious one?”

  Shrugging, Jim turned away and took a bite out of his apple. For lunch each day he ate two apples and a chocolate bar, and washed them down with Pepsi. He was on his second apple. Only a core remained of the first. It was turning brown. Glad that she had realfood, Lane un-wrapped her salami-and-cheese sandwich. She bit into it and sighed.

  Jim glanced at her. “You’re eating poison, you know. All them preservatives.”

  “I’m counting on them preserving me.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Cheer up.”

  “So what’s the big deal with Hen-house and Betty Boob?”

  “I’m staying after, that’s all. I had to let them know.”

  “How come you’re staying after?”

  “I’m helping Kramer mark tests.”

  Jim wrinkled his face, baring his upper teeth. They were caulked with white mush from his apples. “Judas priest. Grades slipping, or something? Isn’t enough, you giving up Saturday night for that bozo? Now you’re doing slave labor? Shit! All of a sudden you’re sure into some major league brown-nosing.”