THE HOWLING II

by Gary Brandner

  Then she heard it again. Just the suggestion of movement. She wanted it to be Mrs. Jensen, but knew that it was not. The housekeeper moved with a firm, heavy tread, not the furtive shuffling Karyn heard now.

  Her mind groped for possible explanations. The wind. The house settling. Mice. The plumbing. But it was no good. She knew it was none of these. She lay utterly still and listened. For many minutes the only sound Was David's deep, regular breathing. Her ears ached with the effort of listening. Then it came again. Something sliding, like cloth on cloth. Then a muffled thump, barely audible, but unmistakably real.

  "David." Her voice was a rasping whisper.

  "Wha—"

  She placed her fingers lightly on his lips to silence him as he awoke. When his eyes were fully open and alert, she took her hand away.

  "What is it?" he said, whispering in reaction to her tension.

  "There's something downstairs."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Sssh. Listen."

  They sat up in bed, their shoulders touching, and listened. The seconds ticked by. Karyn's chest began to ache, and she realized she was holding her breath. She let it out in a long, silent sigh.

  "I don't hear anything," David said. A touch of annoyance had crept into his voice.

  "No, I heard something. Really."

  For another interminable two minutes they sat in the bed, their heads cocked toward the door.

  Nothing.

  "Karyn—" David began, speaking now in a natural voice.

  "I didn't imagine it," she said. "There's something down there. Or at least there was."

  "Why do you say 'something' instead of 'someone'?"

  "God, I don't know. What difference does it make?"

  With a sigh, David threw back the covers. "I'll go down and look around."

  Karyn watched as he got out of bed, pulled on a robe over his white pajamas, and went out into the hallway. She felt foolish. Like some giddy wife in an old television sitcom. "Ricky, get up, I heard a burglar!" "Aw, go hack to sleep, Lucy, ees nothing."

  Briskly she threw off the blankets and got up. At least she did not have to stay up here cowering in bed, playing out her role. Pulling on a quilted robe, she went out the door and headed down the hallway toward the stairs. At the head of the stairs she stopped to look into Joey's room. The boy was sleeping peacefully. Karyn went on down to join her husband.

  All the lights were blazing now as David flicked them on as he walked from room to room. When Karyn reached the bottom of the stairs he was just coming back from the rear of the house. Behind him was Mrs. Jensen, her face puffy from sleep, her hair twisted around plastic rollers.

  "Nothing down here," David said. Karyn knew he was making an effort not to let his irritation show.

  "Mrs. Jensen," she said, "did you hear anything?"

  "Not me. Not until Mr. Richter knocked on my door. But then, I sleep like the dead anyway."

  Karyn looked around helplessly. "I'm sure I heard a noise down here."

  "Well, there's nothing here now," David said. "You can go back to bed, Mrs. Jensen. Sorry to disturb you."

  Karyn waited while David went around turning off the lights, then followed him upstairs. They got into bed and he lay rigidly with his back to her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, bring him close, but she could not. She had to listen. But there were no more sounds from downstairs. After a very long time she fell into a troubled sleep.

  9

  FOR THE NEXT TWO nights, Karyn slept fitfully. She was waiting, straining to hear even the smallest sound from downstairs that did not belong. All she heard were the normal creaks and snaps a house makes as it cools off at night, but her imagination gave them strange and sinister implications.

  During the daytime she stayed close to the house. When she walked even as far as the mailbox she watched carefully behind her. No one followed.

  Finally she began to relax a little. Maybe, just maybe, she had imagined those things—the watcher, the night sounds downstairs. Maybe everything was going to be all right.

  Then her plants began to sicken.

  The Boston fern was the first to show symptoms of trouble. While making her rounds with the watering can and spray bottle, Karyn noticed several of the little saw-toothed fronds, curled and brown, lying on the floor under the fern. When she examined the plant more closely she found dying fronds, and the remaining, living fronds had lost their resiliency. She moved on to the spider plant and saw that the bladelike leaves no longer held their proud arch. The pointed tips on several were beginning to turn brown. Her pet, the philodendron, seemed robust still, but even its leaves looked duller than they should be.

  Karyn heard Mrs. Jensen out in the kitchen. She called to her, and the housekeeper came out wiping her hands on a towel.

  "Yes, Mrs. Richter?"

  "Have you been watering the plants?"

  "I never touch those plants. You asked me not to, as I remember."

  "Yes, that's right. Thank you."

  "Is that all?"

  "Yes, that's all."

  Karyn read the woman's resentment in the set of her shoulders as she marched back to the kitchen. She'd make it up to the housekeeper later, by praising the dinner or something.

  Karyn walked around and looked at the plants again. There was no doubt that something was wrong with them. Even the strong philodendron. The trouble was that sick plants looked the same whether they were overwatered, underwatered, or suffering from any number of horticultural maladies. Karyn had always been careful about the watering, and she had seen to it that each got its proper amount of light and was kept within the acceptable temperature range. The soil had been specially blended at the store where she bought the plants; the nutrients she added at specified intervals came from there too.

  She had heard the theory that plants can pick up the psychological vibrations of their people, and react to them, but she considered the idea ridiculous. All the same, something was definitely wrong with her plants, and Karyn resolved to watch them closely.

  In the next 24 hours they got much worse. By then there was a generous scattering of dead brown fronds under, the fern. The spider plant drooped sadly, its leaves turning yellow and curling in on themselves. The philodendron had completely lost its glossy good health. The leaves had paled and hung limp from the vine. The whole plant sagged against the post as though it were an effort to remain upright.

  Karyn decided to wait no longer. She carried the three plants out to her little Datsun and drove off for Plant World on Aurora, where she had bought them. She felt just a little foolish rushing them off like sick children, but they were her responsibility.

  She pulled into the parking lot at Plant World and carried them in one by one. She was relieved to find an understanding woman at the counter, and not some smartass who would have to make jokes.

  "My, they do seem to be feeling poorly, don't they?" the woman said.

  "It just happened in the last couple of days," Karyn said. "What do you think is wrong with them?"

  "I'd hate to take a guess. Mr. Bjorklund will be back this afternoon. He's awfully good with sick little fellows like these."

  "Would it be all right if I left them here? I could come back tomorrow and talk to Mr.—"

  "Bjorklund," the woman supplied. "Of course you can leave them, dear. Don't worry about them. I'll see to it they're made comfortable, and I'll watch over them until Mr. Bjorklund comes."

  "Thank you," Karyn said. She resisted an impulse to give each of the sick plants a reassuring pat, and left the store.

  A sense of depression came over her as she drove back home. The car seemed empty. She reminded herself sternly that it was just three plants she had left behind, not three children. To get out of the mood, she decided to stop in at the new Kenmore Shopping Mall and look around.

  It was one of the new breed of two-level shopping centers, roofed over against the elements, and with an adjoining parking structure. Inside, the mall had bubbling fountains,
potted shrubbery, and plastic park benches. The air had a scent of aerosol springtime. Soft, soothing music flowed from concealed speakers.

  Karyn strolled slowly along, window-shopping the jewelry and clothing stores. She went into a leather goods shop and began to feel better, enjoying the tangy smell and tough-smooth feel of the merchandise.

  She picked out a key case she thought David would like, and paid for it with her Master Charge card. While the clerk filled out the receipt she remembered that her parents had a wedding anniversary coming up soon. She left the leather shop with her purchase and stepped on the Down escalator to reach a gift shop on the lower level.

  As she rode down on the silent moving stairway, Karyn glanced up at the overhead ledge. Just before she was carried underneath, she saw the face of Roy Beatty.

  Her knees started to give way, and she clutched the black rubber handrail for support. The woman in front of her turned around and gave Karyn a look of disapproval.

  When the escalator reached the bottom Karyn almost fell as her feet slid over the grate where the steps disappeared. The people coming off behind Karyn jostled her as she stood motionless, staring upward toward the ledge that was out of sight now.

  After a moment, she took hold of herself and hurried across the mall to where the matching escalator carried people up. She got on and climbed the moving steps, ignoring the irritated looks she got from the shoppers she pushed past.

  Once back on the upper level she had to look around for a moment to get her bearings. She located the ledge with the railing overlooking the Down escalator, where she had seen Roy. The only people there now were two young boys, who leaned over to watch the moving row of people slide down and out of sight. There was no sign of Roy Beatty, or anyone who looked like him.

  Karyn hurried over and spoke to the boys. "What happened to the man who was standing here?"

  The boys looked at each other, then back at Karyn. "What man?"

  "He was standing right here where you are now. He was looking down."

  "There wasn't any man here that we saw." The boys started to edge away from her.

  Karyn started to insist that there certainly had been a man standing right here not three minutes ago, then she stopped, realizing how foolish it would be to argue with the children. In frustration she spun around, her eyes ranging over the people who moved among the shops.

  She saw him again just as he vanished down one of the broad aisles leading to an exit. He wore a denim jacket and faded jeans. The hair was longer than Roy had worn his, but it was the same shade of pale tan, and the broad shoulders brought Karyn a pang of memory. She left the two boys staring after her and followed the man.

  She reached the exit and saw that it opened on a concrete walkway across to the parking structure. No one was on the bridge. Karyn hurried across and peered around among the parked cars. There was no sign of the man in denim. Karyn looked down and saw her hands were shaking. She leaned for a moment against one of the thick pillars for support. Somewhere she had dropped the package with David's key case, but she did not go back to look for it.

  Dr. Goetz sat facing her in one of his chrome and leather chairs. He wore a professional, concerned expression.

  "I feel a little silly," Karyn said, "calling you from the shopping center as though it were some kind of life-or-death emergency. All the same, I'm glad you could see me."

  The doctor smiled gently. "I hate to say, "That's what I'm here for,' because it sounds so Marcus Welby. But that's what I'm here for, Karyn."

  "Now that I'm here, I don't know where to start."

  "Tell me about the man you saw at the shopping mall. Did you get a good look at him?"

  "Yes. It was just for a second or two, but I saw him very clearly. Then the escalator took me down under the ledge where he was standing."

  "Did he say anything to you?"

  "No."

  "Make any gesture? Any sign that he knew you?"

  "He just looked at me."

  "And you say he resembled your former husband."

  "Dr. Goetz, he was my former husband. That man was Roy Beatty."

  Dr. Goetz squeezed his lower lip thoughtfully between thumb and forefinger. After several seconds he spoke. "As I recall, you told me Roy Beatty died three years ago."

  Karyn felt the beginnings of a headache. She said, "I don't know that he died in the Drago fire. I assumed that he did. Obviously, I was wrong. If I saw him in the Kenmore Mall this morning, then he's alive."

  Dr. Goetz got out of his chair and came over to sit beside her on the sofa. His pale blue eyes searched her face, then became unreadable. "Karyn, I think maybe we were hasty in cutting you down to one visit a week. If it's possible, I'd like to see you more often. Twice. Three times, if you could manage it."

  Karyn wanted to cry. Ever since the crack-up in Las Vegas, she had made steady progress in her therapy. Until now. What was happening to her? She knew how it must sound—someone following her, noises in the night, and now seeing her supposedly dead husband. The classic symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia.

  For the first time in many months Karyn wondered if she might be losing her grip on reality. Maybe she did need more time with the analyst.

  "I'll talk to my husband about it," she said. "Goodbye, Doctor."

  The front door of the Richter house flew open and banged shut with an unnecessary slam. Joey Richter raced in, dumped his schoolbooks on the hall table without slowing down, and made a speedy circuit of the downstairs rooms. He came to a stop at the foot of the stairs.

  "Mom!" he called.

  Mrs. Jensen came down the stairs carrying a basket of laundry. "Your mother isn't home. And if she was, she'd tell you not to slam the door."

  "Where is she?"

  "She had an appointment downtown."

  "With the doctor?"

  "I wouldn't know."

  "Why did she have to see the doctor today? This isn't her day."

  "I'm sure I couldn't say."

  "She's probably having those dreams again. The ones that scare her."

  "I don't know anything about any dreams," Mrs. Jensen said. "Now come in and eat your lunch. It's good vegetable soup."

  "Campbell's?"

  "No, it's homemade."

  "I like Campbell's."

  "You're going to like this even better. Come on and I'll dish it up for you."

  Joey clumped into the kitchen and ate two bowls of the soup, which he admitted was almost as good as Campbell's. He finished up with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk while Mrs. Jensen loaded clothes into the washer in the adjoining laundry room.

  "I wish Mom would get home," Joey said. "I want to tell her about the face last night."

  Mrs. Jensen came back into the kitchen. "Did you say a face?"

  "Yeah. Last night it looked right in my window. Wow, was it ugly!"

  "You had a dream, you mean."

  "Nah, it wasn't any dream, it was a face. All kind of scrunched up and hairy and with great big teeth. Really ugly."

  The housekeeper studied the boy for a moment. "Did it scare you?"

  Joey met her eye seriously, then broke into mischievous laughter. "No way. I knew who it was all the time."

  "Who?"

  "That crazy Kelly in a rubber mask. He's always doing crazy things. Probably climbed up on the roof and thought he could scare me. Crazy."

  "What would he be doing up so late?" Mrs. Jensen said with stern disapproval.

  "He gets to stay up as late as he wants to," Joey said. "I'm as old as he is and don't even get to stay up and watch 'Kojak.' "

  "It does you a lot more good to get your sleep than staying up to watch junk like that. Or playing dumb tricks like your friend Kelly."

  "I'll tell Mom," Joey said. "She'll buy me a mask, a horribler one than Kelly's even, then I'll go to his house and really scare him."

  "I don't think you'd better tell your mother about it," Mrs. Jensen said.

  "Why not? She'll buy me a mask. I kn
ow she will."

  "Maybe so, but your mother's not been feeling too well, and I don't think it would do her any good to hear about faces at the window and such foolishness."

  "Awww."

  "You want her to get well, don't you?"

  "Sure."

  "Then don't go bothering her with this kind of stuff."

  "Oh, okay."

  Joey jumped up from the table and ran outside, slamming the door firmly. Mrs. Jensen looked after him with a worried frown, then shook off the thought and got busy picking up the dishes.

  10

  ROOM 9 IN THE Evergreen Motel was cool and dim in the pale light that filtered in through the curtains. Roy Beatty sat beside the bed, holding the hand of the woman who lay among the twisted sheets.

  "I was worried when you didn't come home last night," he said.

  Marcia rolled her head on the pillow and looked at him. There were shadows around her deep green eyes, but they shone as brilliantly as ever.

  She said, "I'm all right now. It was frightening when it happened. Last night was the first time I wasn't prepared for it. It must have been the excitement of being so close, of seeing at last what we are going to do. I could not control the change."

  Roy stroked a strand of black hair from her forehead. "My poor Marcia."

  "It doesn't matter," she said. "There is a patch of trees near their house. I was able to reach them and stay there until daylight. No one saw me, except perhaps the boy, and I don't think he knew what he was seeing."

  "Maybe we should forget about this. Go away from here. For your sake."

  "Forget about it?" Marcia sat straight up in bed, and it seemed to Roy that he could see the strength flow into her body. "Never! I have not waited this long, come this far, only to turn back. As for what happened to me last night, I will take care to see that it does not happen again. I will keep a tighter hold on my emotions."

  Roy sighed and nodded his head slowly. He stood up and walked over to the window where he pulled aside the curtain and looked out over the asphalt of the parking lot. The Evergreen was not on one of the main highways which ran through Seattle, and in the middle of the week there was little business. There were only three cars parked outside, the white Ford which Roy had rented, and two others. They looked cold and abandoned in the misting rain.