by Keene, Brian
They both fell quiet for a moment, listening as the cacophony increased. It sounded to Chuck as if someone was dragging something heavy across the attic floor. The sound unnerved him but was also deceptively lulling. Focused on the noises from upstairs, Chuck realized that for a minute, he’d forgotten all about the threat of Flavia or the possible appearance of a crazy woman who had killed her brother, in addition to Lily’s friend, in this very home.
Chuck had more questions for Lily—like why Eric had visited the house earlier, how Nicci had escaped from custody, and what exactly they had hoped to achieve—but as the pounding in the attic grew louder, panic set in again. It would have been bad enough if Arrianne had returned home to find Flavia here, but with all these new wrinkles and drama? There would be no way he could explain it to her. Hell, he didn’t understand it himself.
The thought came again that Flavia could be the cause of the noises. Then an even more frightening idea: What if it wasn’t Flavia? What if Nicci Forrestal had broken into the house and was upstairs? After all, the noises had immediately preceded Lily’s arrival. What if Nicci had gotten here before her? Or what if the two were working together, along with that Eric kid? Maybe this had all been some kind of scam just to gain access to the house.
He realized Lily was breathing heavily. Her eyes seemed glazed and unfocused. The tip of her very pink tongue licked her parted lips. Beneath the thin fabric of her damp shirt, her nipples stood out like rivets. “I feel … funny,” she said. “Don’t know what’s …”
As she trailed off, Chuck reached for his cell phone, intent on calling the police. Lily didn’t seem to notice. When he thumbed the phone’s screen, however, he was shocked to find a porn video playing. He cringed in disgust. On the screen, two women were lathing a man’s cock with their tongues, but that wasn’t what had repulsed him. It was the obscene number of large, knobby genital warts covering the man’s cock—and how the women paid special, loving attention to each of them, administering oral favors to each misshapen wart in turn. They flicked the tips of their tongues across each bump and then sucked on the warts.
He quickly glanced up to see if Lily had caught sight of the perverse spectacle, but her attention seemed focused elsewhere. Thankful that he’d kept the phone muted, Chuck tried to exit the video and place his emergency call—only to discover that the phone was seemingly locked. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get the video to stop. None of the phone’s other features would work. He then noticed that the device was growing hot in his hand. “Fucking piece of shit …”
Frustrated, he placed the phone face down on the table and stood up.
Lily slowly shook her head, as if waking from a dream, and stared at him in puzzlement. “Where are you going?”
“I think we should call the police.”
She nodded. Chuck noticed that she was rubbing the inside of her thigh with one hand. He couldn’t tell if she was even aware of it.
“There’s something wrong with my cell phone,” he told her. “Hang on a second.”
He reached for the house phone and took it off its cradle, but when he brought it to his ear, there was no dial tone. Chuck tried it several times but was rewarded with more silence. Just as he was about to hang up, he heard something on the other end of the line—the distinct sound of a woman in the throes of orgasm.
“Hello?” he said into the receiver. “Is someone there?”
The feminine moans of ecstasy were replaced by a succession of different sounds—the crack of a whip, the smack of flesh striking flesh, a dog barking, a man grunting, what might have been a goat, some type of machine starting up, and finally, someone vomiting. Frustrated and disgusted, Chuck hung up.
“The phone isn’t working,” he said. “Do you have a cell phone, Lily?”
She shook her head. “It’s in my car. And I don’t want to go back there. Eric … he … his head was—”
BOOM!
The kitchen lights shook, swaying back and forth, as what sounded like a bowling ball being dropped echoed from the attic again and again.
“Fuck this,” Chuck said. He opened a drawer next to the sink and pulled out the longest butcher knife he could find.
“Fuck me,” Lily responded.
“It’s okay,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I just want to check out what’s going on.”
“No. I meant that I want you to fuck me. Right here, on the table. I want you to eat me. I’ll put it on a plate for you, if you want. Just lick me. I need to feel your mouth on me.”
“I-I …” Chuck stammered. “You said your friend is dead. There’s something in my attic. I don’t think now is—”
“I know it doesn’t make any sense,” Lily interrupted. “It’s fucking crazy. But I can’t help it. Ever since I got here, I just feel … I need you to lick me, Chuck. I need you to fuck me. Not want you to. Need you to. Please?”
Loathe as he was to admit it, a big part of Chuck was turned on at the prospect. He felt embarrassed by the realization, but it occurred to him that he’d been feeling that way a lot in regard to sexuality lately. It was almost as if moving to this house had awakened some hidden perversity within him. Except that was ridiculous. More likely, it was just stress and frustration. He needed a healthy outlet. That hadn’t worked with Flavia, and he was fairly certain a dalliance with Lily would have the same outcome.
He opened his mouth to explain that he was married but then thought better of it. There was no telling what was wrong with this girl, and he still had no idea what was really going on. Instead, he decided to try to appease her. “I … as tempting as that sounds, Lily, I won’t be able to focus until I know what’s going on upstairs. I’m going to go check it out.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “But I’m coming with you. I don’t want to sit here alone.”
Chuck headed for the stairs, his attention divided between the noises from the attic and the girl creeping along behind him.
***
What Chuck and Lily didn’t notice was that every computer and television in the house were now switched on, and all of them were showing the same video that had been on his cell phone.
Chapter Sixteen - Brian Keene and Jack Ketchum
Flavia crouched in the shadows beneath the tree line, just at the edge of the woods, a football field’s distance from Chuck’s house. She’d been there several hours, and her joints and muscles ached from remaining hidden for so long. It had been warm and sunny when she first arrived, but the woods had grown cold after the sun set, and she shivered, clad only in jeans and a thin, flimsy blouse. Worse than the cold were the insects—spiders and gnats and ticks, all seemingly vying for a chance to crawl on her, bite her, and otherwise make her scream. It was a testament to her dedication that she had not, in fact, shrieked or otherwise given away her location, especially when a particularly large and ugly spider had dropped from a tree limb directly into her cleavage. A testament to her dedication—and to how mad she was at Chuck right now.
In addition to being cold and miserable and angry, Flavia was also horny. She couldn’t explain it, but ever since her arrival—from the moment she’d parked the car on the dirt road, hiding it from view, and then hiking through the woods to her current hiding spot—she’d been aroused. It was a state that had no ebb or peak. It just kept building and building. Despite the insects and her uncomfortable surroundings, she’d been tempted to masturbate several times. With each occurrence, it had been more difficult for her to fight the urge.
She’d just finished talking to Chuck, carefully shielding her cell phone’s screen so the light wouldn’t be seen from the house, when she noticed the car. It was parked along the side of the road, halfway between her location and Chuck’s house. Flavia supposed it had been there all along. She certainly hadn’t seen it pull up, and its engine wasn’t idling. The only reason she noticed it now was because a young man was walking toward it. He seemed to be coming from the direction of Chuck’s house, but Flavia couldn’t be sure. From her vanta
ge point, she could only see the side of the house and the backyard. The front door and driveway were hidden from view.
The car’s dome light came on as the young man opened the passenger door and slid inside. Flavia was able to discern two other figures inside the vehicle. Then the kid shut the door and the light vanished.
All was quiet again, save for the insects and birds. Something rustled overhead, startling Flavia. She glanced up and saw that it was just a squirrel. The rodent cocked its head and stared at her. Flavia stared back.
Time passed. She debated what to do next.
Then the screams started.
They were muffled. Distant. At first, she couldn’t determine their location. Then Flavia realized they were coming from inside the car. As she watched, the back door opened and a young woman stumbled out. She walked funny, as if she’d just done a gang bang with an entire basketball team. The woman shuffled toward Chuck’s house.
What the hell?
“Hey,” Flavia called, her voice quavering. “Over here! Are you hurt?”
If the woman heard her, she gave no indication. Instead, she hurried on. Flavia was about to call out again when she heard branches rustling behind her.
“Don’t do that again,” a voice said.
Gasping, Flavia turned. A man stood behind her, half-hidden in the shadows.
“Don’t call out,” he said. “Calling out would be stupid. First of all, you’re a football field away from the action. You’re gonna need a very loud voice. Maybe even a megaphone.”
“W-who the fuck are you?”
Smiling, a handsome older man with beautiful dark hair and even darker, intoxicating eyes stepped out from behind the tree. He was dressed simply in a black T-shirt and jeans, and Flavia could see that he was in shape. She caught a whiff of cigarettes and scotch, but it was a pleasant, almost soothing aroma.
“I’m Jack Ketchum.”
He was still smiling, but Flavia detected a hint of sadness in his expression.
“I …” Flavia paused. She suddenly felt dizzy. “I … what are you doing out here?”
He moved closer. “The thing is, Flavia, my buddies have painted me into a corner here. I’m in an untenable position. But it’s up to me to fix it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Let me explain. Arrianne is on her way home with the dogs after murdering a foul-smelling Vietnam vet whose name she can’t remember. Nicci’s headed up the driveway toward the house after getting bonked in midair. Lily’s in the house trying to fuck Chuck after watching Eric’s head explode, and they’re about to investigate the chipmunks in the attic.”
“Wait … you know Chuck and Arrianne?”
“In a sense. But that’s not important right now. And I’d really like to know where Keene ran off to. He was just here a little while ago, watching you with me.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. He said something about the location of Lily’s car. It was parked in the driveway. Then along the road. Which is it? Maybe he went to fix that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, obviously we’re moving toward the climax here. And to get there, we need to get everybody into the house, or else why would the damn thing be called Sixty-Five Stirrup Iron Road, right? But see, everybody includes you, Flavia.”
“Listen, Jack—”
“No, you listen. You’re hiding in the woods a hundred yards away when you see Nicci staggering toward the house. You call out to her. I have problems with that. It doesn’t fly with me. Your reaching out to Nicci in any way imaginable goes totally against your previously established character. You’re a selfish, single-minded little slut without a generous bone in your body.”
“Fuck you! You don’t know a thing about me.”
“Actually, I do. I created you. And I’ve got major problems with your actions here. Finally—and most importantly— if you saw Nicci stumbling fuck-drunk out of the car, didn’t you also see Eric’s head blown all to hell right afterward? And if so, would you run to the house after seeing that? Fuck no, you wouldn’t. You’d get the hell out of there. You’d live to stalk another day.”
Flavia realized Ketchum had gotten closer to her while he’d been talking, yet she hadn’t been aware of him moving. She took a step backward, steeling herself to flee. “I don’t know what your problem is, asshole, but I’m warning you. Don’t fuck with me.”
“My problem, as I see it, is you. And here’s how I solve it. It’s simple and elegant. I eliminate you. That’s right. No, Flavia. You’re not hiding in the woods. You’re not calling out to Nicci. You’re not here at all. You don’t exist. In fact, you’ve never been here.”
“You’re fucking crazy. You so much as touch me and I’ll—”
Flavia’s threat faltered as Ketchum pulled a knife from his jeans. It was impossibly big—far too long and broad to have fit in his shallow jeans pocket, yet there it was.
“How did you—?”
“I can do anything I want. Anything at all. Now don’t move.”
“Fuck you.” Flavia turned to run and found that she couldn’t. Her feet remained firmly in place, legs locked at the knees.
“You can’t do this,” Flavia cried. “It’s not fair!”
“Why not? Who the hell’s writing this chapter, you or me? Look, Flavia. The story doesn’t need you. You’re excess baggage. There are already plenty of characters here. None of them very likeable and none of them terribly well-defined. So I’m suggesting to my friends that we just kill them off as quickly and gruesomely as possible and get it over with. Except for the dogs. We don’t hurt the dogs. And hopefully, one of them will get Dickie’s flea and tick thing taken care of at some point. That shit’s annoying.”
Sobbing, Flavia began to tremble. She willed herself to move, but her legs ignored the commands.
Ketchum placed a hand on her shoulder, and she stared into his eyes. The darkness within them seemed bottomless.
“What the hell kind of name is Flavia, anyway? Who would name their kid Flavia? Or a character in their book for that matter? Maybe some pervert who’s seen that twisted Italian rebel-nun movie too many times. But I mean, come on. Flavia? And why would you want to stalk an asshole like Chuck in the first place? Papa Bear is a first-rate asshole. Makes no sense. So you’re a goner. You okay with that?”
Flavia moaned—a hopeless and mournful sound.
Ketchum thrust the knife under her left breast. “Good,” he said. “I feel a whole lot better. Now let’s get on with the story.”
Chapter Seventeen - Jack Ketchum and J.F. Gonzalez
Arrianne pulled the Tempo into the driveway. She wondered briefly who their visitors were and why they’d left the backseat passenger door wide open.
Delivery?
She hauled the duffel bag up from the passenger-side of the floor and opened up her own back door to let the dogs out.
Dickie was licking his balls. Assiduously. Little Lucy was helping him. She’d never seen a puppy do that before but figured what the hell. A dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do, right?
And who was she to judge?
She figured they were bonding.
Arrianne paused, trying to remember when, exactly, Lucy had gotten out of her crate. It seemed like letting the puppy out was something she’d have remembered doing, yet she couldn’t recall. Shrugging, she chalked it up to absentmindedness.
She clapped. “C’mon, Dickie! C’mon, Lucy.”
The dogs just looked at her for a moment, as if to say, So you’ve got a better party? and then snuffed and harrumphed and lumbered off the car seat.
The duffel was heavy. She shouldered it manfully and deposited it on the floor of the garage. It clanked. Something metal inside.
Arrianne looked down at the duffel bag, debating whether she should take it inside the house. She’d have to open it eventually, especially if she intended to go through with her hastily conceived plan.
She c
ast a glance over at the dogs. They were sitting on the concrete floor, looking at her expectantly. “You guys stay right there,” she said as she reached for the garage door opener. She pressed the button, and the garage door descended on its corrugated track.
She flipped on the light switch as the door ground to a close and paused for a moment. Lucy and Dickie remained sitting on their haunches, still gazing up at her.
For the first time in weeks she felt lucid, in control. She remembered everything vividly—remembered the torture she’d put Brad Zeller through, how she’d hurt him. She knew intellectually that she’d committed murder, that she’d done something that went against her very moral fiber, but she knew she hadn’t really done it. It had been somebody else, something else, controlling her every move, pushing her buttons, making her do it.
It had infected her with its own essence, injecting its own carnal desires into her.
She realized this shortly after killing Brad/Ben. And while she was sorry for what had happened, she knew that she wasn’t really at fault. It had been the spirit of Lucy Pearson who had possessed her.
And she had just the thing to send that nasty bitch back to the hell she’d come from.
She’d found it in the duffle bag Brad had been carrying. There were two of them, and she instantly recognized them.
Pressure cookers.
Brad Zeller had said something about staying one step ahead of those creatures. She knew what creatures he was talking about now. The Southeast Asian jungle had been rife with them. That much was apparent by his descriptions of the depravity he and his fellow GIs had committed on those hapless South Vietnamese villagers.
And it was obvious to her now that Brad had been intending to silence those creatures forever due to the presence of those pressure cookers. When she came across him, he’d been heading east toward the house. She still wasn’t sure what the connection was between Lucy Pearson and the creatures he’d experienced in Vietnam. Maybe Lucy had become some kind of succubus or something. Maybe creatures like that were prevalent in Southeast Asia, and Brad had recognized the activity at Sixty-Five Stirrup Iron Road. After all, he’d said the creatures were after him. Maybe they’d somehow found him. Maybe Sixty-Five Stirrup Iron Road was some kind of breeding ground for them. She wasn’t sure of Lucy Pearson’s life prior to the events in the diary, but she had to wonder if Lucy had become infected shortly after moving to this house. And she wondered if, instead of becoming horrified, Lucy had embraced the depravity the creatures had introduced her to.
