Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection)

by McCray, Carolyn

As they regained their footing, Paxton shook off a waterslide of lake water.

  “Next time? Next time we listen to the commander.”

  Yeah. Ruth couldn’t argue with that suggestion at all.

  * * *

  Cecilia leaned her cheek against Michael’s shoulder, at first tentatively, and then, with a sigh, more fully. They swayed to the rhythm. If she closed her eyes, and her ears, she could imagine they were dancing on a rooftop alone. Just she and Michael.

  This is how it was supposed to be, wasn’t it—if she didn’t have to worry about her brother and her mother all the time? If bills and utility company messages weren’t constantly on the voice mail? She could just sway to the music, feeling Michael’s heartbeat against her cheek. It was so perfect. Well, except for the death-row kittens, but Michael was right. She could just ignore Dahmer and focus on them.

  Cecilia lifted her face up to find Michael looking down at her. She smiled. He smiled. Could they really capture some kind of magic from this doomed night?

  Michael’s finger caressed her chin, tilting it up even more as he leaned down. Cecilia’s mouth parted slightly, ready to receive his kiss, when the ballad ended and guitar music screeched once again. But she ignored even that as their breath mingled. Each was not sure if the other was ready.

  Then a bloodcurdling scream came from overhead. Everyone looked up.

  High above them, from the catwalk, a huge cross hung down over the stage. But the object wasn’t just a cross. A girl was crucified upon it. And not just any girl. It was her friend.

  “Helen!” Cecilia screamed as her friend swung overhead, then back toward the stage.

  “Help!” her friend cried.

  “Help her!” Cecilia screamed, pointing to the cross. But everyone else thought it was nothing more than Diana Dahmer putting on a great show.

  She turned to Michael. “That’s Helen!”

  The cross began to swing back over to the audience, but one of the ropes broke, tilting the cross askew. The other rope broke, and the cross fell into the crowd.

  Cecilia pushed her way forward. “Put her down!”

  But the crowd, ignorant that a girl was about to die on that cross, lifted the object, and Helen, over their heads. The unholy spectacle surged forward and back, as if the audience were lifting Dahmer himself. But they weren’t carrying a rock star. They were carrying her friend. Helen was covered in blood. Not the sticky stupid stuff all over the mansion, but the real, bright red kind.

  Michael shoved dancers out of the way, and finally they reached the crowd holding up the cross.

  “Put it down!” Michael yelled, pantomiming what he wanted them to do, but no one was paying attention.

  Cecilia could hear Helen’s sobs. Cecilia couldn’t wait anymore. With a running start, Cecilia leapt forward, grabbing hold of the bottom of the cross. With her added weight, the crowd could no longer keep it aloft, and the cross and Cecilia came down, hard.

  “Oh, my God, Helen! I am so sorry,” Cecilia murmured as she crawled over to her friend. It was worse than even she had thought. Not only were Helen’s wrists and ankles tied to the cross with barbed wire, they were physically staked to the wood.

  “Hold on, Helen! We’ll get you off.”

  But her friend didn’t even sob anymore. Only a low whimper escaped her throat.

  Cecilia turned to Michael. “Get help!”

  Michael didn’t even waste breath answering. He simply ran toward the nearest security officer.

  Cecilia went to Helen’s blood-smeared face and cupped it in her hands. “Helen, stay with me. We’re going to get you help.”

  Helen’s smudged eyelids fluttered. “Cec?”

  “Yes, hon. I’m right here.”

  Cecilia’s heart tore as her friend’s head lolled to the side.

  “No!” Cecilia screamed, tugging futilely at the spike that doomed her friend.

  * * *

  Helen’s eyelids fluttered. The pain. It wasn’t that it wasn’t there anymore. It simply didn’t matter. Cecilia was shredding tissue trying to get the spike out, but Helen hardly noticed.

  Blood poured out of her veins, but she could no more will it back in than Cecilia could get the thick spikes from the wood.

  “Cecilia?” Helen whispered. It was the best she could do.

  “Yes, Helen!” Cecilia answered as she smoothed back Helen’s bloody hair. “Michael got help.”

  Helen could tell. Many more struggled to free her. But it wouldn’t be in time.

  “It is one of us,” Helen croaked out, trying to make Cecilia understand.

  “Who?”

  Helen licked her lips, but tasted only blood. “The usher. He goes to Our Lady.”

  “Shh,” Cecilia said. “We’ll talk about it when you are better.”

  “No,” Helen said as firmly as she could. “You, all of you, are in danger! You need to—”

  Helen silently screamed as a spike was pulled from her ankle.

  Cecilia cradled Helen’s head as another spike came out, and barbed wire was ripped from her flesh.

  “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay,” Cecilia kept reassuring her, but Helen knew better. The pain was truly gone now. Her vision was just a pinpoint in front of her.

  “Cecilia.”

  “Helen. Keep your strength.”

  With her hand freed, Helen clutched Cecilia’s sleeve. “I’m so sorry I got you into this,” she whispered.”

  “Shh.”

  “Tell my dad …” Helen could barely move her lips. She was so very tired. Even the weight of air crushed her. “Tell Dad I’m sorry about the dresses.”

  * * *

  Cecilia’s tears mixed with the blood on Helen’s cheek. She wiped them off. “Don’t worry about the stupid clothes.”

  But her friend’s breath came in a rattle, and then stopped.

  “Helen!” she screamed.

  “We’ve got her!” Michael yelled as he picked up Helen’s limp form.

  “No, no, no, no, no, no,” Cecilia prayed as they raced to the nurse’s station. This could not be happening.

  They ran up to a room labeled, “Dahmer’s Pre-Morgue.” The sign had a teen with a pitchfork through the chest. Helen’s injuries were even more macabre.

  Michael set her friend down on a stretcher.

  “Where’s the doctor?” Cecilia asked looking around. The room was more of a decorated first aid station than an ER.

  “They paged the nurse,” Michael answered.

  “The nurse?” Cecilia shouted, clutching Helen’s hand, trying to find a pulse. “She needs a doctor and surgery!”

  Helen moaned, drawing Cecilia back. “It’s okay, Helen. Help is coming.

  “Quentin,” Helen sobbed.

  “What about him? Where is he?” Michael asked.

  “I am so sorry …” Helen said, then wheezed one last time.

  “No!” Cecilia screamed. She turned to the ushers. “Help her!”

  But they backed away. “We’re not certified.”

  Michael yelled, “She needs CPR and you don’t know how? Damn it!”

  He turned back to Cecilia. “Look I’ve only seen it done, but I’m going to give her compressions. I need you to breathe every fifth one, okay?”

  No it wasn’t okay, but what else could they do? Michael pumped on her friend’s chest as Cecilia counted. Only the numbers kept her sane.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  She leaned over, pinched Helen’s nose, and breathed into her mouth.

  “Harder. We need to see her chest lift.”

  Cecilia took a deep breath and blew again.

  “Good, good.”

  Michael tried to sound brave, but Cecilia saw how his hands shook.

  “So what was so important that I got paged out of the best concert of the year?” A nurse, with a dress up to her butt cheeks and fake blood doused on her stark white uniform, walked in.

  Michael continued compressions as he explained. Cecilia just didn�
��t have the breath to even try. “She was crucified, and it looks like she lost a lot of blood.”

  The nurse snorted, though. “Yeah, right. Another freaking prank. You kids have to get more inventive, or—”

  Cecilia grabbed the nurse by the arm and shoved her in Helen’s slack face. “She is dead! You’ve got to help us!”

  The woman’s face went from a sneer to a mass of confusion. The unnatural paleness of Helen must have registered, because the nurse checked her wrist first for a pulse, and then her neck.

  “Oh, my God.” She turned to Michael. “Keep up the compressions. Keep up CPR. Someone hand me my stethoscope.”

  Cecilia breathed again for Helen as a security guard got the nurse her instrument.

  “Give a full breath,” the nurse told Cecilia.

  She blew as hard and as long as she could, but the nurse frowned.

  “Her lungs are filled with blood…”

  Cecilia already knew that. She could taste the iron on her lips. The froth that came from Helen’s mouth was tinged with red. “Then do something to suck it out!”

  The nurse indicated everyone around her. “I’m here for cuts and bruises and the occasional ecstasy overdose.”

  “No!” Cecilia refused to admit defeat. She couldn’t believe that Helen was truly gone. “You’ve got to try!”

  “Even if I had all the equipment, her injuries…” the nurse motioned for Michael to stop as she closed Helen’s unblinking eyes. “Her injuries are too extensive.”

  Cecilia stumbled back. She’d promised Helen that she would help her. How could her friend be dead? How could the girl who had tricked her into coming to this god-awful concert be dead? Not a few hours ago they were busy putting on makeup and laughing.

  Michael’s arms kept Cecilia from falling to the floor. “If only we’d just kept looking! If we’d found her…”

  “Cecilia, this wasn’t your fault.”

  She turned sharply to him. “It’s not? I knew something was wrong, and there I was, off dancing with you.” Cecilia hit him with the side of her fist. “I never should have been dancing when she was …”

  Michael only tightened his grip. “This wasn’t your—”

  “What in the hell is going on here?” a tall woman asked as she rushed into the room. Cecilia vaguely recognized her as the PR person at the front door when they first arrived. Was that only a few hours ago? A security guard was hot on her heels.

  Michael answered, “Our friend was tortured, then crucified.”

  “No, seriously,” the PR woman said. “I need to know what is going on.”

  The nurse stepped forward, cleaning blood from her hands. “It’s true. The girl was assaulted multiple times, and then crucified.”

  The PR woman snapped her fingers at the mime usher. “Go to my mobile office by the stage and get some confidentiality agreements.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cecilia asked, leaving Michael’s arms. “My friend is dead. She was killed. Here at this concert.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the woman said. “That’s a lot of conjecture there, bordering on slander and libel, so let’s just sit down and think this through.”

  “Think it through?” Cecilia repeated, absolutely certain she must have misheard the PR woman. Her best friend was dead. Her very best … “Oh, my God! Frannie! We’ve got to find Frannie!”

  “And Quentin and Connor!”

  But the security guard stepped forward. “Settle down. This is my show.”

  “Oh, like you’ve done a great job so far!” Michael shouted back.

  “I’ve already ordered a sweep of the back halls and—”

  “A sweep?” Cecilia said. “You have got to shut down the concert and get the cops out here!”

  “Hold on, there. A little horse before the cart,” the PR woman said.

  “My uncle is a detective,” Cecilia said. “We’ve got to call him!”

  “Okay,” the PR woman said, trying to act all reassuring. “I understand that a sad, tragic, unfortunate accident and—”

  Cecilia pointed to Helen’s wounds. “Her name is Helen and she was tortured, then strung up on a cross with barbed wire.”

  Michael’s face went ashen. “Quentin. He left with her and that usher …”

  Cecilia turned to the security guard, but he only shrugged. “Sounds like we’ve already got our prime suspect.”

  “He never—” Michael sputtered. “He could never have done this! This is twisted.”

  “Like most Dahmer fans.”

  Michael went to rush the guard, but the PR woman stepped between them. “Now, now. Arguing isn’t going to help anyone. Let’s let security do their jobs, and let’s get you two some complimentary sodas.”

  “Sodas?” Cecilia hissed. “We don’t want drinks! We want—”

  Michael grabbed her arm, though. “No, Cec. She’s right.”

  Cecilia turned around and stared at Michael. What in the hell was he thinking? Their friend was dead—right next to them—and he wanted to go out and get refreshments?

  His voice was tight. “We can’t let grief cloud our judgment. We’ve got to think of Frannie and the others.” Cecilia scanned his face. What was he talking about? That was exactly what she was thinking of. Michael continued, “Your first plan was your best plan.”

  The PR woman’s radio burst to life. She hit the Speak button. “Not now.”

  But the person on the other end of the line was hysterical. Was it another dead body?

  “Deb, some kids broke into the green room and ate all of Diana’s caviar. He is coming off of this set without caviar. I repeat, without caviar.”

  Michael grabbed Cecilia’s hand. “I’m going to take her out for that soda.”

  The PR woman just waved them away as she yelled at the security guard. “How many times did I tell you to post three guards at his room?”

  Cecilia watched as Michael snatched a penlight from the desk and slipped it into his pocket. Now she understood. Michael wasn’t giving up on Frannie, Connor, and Quentin. He was taking charge of the search.

  As the security chief and PR woman argued, she and Michael slipped out the door. She allowed herself a tight smile. No one else may care about their friends, but they were going to find them.

  Hand in hand, they took off for the back halls.

  * * *

  Paxton teetered, one foot on the dock and one on the railing, as he helped Ruth across. She moved forward, then back.

  “Hurry up! My boat’s getting banged up!”

  Paxton found Ruth’s eyes amongst the pouring rain and smiled. “I’ve got you.”

  His partner gritted her teeth and leapt. Paxton made sure she was over, but Gimpy certainly didn’t, as he gunned the boat. Paxton lost his balance and, arms flailing, nearly fell over backward. Then a strong hand caught his.

  “I’ve got you,” Ruth repeated to him.

  With a heave, she pulled them both to the dock. Their momentum, though, carried them too far over, and they landed in a tumble on the slick wooden planks. Their limbs were entangled, and the top button of her shirt popped open, right at eye level. If they hadn’t just endured the Weebles Wobble boat ride over to the island to catch the maniac serial killer endangering both of their families, Paxton might have enjoyed the contact and the view. But as it was, they needed to get to the concert ASAP.

  Mumbling his apologies, Paxton untangled himself and looked the other way while Ruth buttoned up.

  “Isn’t there supposed to be another boat here? The one the kids came on?” Paxton asked,

  “Remember,” Ruth said as she joined him, “the commander said that the yacht more than likely had to go back out to sea so that it wasn’t crushed against the dock.”

  “No, I don’t remember that,” he said as he turned over the scenario in his head. “Um, so basically, now we’re stranded on the island with hundreds of endangered teens and a serial killer?”

  “Yep,” Ruth answered.

  Paxton checked
his watch. 12:18. “And it is now officially All Hallow’s Day.”

  “Again. Yep.” Ruth indicated the glowing mansion atop the hill. “Just about everyone up there is now an official target.”

  “Great,” he said as they started the hike. “Just great.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The walls pulsed in time with the music above them. Clearly, Diana Dahmer did not believe in subtlety. Cecilia tried to block everything out, except their search. They had already gone through about a dozen rooms and found nothing more dangerous than teenagers making out.

  Whether the couples actually believed Cecilia’s and Michael’s story of a crucifying killer on the loose, those kids made a beeline back to the concert. Let’s just say that tonight, she and Michael were the buzzkillers. The rest of the partiers may not appreciate it, but their lives were probably saved. Or at least their virginity.

  It all still seemed unreal. Like they were going to find Helen around the next corner, probably trying to French-kiss Quentin. But then the image of Helen, staked to a cross swinging overhead, would fill her vision. Then her friend’s pale, pale lips. Her last rattling breath. Then it became all too real.

  And what had Helen meant by “he is one of us?” How could the person who did all of those horrible things go to their school? How could he be a classmate? Cecilia hugged herself. What if they had seen him tonight?

  Michael jiggled the next-door handle. It was locked. He got out of the way as Cecilia knelt down and worked her bobby pin magic. The lock clicked opened. As Cecilia repositioned the pin back in her hair, Michael opened the door a crack.

  The room was dark. He swept his light across some old, covered furniture.

  “Anybody in here? … Doing things I would rather not witness?”

  Silence answered. Michael took another step into the room. “Anybody?”

  Cecilia peered around Michael’s shoulder. The KMNY people hadn’t even decorated this room. It seemed old and musty.

  “I think we’re good,” Michael said, but Cecilia strained to hear over the thrumming from the concert.

  “Wait. Did you hear that?” Cecilia asked.

  It sounded like a little girl’s giggle, only with the volume turned down.

  “Frannie?”

  Another giggle, this time louder. Michael grabbed a lamp from a side table and raised it like a weapon. “If anybody is in here, come out now.”