Stephen rounded the side of the house and ran full tilt into the door that led into the kitchen. He slammed into it with a booming crash, stumbling back, almost falling—and would have if Gary hadn’t steadied him. “I left that unlocked!” he said, then started as a horrendous banging started in the kitchen.
“What the hell’s that?” asked Dennis.
Without answering, Stephen sprinted around the back of the house, and Gary followed.
“Let me go in first!” shouted Dennis. Stephen didn’t reply, and Gary wasn’t even sure the man heard him in his panic. The horrendous banging continued for a moment longer but stopped with a clatter.
The screen door lay on the lawn—ripped off its hinges and flung away. Stephen didn’t even pause before leaping the three steps leading up into the porch and barreling toward the house.
“Stephen! Let me—” He gave up as Mary Canton screamed from within the house. If it had been his wife, he wouldn’t have stopped, either.
3
Mary sprinted toward the kitchen, cursing herself for a coward—for leaving Elizabet at the beast’s mercy. She slammed her hip into the corner of the breakfast bar, and wretched pain leaped up and down her spine. She slipped as she tried to turn the corner to the pantry, and the thing behind her cackled.
“Where are you going?” the thing grated. “Don’t you want to hang out? Dinner and a flick before we get down to business?”
Mary shoved herself to her feet without looking at the thing chasing her and threw herself toward the pantry door.
“Oh, a pantry. How humorous. I like to keep my food in the pantry, too. Mind if I borrow yours?” The thing boomed with laughter.
Mary only had one thought on her mind—the gun safe door. Dear God, let the safe be unlocked! She shouldered the hidden door out of the way and grabbed the handle of the gun safe. She pulled with all her might, expecting resistance, expecting the door to be as massive as it appeared.
The thick metal door was not heavy, though her prayer was answered. She almost fell as the door swung open. A light came on as the door swung open, illuminating the interior. Inside, a hunting rifle with a scope stood in a rack, and a big nickel-plated revolver hung in a holster attached to the back of the door. The pistol looked similar to the ones all the cops carried on the TV shows. Relief sang in her veins as she reached for the gun, praying Joe kept it loaded.
“My, that hidden door thing…that’s quite creative. You must give me the name of your contractor.”
The voice came from right behind her, the beast’s breath tickling her ear. Mary’s blood froze, and her muscles locked tight. The beast’s large hand came to rest on her shoulder, its sharp talons slicing through her blouse.
“Doesn’t that hidden door smack you as creative?” he crooned.
As much as she wanted to, as hard as she tried to make her hand grasp the butt of the pistol, she didn’t even twitch. None of her muscles would do anything—she just stood frozen as the thing hooked her blouse with a long talon.
“We won’t need that toy on the back of the door. I brought one of my own—well, I suppose that’s a lie. I didn’t have a choice to bring it or not. It’s attached to me, you see. Right here, between my legs. That’s enough gun for both of us, don’t you agree?”
Her breath caught in her throat, and her thoughts froze in her mind, shaking in the beast’s grip; waiting for the creature to do whatever it was going to do was the best she could do. Her eyes, though, they moved just fine. Her gaze danced back and forth from her right hand to the butt of the pistol, as if her insistent gaze would force her hands.
“I’ve got to say, miss. I prefer the silent type. I enjoy women who play hard to catch, but you’re well and caught, yes? Don’t you think it’s a little rude to ignore everything I say?”
“Get away from her, you bastard!”
Her heart lurched in her chest. Stephen! she thought. He’s come to save me! But even as the thought rolled through her mind, some sadistic part of her brain replayed the memory of the demon, and she despaired. There was nothing on God’s green earth that Stephen could do against such a creature.
The demon’s hand left her shoulder, and her blouse disappeared with it. “Oh, now look what you’ve made me do! Now I’ve ripped her shirt.” The thing laughed, sounding every bit like a plane crashing into concrete. “Nice tits, lady.”
“I said, get away from her!” shouted Stephen.
“Take this damn thing, Stephen! Get down, Mrs. Canton!”
Who else is here? And why should I duck? That last voice was unfamiliar to Mary, but even if she’d known it, her mind slugged along at the speed of half-frozen corn syrup; her gaze stuck to the butt of the Magnum as if glued to the thing.
“Mary, get down!” shouted Stephen.
She heard the tiniest of clicks—as if someone had thrown a switch—and she realized what her husband wanted her to do. She threw herself forward, letting her knees go weak as she did so, reaching for the butt of the huge Magnum as she fell. Her fingers scrabbled along the leather holster’s edge, but she missed the pistol by a country mile.
Ka-BLAM! The report of the shotgun thundered in the enclosed space of the pantry, and Mary couldn’t help herself: she screamed.
4
Stephen racked the slide of the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell and hammering a fresh one in its place. The noise made by cycling a round into a pump shotgun should have sent fear shivering through the nervous system of anyone on the receiving end of it, but the colossal beast at the other end of the pantry didn’t even twitch at the sound.
The…the thing…standing between him and his wife had been turning to face him when he fired. The gargantuan scaled monster had to hunch his head to avoid the pantry ceiling, and as the shotgun pellets slammed into his side, he had straightened, punching his head straight through the sheetrock ceiling and bellowing at the impact of the almost point-blank shotgun blast.
With a grunt, the creature stooped to pull his head out of the ceiling, glaring at Stephen with eyes that bore no other color but red. Those eyes…they seemed to glow in the pantry's gloom, and without quite deciding to do it, Stephen fired a second time.
“Stop it!” the thing roared at him. The demon lifted his scaled arms to the sides, smashing through the shelves of canned and dried goods as if they were nothing more than papier-mache.
Stephen cycled the shotgun, sending another smoking casing flying into the living room. “Get away from her!”
The scaled creature cackled—a harsh, barking sound—and drew his expression into a smirk. “The only way I can get away from her is to walk out of the pantry… Straight…through…you!” As he said the last word, the demon lunged forward, long talon-tipped arms stretching toward Stephen.
“Good God!” shouted Gary Dennis. “Good God!”
Stephen lurched away, backpedaling into the kitchen as fast as his feet could move. He pulled the trigger a third time, and the pellets slammed into the demon’s chest—affecting the thing about as much as if he’d flung spitballs in the demon’s path.
“You’ve made a mistake, friend,” said the demon in a bored-sounding voice. “You’ve brought a gun to a claw fight, and you know what they say about that.”
Stephen’s rump slammed into the counter, and his left foot slipped forward just as he pulled the trigger a fourth time. The double-aught buckshot punched a hole in his mother’s ceiling. That won’t please Mom. Along with the thought came the fleeting image of his mother lying in a pool of her own blood on the floor, her skin lying around her like so much forgotten confetti.
The demon burst through the door to the pantry, peeling the door and the door frame right out of the wall with his shoulders. He brandished his claws—his four-inch-long claws. He smiled at Stephen crookedly and tipped him a wink. “Is your dance card full, sweetie?”
Stephen worked the pump of the shotgun, searching his mind in a panic, trying to recall how many rounds he fired, and how many shells the damn gu
n held. Gary Dennis was backing away into the living room, his hand going to his holster, again and again, pulling up empty air as if he were a robot with a programming problem.
The demon ignored Gary, giving every ounce of his attention to Stephen. “Your toy is no good against me, son. You might as well turn it on yourself as shoot me with it again.” Despite his words, a greenish-black ichor oozed from each pellet wound.
Stephen brought the shotgun to his shoulder and aimed it at the thing’s face. “Maybe,” he said. “I bet it hurts like a son of a bitch, though. Should we check to see if your eyes are immune to shotgun pellets?”
The scaled beast didn’t slow his inexorable advance, and instead, he flashed a lopsided grin at Stephen. “Do what you want—it won’t change a thing. In a few minutes, I’ll go back inside that pantry and have my way with your wife.” The thing shrugged. “You won’t be alive to see it.” A slow grin spread across the demon’s features. He lifted an index finger, pointing it straight up in the classic Eureka pose. “Ah, I’ve just had an idea! What if you were still alive? Would you enjoy that? Would seeing how she reacts turn you on? I could leave you alive…broken spine, say.” He glanced to the side, fixing Gary Dennis with a cold glance. “Of course, I’ll have to kill you. If you’re still here when I’m done with him, that is.” He hooked a monstrous thumb at Stephen.
Stephen’s aim faltered, the barrel of the shotgun wavering back and forth. “You leave her alone,” he whispered. “If you have to kill someone, kill me, but leave her alone.”
“My friend, Red, was right. When the begging starts, everything gets oh-so-much more interesting!” The titanic demon leered at Stephen, bending at the waist to lean forward, and winking at him in the way whores wink at potential customers.
5
Mary sat dazed on the floor of the pantry, a warm sticky fluid running down the side of her face. For a moment, she didn’t recognize the pantry, didn’t recall the events that had led to her slamming headfirst into the gun safe. As it came back, her hands began to shake.
The pantry was a wreck; splintered wood, ruptured sacks of food, and burst cans littered the floor. The rampaging demon had turned the shelves into kindling and toothpicks, and a hole the size of a basketball hoop had appeared in the ceiling.
She heard the thing threatening her husband, pinning him against the corner of the countertop between the sink and the prep space. She tried to stand, but her shaky knees gave out, and she thumped against the gun safe.
The gun safe! She got to her hands and knees and turned like a dog chasing her tail. Her heart sank as she saw that the gun safe had closed during the fracas. They should have told me the code! Out of desperation, she grabbed the door’s handle and pulled, almost falling over once more as it swung open with ease. Relief swept over her like a wave of warm water.
Using the door to do it, Mary pulled herself up and stood swaying for a moment getting her balance. She grabbed the Magnum and pulled it out of its holster, surprised at how much she liked the weight of it in her hand.
“My friend, Red, was right. When the begging starts, everything gets oh-so-much more interesting!” the beast said.
Mary turned, forcing herself to go slow and avoid falling. The thing leered toward her husband but did nothing else, seeming to enjoy dragging things out. She looked down at the pistol in her hands. I have no clue what I’m doing with this thing. Joe’s warning about novices hurting the ones they loved instead of the person threatening them again flashed through her mind. Her gaze tracked back up to the demon’s back.
He raised his titanic arm until the claws gouged the ceiling, sending a shower of white dust earthward.
Mary stumbled out of the pantry, holding the heavy pistol in one shaking hand. The tip of the barrel wavered back and forth, sometimes centered on the demon’s broad back, but often—too often—straying past him to either side. She didn’t know what else to do, though, and she had to do something before the thing gutted Stephen.
Mary raised her other hand and gripped her wrist as she’d seen them do on the cop shows. She squeezed her eyes shut and jerked at the trigger.
Nothing happened. Safety? she thought.
“Give it to me!”
Mary turned her head, feeling as though she couldn’t move her head fast enough. Gary Dennis stood at the edge of the living room, both hands out, palms up, as if imploring her to do something. He waved all ten of his fingers. Mary looked at the big pistol in her hands and tossed it to Officer Dennis.
He caught it with both hands, and with the dexterity of one who has practiced something a million times, spun the pistol on the flat of his hand until the grip rested in his palm, then extended it at the demon. He held the gun with both hands—instead of grabbing one wrist—his left hand cupped, fingers wrapping around the fingers of his right. His knees were bent a little, and he leaned forward at the waist.
Examining his posture, shame flashed through Mary like a four-alarm fire. Without warning, the mammoth, nickel-plated pistol roared.
6
Stephen followed the bright arc of the pistol as Mary threw it to Gary. Dennis snapped into a two-handed firing position and squeezed the trigger. The round took the demon high in the side of his head, exploding out the other side with more greenish-black blood splattering the wall and ceiling.
The demon snapped his head to the side, turning the gaping golf-ball-sized exit wound in his skull toward Stephen and glaring at Gary. Stephen steadied the shotgun and began to take up the slack of the trigger.
As if the demon could see out of the hole in the side of his head, he grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and with a rough jerk, snatched it out of Stephen’s hands. Still glaring at Gary, he bent the scattergun in half before putting it back in Stephen’s hands.
Gary fired again, and again, his aim was true. The demon staggered back, another .357 round snatching his head back. Gary thumbed the hammer back, the mechanism clicking in the silence that followed the deafening report of the pistol.
“Don’t do that again!” roared the demon. “I’ll make you pay if you do!”
Gary’s only reply was another chunk of lead from the big gun’s barrel and its accompanying clangor.
The demon shoved Mary headlong into the pantry as if an afterthought before launching himself at Gary with a roar.
Gary stood his ground, thumbing back the hammer and squeezing off one round after another as the demon approached. His cheeks quivered, but his stance was rock solid.
A low rumble issued from the demon’s throat as he advanced with deliberation. His hands clenched and released with each step. He reached Gary in four giant-sized steps.
Gary thumbed back the hammer and pulled the trigger again, but instead of the deafening roar and another slug impacting the demon, there was only a harsh click. Without missing a beat, Gary reversed the pistol, holding it by the smoking barrel, and hammered at the demon with it.
The demon batted the pistol away, turning Gary ninety degrees with the force of the blow. With his other hand, the scaled beast jabbed his claws into Gary’s chest, then raked them downward. Gary screamed and tried to pull away, but the demon was too quick, grabbing Gary by the throat with his other hand.
With a glance at Mary, Stephen charged at the demon, sprinting from the kitchen dredging as much speed from his muscles as possible. He had no plan, no idea what to do to defeat the beast standing in his parents’ living room, just knowing he couldn’t stand by and watch the demon butcher Gary.
“No, you fool!” shouted Gary. “Get away! Get her away!”
Stephen hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the pantry. He slid to a stop and turned on his heel, ducking into the pantry.
7
Chaz Welsh glanced over his shoulder as Stephen ducked into the pantry. When he turned back to face the cop, his face bore a wicked grin. “You and me, now, sweetheart. You should have left when I gave you the chance.”
“I’ve been a cop for twenty-three years. You don’t scar
e me.”
Chaz laughed. “Yes, I do.”
The cop swung at him then, making a wide arc with his fist, throwing his hip and shoulder forward, putting all his weight behind the blow.
Still laughing, Chaz caught his haymaker in one hand and squeezed. With a popcorn clatter, the bones in Gary’s hand shattered and his finger joints disintegrated. The cop screamed, and the demon laughed harder. “Delicious,” he said between bellows.
The cop struggled against him, trying to pull his shattered hand out of his grip. With a shrug, Chaz opened his hand and grinned as the policeman flew backward, slamming into the couch and flipping over it. Chaz leaped over the couch and landed on him. He extended the claws of his feet, digging them into the man’s abdomen. “Now, let’s have us some fun!”
8
Stephen slid into the pantry, his eyes wide, his face as pale as Mary had ever seen it. She lay on the floor, with a long piece of splintered wood impaling her left side. Blood slicked the floor beneath her, and she felt faint. It had become harder and harder to draw breath with each passing moment.
“Mary!”
With a numb, enervated hand, Mary pointed at the gun safe. There was still a hunting rifle in it, and who knew what other weapons Joe had tucked away.
Her husband’s gaze darted from her face to the gun safe but came back to her face. He shook his head. “Guns don’t seem to do much good. We have to get out of here. Gary is…” He snapped his mouth shut and shook his head harder.
In the other room, Gary Dennis screamed.
Stephen kneeled beside her. “He’s buying us time to get away,” he choked out. “Can you stand?”
“We can’t get away…he’s too fast, too…” She ran out of breath and gasped another into her beleaguered lungs.
“He’s busy with Gary. Here,” said Stephen as he threaded his arm under her shoulders and knees. He grunted as he stood, and his knees popped with a sound Mary associated with deboning a chicken.
The Hag Page 30
