Sandman

by William W. Johnstone

  As dead life began to leave the man and woman, a wind whipped through the house, screaming, overturning tables and smashing lamps, pushing the men backward against the wall.

  A city cop fought the wind and stepped forward with a sawed-off riot gun. He shot Mantine in the chest. Three times he pumped and pulled, the buckshot ripping open the creature’s chest cavity and forever stilling its evil heart. Mike had managed to reload, using a speed-loader, and he emptied his pistol into the heart of Nicole.

  The creatures began to change, to work their way through a hideous metamorphic transformation. Within seconds, Mantine and Nicole had sped through centuries, as the creatures within them changed and materialized, lived and then died.

  Now two human forms, bullet and buckshot shattered, lay on the floor.

  The sheriff and the chief ordered their men out of the house.

  Then they looked at each other, their faces slick with sweat and shock.

  In unison, they dropped their pistols beside the bloody bodies, Sandry saying, “I have never done anything like this in my life, and I feel you haven’t either, Mike.”

  Mike shook his head. “No. I haven’t. But can you think of a better way to handle this?”

  Sheriff Sandry slowly shook his head. “I just want this over with.”

  Both men pulled search warrants from their back pockets.

  And Mike called for the men to enter the house. “Tear this place apart,” he ordered. “I want this to look as legal as possible.”

  * * *

  Connie was in her study, writing. She carefully studied each page before she stored it on a disk. She wanted no repeat of what had taken place earlier.

  She knew she could never completely put what she’d seen at the hospital out of her mind. Nor could she push aside her growing suspicion of her son. But she had written through good times and bad, and had a writer’s ability to detach herself and work.

  She lost herself in writing.

  In the den, Paul smiled at his sister. “Why don’t you go outside and play, sister darling?” he suggested.

  “Why don’t you jump into the pool and forget you know how to swim?” was her response.

  Paul whirled, stared at Linda. “You must know I resent your presence in this house!”

  “That’s too bad, kid.”

  The boy, his eyes filled with evil and hate, turned and walked up the hallway, to his mother’s study. He pushed open the door and stared at her back.

  “Mother!”

  She turned, meeting his eyes.

  Paul smiled at her.

  Connie’s fingers froze over the keyboard. She was utterly motionless.

  Paul closed the door and stepped back into the hall. Something had gone wrong. He had experienced a feeling of something leaving him. Something terrible had happened. He had no idea what it could be.

  But he knew something was wrong.

  And where was Gillette? The caco should have been there by now.

  The boy walked slowly up the hall, back toward the den.

  Janis’s friends had gone home. Paul had only Linda to deal with. He smiled, a cruel curving of his lips. An idea formed in his brain.

  He was strong enough now. He could do it.

  He slipped to the archway of the den. Good. Janis was in the kitchen, fixing something to stuff into her face.

  “Brother!” he whispered. “Come.”

  A mist formed beside the boy.

  A dark rotting odor hovered about it.

  Paul looked at the yellow mist, then cut his eyes to Linda and smiled.

  The mist moved, sinking to the floor. Snakelike, it slithered over the carpet, then slipped under the sofa.

  Paul closed his eyes and his feet left the carpet. He stood suspended a few inches off the floor. Silently, he began moving, in air, toward the kitchen.

  A scaly hand slipped out from under the couch and clamped onto Linda’s ankle.

  The teenager screamed.

  Janis whirled around from the counter, a sandwich in her hand. She was face to face with her brother. His eyes were very bright. His breath was foul on her face.

  The house began to stink of sulphur.

  Paul was quick, but Janis was quicker. When he grabbed for her, she shoved the sandwich in his face and pushed him backward with all her strength. He stumbled back, fell down the steps, into the den. His head banged against the floor, momentarily stunning him. Peanut butter and jelly covered his face.

  Linda was screaming hysterically. Janis cut her eyes to the girl.

  Then she stood, numb with fear, and gazed at the thing that had grabbed Linda. It had materialized into a full-blown horror and was tearing at the teenager’s clothing.

  Outside, Gillette was panting up the sidewalk, his thoughts as dark and evil as Hell could make them. He did not know that Mantine and Nicole had been destroyed. But he did know he was free of something and also that he had lost something. With the death of Mantine and Nicole, the caco had lost their control. Now he was very nearly mindless, except for one thought—to do what he had been ordered to do. And to accomplish it in any way he could.

  Linda’s hysterical screaming broke Janis’s numbing paralysis. She grabbed a butcher knife from the counter and ran toward Linda, stepping on her brother’s head as she jumped down the steps to the den floor.

  The hideousness had forced the teenager onto the couch. Head bent, it was trying to kiss the lips of the howling girl.

  Linda twisted away, trying to avoid the slobber. Her eyes were half-crazed from fear.

  Janis struck, driving the long-bladed knife deep into the demon’s back. Its scream rattled the windows, and a noxious corruption flew from its mouth, spraying the couch. Clawed hands released the teenager. She rolled to the floor and scrambled away just as the front door flew open and Gillette, wide-eyed and red-faced, ran into the foyer.

  Janis struggled to free the knife, finally working the blade out of the demon’s back. Using both hands, she then plunged the blade deep into the creature’s neck. It howled its agony and flung her away. She lost her grip on the knife, but the scaly horror ran up the hall, turned, and jumped through a window. It vanished into the back yard.

  Linda was screaming and crying, crawling around on the floor, trying to gather up her torn clothing to cover her nakedness.

  Paul struggled to his hands and knees on the floor. He looked around, his eyes dazed.

  He found Gillette and pointed toward his sister. “Her!” he screamed.

  Gillette ran toward Janis.

  When Paul heard a car screech to a halt in the driveway, he fell back onto the floor, pretending unconsciousness.

  Gillette grabbed for Janis and she kicked him hard.

  He screamed out of pain as she whirled and ran toward the fireplace to grab a poker.

  Gillette was furious. “I’ll make you pay and pay for this,” he shouted.

  Peter and Leo reached the doorway. They had guns in their hands.

  Screaming his near-mindless rage, Gillette ran toward Janis.

  A .357 and a .44 roared, together. Gillette was stopped abruptly and flung backward. He hit the back of a chair and flipped over it, landing on the floor, a hole in his head and a hole in the center of his chest.

  He jerked once, drummed his heels against the floor, then finally realized he was dead.

  Connie staggered out of the hallway, to stand looking down at the bloody confusion in the den a few feet below her.

  “Paul!” she managed to shout. “Paul! What’s happened to my baby?”

  She staggered, trancelike, toward the seemingly unconscious Paul.

  But Janis had had quite enough of her mother and of Paul. She halted Connie halfway across the den and spun her around.

  Facing her mother, she pointed a finger at Connie Kelly. And the ten-year-old, almost eleven, said, “Now you listen to me, Mother. Damn it, listen!”

  Paul sat up and fired visual hate at his sister. But with a very odd smile on his lips.

&
nbsp; Connie drew back her hand to hit the girl.

  SEVEN

  “Connie, no!” Leo shouted.

  The woman let her hand fall to her side.

  Slowly, she recovered from the shock of hearing profanity from the lips of her daughter. She took a long look at Janis, and for the first time, she backed away from her.

  Paul bounced to his feet and ran from the den, to stand on the landing above it. “You’ll all be sorry!” he screamed at them.

  Then he ran down the hall to his bedroom, and slammed the door.

  Paul pressed against the inside of the door, a wide smile creasing his cruel mouth. Everything was working out just fine.

  Those left in the den looked at each other, saying nothing. The expressions on their faces told it all.

  Linda had found a robe and had slipped into it, covering her nakedness.

  Peter was calling in to the station house.

  Leo put a hand on Connie’s shoulder. “You want to talk now, Connie?”

  “Let’s all talk!” Janis said, considerable heat in her voice.

  Mother smiled at daughter. Cut her eyes to Leo. “I guess it was, ah, the shots that jarred me out of the . . . trance, I suppose you’d call it. The last thing I remember was turning around from my word processor and seeing Paul standing in the door.”

  “And then?” Leo asked.

  “Nothing. A total blank. Blackout.” She looked at the bloody, cooling body of Gillette and shuddered. “When I came out of . . . it, my arms were stiff and hurting from hovering over the keys.”

  Peter hung up the phone and walked to Linda, who was sitting on the steps. He talked quietly to the teenager, taking notes on a small pad.

  Janis told her mother about what Paul had done. About his pointing her out to Gillette. And she told her about the creature from Hell attacking Linda.

  “Describe this creature to me, Janis,” Leo said to the girl.

  Janis closed her eyes and described the demon.

  “That’s the same damn hideous thing that was in the room with me and Gomez.” Leo met Connie’s worried yet unbelieving eyes. “It’s true, Connie.”

  Connie walked across the room, away from Gillette’s body, and sat down in a chair. Her face was drawn, her eyes were weary. She raised her hands in a gesture of defeat. When she spoke, her voice was low, but filled with a new resolve. “Paul is obviously mentally ill. I guess I’ve known that all along. The devil possessing him? I don’t know about that. Demons and monsters?” She shrugged. “Whatever, whoever, is doing this to my son, well, obviously they’ve taken control of him. He needs help, and needs it now.” She looked at Peter. “Contact a judge. I’ll sign the commitment papers.”

  In his room, Paul laughed softly. “Fools!” he whispered. “Stupid fools. Playing right into my hands. I love it!”

  * * *

  The press once more rolled into Tepehuanes, and this time many reporters vowed to stay, to ferret out the truth. Just too much had happened in this small city for any of it to be no more than coincidence. Too many strange events could not be explained away.

  INS officials flew into town and talked at length with Sheriff Sandry and Chief Bambridge about the deaths of Mantine and Nicole. They went away satisfied that the lawmen had acted in self-defense.

  The bodies of Mantine and Nicole were cremated, the ashes sealed in steel containers and locked. The boxes were buried in concrete-lined tombs. It was a very private service. Conducted at night.

  No mourners.

  At least none that those in attendance could see. Or wanted to see.

  It appeared that Darrel and Mona and Andy and Mary had vanished.

  But no one believed it.

  The sand people had seemingly returned to the earth.

  No one believed that either.

  Old Jake got raging drunk and stayed that way. He knew where Darrel and Mona and Andy and Mary were hiding, but as long as they left him alone, damned if he was going to bother them.

  The horrors at the hospital continued to live on in death.

  And Paul, without any fuss on his part, was committed to the small mental ward at Tepehuanes General.

  * * *

  “And Jesus Christ really lived?” the fascinated psychiatrist asked Paul.

  “Oh, yes. He lived, wandering about, spewing his rot to any who would listen. I was there when he died.”

  The shrink sat in his chair and stared at the boy with the deep, hollow voice.

  Paul seemed perfectly relaxed. Almost happy.

  The psychiatrist finally found his voice. “You were . . . there?”

  “Yes. With my brother.”

  “Where is your brother now?”

  “He’s around.”

  “While you were . . . there, were you in your present form, Paul?”

  “Don’t be stupid. Of course not.”

  “I see.”

  “I very much doubt it.”

  “All right. Tell me, if you are so powerful, the Son of Satan, why are you allowing yourself to be subjected to these questions? Why are you taking your confinement so passively?”

  “I find it amusing.”

  “Ummm. Would you like to go back home?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Why?”

  “The journey is a long one.”

  “What? Oh. Yes. I see. Getting back to the death of Jesus. What were your thoughts after the crucifixion?”

  Paul smiled. “I said, ’Well, now it will be A.D.’ ”

  * * *

  Janis was in her room, with Melissa. Leo sat with Connie in the den, having after-dinner coffee. Since Paul’s confinement, the two of them had gotten close. Very close.

  “The whole summer has been like a bad dream,” Connie said. “And before you say it, I know. While summer might be nearing an end, our ... situation is not yet over.”

  Leo thought: She still does not realize what must be done to end it. Or will not accept that is perhaps a better way of putting it. “Did you see Paul today?”

  She sighed, her face tightening. “Briefly. He asked me some obscene questions. I walked out.”

  “He’s playing a game, Connie. Paul could bust out of that ward anytime he wishes.”

  “Yes. I believe that. Now.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “I choose not to dwell on that.”

  Naturally. “A few members of the press are still hanging around town.”

  “I know. I avoid them at the hospital. Mary Beth has arranged for me to enter and leave through the basement. But I won’t be going back there. At least not for a long time. He’s got to show some signs of improvement before I subject myself to any more of that.”

  He smiled at her and touched her hand. “I’m glad you’ve reached that decision. What surprises me is that Paul has not tried to control you from there.”

  She met his smile. “Oh, he has, Leo. But I’ve learned to fight him. With the help of Father Gomez.”

  “So that’s where you’ve been going each afternoon. I wondered. Felt you’d tell me in time.”

  “He says you’re a hopeless backslider. But a good man in your own peculiar way.”

  “Yeah. He’s given up trying to get me to church. I’ll shock him one of these days and show up for confession.”

  She studied his face. “You’ve got a worried look in your eyes, Leo.”

  “It isn’t over, Connie. Paul’s playing a game, but he’s going to tire of it. When he does, all Hell is going to break loose. And I mean that quite literally.”

  “It’s been so quiet and nice.”

  “It won’t last.” Leo rose from the couch and walked up the short flight of steps to the kitchen. After pouring another cup of coffee, he held up the pot to Connie. She shook her head.

  “Too much coffee might keep you awake, Leo,” she said with a smile.

  “Is that right? Oh, I intend to stay awake for at least an hour . . . later on.”

  “That long, huh? I can hardly wait. You’ve i
mproved.”

  “Well . . . fifteen minutes, at least.”

  They shared a relaxed laugh that felt good to both of them. It had been nice and quiet. But Leo knew it wouldn’t last. He just couldn’t figure out what the boy was waiting for. And he could not understand why Paul was taking his confinement with such grace. It wasn’t like him.

  Connie rose to still the ringing of the phone. As she listened, Leo watched her face pale. She steadied herself by leaning against the edge of the table. Then tears began to stream down her face. She muttered something that Leo could not make out, and gently replaced the phone on its cradle.

  “Paul?” Leo asked, hoping against hope.

  She shook her head. Wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Connie?”

  When she did not reply, Leo walked down into the den and went to her side. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  She shook her head and blinked tears away, then went into his arms, pressing herself against him for a long moment. Finally, she pulled back and looked into his eyes. “That was Mike Bambridge. His department got a call that some vandals were tearing up the cemetery.”

  Leo felt his guts begin to churn.

  The waiting was just about over. Paul had decided to make his move.

  “Dispatch sent a unit over there. It wasn’t vandals, Leo. Two graves had been broken open. Leo . . . they weren’t broken into. It looks like they were both broken out of. From the inside.”

  “Which graves, Connie?”

  “Mark’s body and Carla’s are gone.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “It’s started, Leo? It’s begun?”

  “Yes.”

  “But . . .”

  From up the corridor came sounds of breaking glass and Janis’s and Melissa’s screams filled the hallway and ripped into the den.

  BOOK THREE

  While from a proud tower in the town

  Death looked gigantically down.

  —Poe

  ONE

  Leo told Connie to stay put and ran up the hallway. Since Paul’s confinement in the hospital, and the general quieting down, he had not been wearing his pistol.

  Now he realized what a terrible mistake that was.

  And within the span of a few seconds, with a sinking feeling in his gut, he began to realize a lot of other things.