by Jeremy Bates
Rex took a moment to orientate himself in the dark. Unless he’d gotten completely turned around, the lake—and the Leech’s cabin that sat on a small peninsula visible from Rex’s dock—was to his left. Which meant the road was to his right.
When Rex reached the juncture where the driveway met the dirt road, he looked both ways. He saw no flashlight beam bobbing through the dark. If the killer was coming after him, he would be as blind as a mole.
Ducking his head against the storm, Rex hurried north along the road toward the Mazda.
***
Bobby slipped out of bed, clicked on his keychain flashlight, and padded softly to the collection of old furniture stacked in the corner of the attic. The rain was falling on the roof really fast now, and the thunder was loud enough to probably knock down trees.
“What are you doing?” Ellie demanded from her bed.
Bobby didn’t answer her. Instead, he silently examined the furniture—a low table with sewing machine legs, a white cabinet, a yellow dresser, three wooden shelves attached to each other with metal pipes, a turquoise desk on which sat a clunky black typewriter—before selecting a chair with a plastic seat and black legs, not unlike the one at his desk at school. It rested upside-down atop the white cabinet. He dragged it free and carried it back to his bed.
“What are you doing?” Ellie asked again. She was still in her bed, but sitting up now. She was staring at him in challenge, like she did when she thought he might be cheating at a game they were playing (he usually wasn’t, but it was hard to convince her of that once she made up her mind on the matter). “If you don’t tell me,” she added, “I’m going to tell my mom.”
Bobby set the chair down on the ground to give his arms a break. “You’re a tattletale,” he said.
“You’re going to get in big trouble.”
“Tattleteller.”
“I’m going to tell right now.”
“You’ll get in trouble too!”
Ellie seemed to contemplate this, and when Bobby decided she wasn’t going to say anything more, he stripped back his bedcover, lifted the chair again, and plunked it down in the middle of his mattress. Then he pulled the heavy cover over the top of the chair.
“You’re making a fort!” Ellie exclaimed.
Nodding, Bobby climbed onto the bed and slipped under the cover. He sat crossed-legged and bent forward so his head didn’t brush against the ceiling. He propped the flashlight in his lap and looked around the interior of his fort, pleased with how bright and comfortable it was.
“Can I come in?” Ellie asked, and Bobby heard her hop out of her bed.
“Only boys are allowed,” he replied.
“There’s no sign that says that.”
“I don’t need a sign.”
Thunder boomed in the sky so loudly and unexpectedly that Bobby flinched and Ellie yelped.
“Let me in!” she said, sounding scared.
“What’s the password?”
“I don’t know it!”
“What’s my favorite TV show?”
“PJ Masks?”
“That’s your favorite show.”
“What’s your favorite one?”
“Noddy.”
“Is that the password?”
Bobby hadn’t actually thought of the exact password yet, but “Noddy” would do.
“Yeah…” he said.
“Okay, let me in.”
Bobby lifted the bedcover. Ellie’s head appeared a moment later. Her wide eyes sparkled as she looked around, and she was smiling. “Neat!” She climbed inside.
“Don’t hit the chair!” he said.
“It’s small in here,” she said, pulling her knees up against her chest and ducking her head like he was. “You should build a second floor.”
“How?”
“With more furniture.”
“You can’t have a second floor in forts.”
“Yes, you can,” she replied knowingly. Then, suddenly: “Miss Chippy!” She tugged the chipmunk out of her pocket and held the little animal in front of her face. “Were you biting me Miss Chippy? Naughty chippymunk! Are you all better now?”
Bobby stared at her. “You’re not allowed to have that up here!”
“Am too!”
“Your mom said you’re not allowed to touch it!”
“No, she didn’t.”
“You shouldn’t lie.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. You always lie. You’re lying right now. You lie more than the devil.”
Ellie stuffed the chipmunk back in her pocket. “No, I don’t. The devil lies the most in the world. And if you tell on me, I’m going to tell on you.”
Bobby frowned. “For what?”
“I’ll tell my mom you played with Miss Chippy too.”
“But I didn’t!”
“My mom will believe me. She always believes me.”
But Bobby had stopped listening to her. He was looking at his stomach. “Did you hear that?” he asked. “My tummy is making funny sounds.”
“That means you’re hungry.”
“I am hungry.”
“I wish we could have popcorn.”
“We’ve already had dinner,” he reminded her.
“I know. But sometimes my mom lets me have cockporn at nighttime, if I’ve been a good girl all day.”
“You said cockporn!”
“No, I didn’t, stupid head. I said popcorn.”
Bobby shrugged. Popcorn sounded pretty good to him right then. It was one of his favorite foods along with chocolate bars, potato chips, and ice cream. He was never allowed to have any of these except for on special occasions, like when his dad came home from being away in a different country. “Can you ask your mom to make us some?” he said.
“I don’t think your dad bought any at the store.”
“He might have.”
“He didn’t.”
“Just ask your mom.”
Ellie hesitated. “She’s not feeling very well.”
Bobby frowned. “Your mom?”
Ellie nodded. “She’s scared of the monster.”
With all the talk of popcorn, Bobby had almost forgotten about the monster, despite it being the reason he built the fort in the first place. “I think my dad’s scared of it too.”
“I’m not scared,” Ellie proclaimed.
“I’m a little bit,” Bobby admitted.
“I’m not,” she said defiantly.
“What if it catches us?”
“It can’t. It can’t get in the fort.”
Bobby wanted to believe Ellie that the monster couldn’t get in, but he was pretty sure it could if it tried.
Thunder exploded, seeming to shake the entire cabin.
“That was loud,” Ellie whispered.
Bobby nodded and tried not to think of a tree falling down on top of them. “What do you want to do?” he asked her. “Do you want to play a game?”
Ellie held up her hands, her palms facing outward. “Paddy cakes?”
“I’m not a girl! And it’s too noisy. Your mom will hear.”
Ellie made her thinking face. “Dares?”
Bobby brightened. Dares were always fun if you could think of a good one.
“When I played with my mom,” Ellie went on, “she dared me to crack an egg over my head.”
“Did you do it?”
She nodded. “You have to. Or else.”
“Or else what?”
“You get punished. My mom made me eat a raw carrot once.”
“Yuck,” he said, glad they didn’t have any carrots around.
Ellie sat straight, her head touching the bedcover above her. “Okay, me first. I dare you…” She put on her thinking face again. “I dare you…”
“What?”
“I dare you to…do a chicken dance!”
Bobby couldn’t picture what this might look like. “I don’t know a chicken dance.”
“You have to! I dared you!”
&n
bsp; “But I don’t know it! I can’t do it if I don’t know it!”
“Act like a monkey.”
Bobby shrugged. He could probably do that.
“I have to go outside the fort.”
He slipped under the cover, then hopped off the bed. Ellie stuck her head out to watch him.
Bobby didn’t know how he was supposed to act like a monkey without being loud, but he did his best, jumping from foot to foot, holding his arms funny, like he had a coat hanger in the back of his shirt, trying not to make any sound. Ellie giggled wildly.
“Shhh!” he said.
She clamped her hands over her mouth.
“Okay, my turn now,” Bobby said. “I dare you…” He looked around the dark attic. The game would be a lot easier if they were playing in the day and didn’t have to be so quiet. He could have made Ellie eat a spoonful of mustard from the kitchen, or walk backwards everywhere with a lampshade on her head, or sing a song in a funny voice. Now he couldn’t make her do any of that.
Bobby’s eyes paused on the window near the pile of old furniture. When he had his first sleepover after George Papadopoulos’s fifth birthday party earlier this year, George’s parents let all the kids sleeping over stay up really late watching movies and playing video games. After this, when they were lying in sleeping bags on the floor of George’s bedroom, Jamie Stevenson—who had an older brother who knew all sorts of cool stuff—explained that if you looked in a mirror after midnight and said “Bloody Mary” three times, you would see the face of a witch covered in blood. Only George and Jamie were brave enough to try it, and they both said they saw Bloody Mary.
Still looking at the window, Bobby thought it would work as a mirror, because when it was nighttime, you could never see out a window, only your reflection.
“I dare you,” he said, unable to hold back a smile, knowing Ellie was going to be too scared-y cat to do it, “to go to the window and say Bloody—” He changed his mind. “And say the monster’s name three times.”
Ellie frowned. “That’s a stupid dare.”
“No, it’s not.” Bobby explained what happened at George’s sleepover.
Ellie said, “So if we say the monster’s name instead, the monster will appear?”
Bobby nodded. “If you don’t do it,” he said, “you lose and I win.”
She looked frightened. “I don’t want the monster to appear.”
“You have to! I dared you!”
“I don’t want to!”
“Then you have to do the punishment.”
“What is it?”
Bobby didn’t know and didn’t bother to think of one. He was having too much fun seeing Ellie scared. “You’re a baby,” he said, knowing this always got her angry.
“I’m not a baby!” she said.
“Then go look in the window and say the monster’s name three times.”
They both stuck their heads out of the fort and looked at the window. It was a grave-black square in the wall.
Ellie slipped out head-first, planting her hands on the floor and somersaulting, before standing up beside Bobby.
“You’re going to do it?” he said, surprised.
“We don’t know the monster’s name,” she said.
“We can make one up.” Bobby shrugged. “Mike?”
“You stole that from Monster University.”
“So?”
“That’s not scary.”
“You think of one then.”
“Mike’s okay. But you have to come with me.”
She took his hand in hers and walked slowly to the window. Bobby couldn’t believe they were really going to do this. He wanted to run back to the fort, but he knew Ellie would make fun of him if he did.
I just won’t look, he thought. Like at George’s, I’ll just close my eyes.
They stopped before the window. Raindrops streaked the glass, creating zigzaggy patterns. Bobby kept the tiny flashlight aimed at the floor. Ellie stood on her tiptoes so she could look out the window.
“I can only see me,” she said.
“I told you,” he said, “you have to say the monster’s name three times. Then you can see it.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Ellie spoke, and Bobby squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible.
“Mike…Mike…Mike…”
***
The rain, blown diagonally by the wind, shredded the rainforest’s canopy and understory, and churned the road into a bubbling stew. Rex’s chest heaved and his lungs burned as he kept up a brisk run, even as the road ascended what seemed like a never-ending slope. He was only a few minutes away from the Mazda now. He’d gotten his second wind. He didn’t care that his legs were mush. He wouldn’t slow until he reached the car.
Rex still believed fetching the Mazda was the best plan of action, and he hoped Tabitha was holding up okay in his absence. She must be terrified waiting alone for his return. Well, she wasn’t alone, of course. She had the kids with her. But their presence most likely only added to her trepidation. She was their sole protector, the one person standing between the killer and them. If he decided to attack before Rex returned—
No, Rex wouldn’t think of this. Tabitha was fine. The kids were fine.
The killer was—
Where? Where was the bastard?
He’d been dragging the cop across the road when Rex almost ran him over. Why? To bury him in the woods? Where did he flee to? Rex hadn’t gotten much of a look at him, but he figured the guy must be fit and strong. After all, Tony had been muscular, no pushover, and he’d locked himself in a goddamned bedroom, apparently fearful for his safety.
Which brought Rex back to the question of what exactly happened to Tony and Daisy earlier in the evening.
They’re sitting at the table in the living room, enjoying some cheese and wine, playing cards, when, what—they hear a noise outside? Tony goes to the door and sees the killer. And locks himself and Daisy in the bedroom without bothering to lock the front door first? That didn’t make sense. So perhaps the killer strolled boldly into the cabin. Daisy and Tony, seeing that he is armed, run to the bedroom, lock the door. Then what? The killer scales the partition wall, drops down on top of Tony, and delivers the fatal wound across his gut? And Daisy? She escapes out the window while this is happening. The killer catches up to her somewhere along the road and cuts her too. Yet she has spirit, fire, wants to live. She fights back and gets away and makes it to Rex’s cabin with the last of her strength before succumbing to her injury…
It’s possible, Rex thought. It all fits.
But the big question is, Who the hell is this guy?
Not Rex’s father, as Rex had previously speculated. His mother, he now recalled, had said she’d heard their father scream, indicating he was not the attacker but the attacked. And Logan had been attacked too, which meant he would have seen the killer. If it had been their father, he would surely have admitted as much.
Far above in the night sky a yellow bolt of lightning splintered into a constellation of frenetic offshoots. A blast of thunder as loud as cannon fire obediently followed. The rain fell harder.
Rex stepped in a deep pothole filled with rainwater and lost his balance. He toppled forward, his knees and palms slamming the ground. A piece of gravel the size of a walnut tore into his left kneecap. Crying out in pain, he rolled onto his side, his hands cupping his knee. One of his fingers slipped through the hole where his khakis had torn and touched the pulpy wound beneath.
“Christ!” he hissed.
With effort he managed to straighten his leg. He bent it at the knee and straightened it again. It felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to his kneecap, but he would be able to walk.
Carefully he stood. Drenched and shivering, cold rain pelting his face, he took a cautious step forward. His injured leg buckled, but he kept his balance. After a few more tentative steps he attempted a quicker, albeit lurching, pace.
Looking up from the ground, he came to an abrupt halt.
Ahead, in the middle of the road, was a lone dark shape.
CHAPTER 15
Tabitha peeled back the pillow from the police officer’s abdomen. His bleeding, she was relieved to note, had all but stopped, which likely meant the killer’s knife hadn’t perforated his liver, kidneys, spleen, or other vital organs. In fact, it might have spared his bowels as well. Despite the vicious sweep of the slash, it was made horizontally, not vertically, meaning the knife could have slid between the police officer’s intestines, perhaps only nicking them, or even missing them altogether. And if this was the case, his injury was superficial, a flesh wound, and not fatal.
Tabitha replaced the pillow and positioned the police officer’s hands atop it, so she didn’t have to continue holding it in place.
She got up and padded quietly through the cabin to the bathroom. She used the toilet, then poured water into the bowl so it would flush. The mundane action made her pause. Her life was potentially in danger. She might not survive until morning. Yet still she made sure her urine didn’t sit in the toilet bowl for others to see.
Back in the front room, she went to the bookcase she and Rex had moved in front of one of the windows. She studied the family photographs on the top shelf. She’d never seen a photo of Rex from his childhood, and in this one he looked unsurprisingly like a younger, miniaturized version of himself—minus the white hair, of course. In fact, she really saw the resemblance to Bobby now. Blonde, blue-eyed, thin lipped.
On the middle shelf sat several leather-bound photo albums, their spines facing outward. Tabitha lifted one free. It turned out not to be a photo album but a baby scrapbook. Taped to the first few pages was a photocopy of Rex’s birth certificate, a photograph of Rex’s mother in a hospital bed holding Rex, recently born into this world. The next page contained a makeshift paper pouch that contained two of Rex’s baby teeth. On the page after that, a lock of golden hair. The rest of the book was filled with more cards celebrating his subsequent birthdays: ribbons presumably kept from birthday gifts; a letter Rex had written to Santa Claus, in which he stated he had been a good boy and deserved a lot of presents; a self-portrait done in crayons; and other childhood keepsakes. Amongst all of this were faded photographs annotated in neat handwriting.
