The Beast House (31 page)

“This is the guy from Beast House,” Nora called from the front of a pickup truck.

“Hey!” the woman shouted. “Who are you people? Get out of here!”

“Were there three men here?” Tyler asked.

“Yes.”

“Where are they?”

She pointed. “Said they’re going through a tunnel.”

“Are they all right?”

“Yes! Get out of here!”

Tyler and Nora reached the Omni at the same moment. Janice was standing by the rear door. “Get in,” Tyler snapped.

The three doors slammed shut.

“What’re we doing?” Nora asked.

“Going after them.” Tyler rammed the shift into reverse and sped backwards toward the street.

“What good will that do?” Nora asked. “We’ll just be in their way.”

“We need guns,” Janice said.

Tyler mashed the brake. She shot the car forward, swung onto the grass beside the ambulance, and lurched to a stop. She and Nora leapt from the car.

“Hold it!” the woman cop yelled.

“We need their guns!” Tyler said. “We want to help.”

“Help by getting out of here.”

The attendants lifted the fallen policeman onto the stretcher.

“Please!” Tyler said. “We’ll bring them back.”

The woman aimed her revolver at Tyler. “Get!”

“For Christsake, lady!” Nora blurted.

She aimed at Nora.

“Stupid bitch!” Tyler cried. Whirling around, she climbed back into the car.

Nora dropped in and slammed her door.

“We’re no good without guns,” Janice said.

Tyler steered the car around in a tight circle, then hit the brake. She stared past the tail of the pickup truck and across the treeless field at the woods beyond Beach Lane.

“Captain Frank,” she said.

“So what?”

“Hardy said he’s got an arsenal.”

“Let’s go!” Janice urged.

Tyler drove straight across the field, the car bouncing wildly over its bumpy earth, crunching through weeds and low bushes. Nora clung to the dashboard as jolts shook the car. Tyler struggled to keep her grip on the steering wheel. Soon, her headlights caught the row of mailboxes. She spotted the opening in the trees to the left as the car sprang over a small rise and dropped onto the dirt road.

“Oh shit!” Nora yelled.

Tyler yanked the wheel. She almost missed the tree. There was a jolt as she struck it. The right headlight smashed. But the car glanced off and kept moving, speeding down the narrow rutted lane of Seaside, its single beam thrusting into the dark.

“There it is,” Nora said.

Tyler shoved the brake pedal to the floor and steered for the bus. The car bounded off the road. Beer cans crunched under its tires. She blasted the horn.

Nora and Janice jumped out while she set the emergency brake. They were pounding the bus’s door when she reached them.

“Wha’s all this?”

Tyler spun around. Captain Frank’s white-bearded face was at an open window halfway to the back of the bus. “It’s just us,” she said. “Tyler and Nora. We talked at the bar last night, remember? We need your help.”

“Did I hear guns?” he asked. He sounded groggy.

“They’re after the beast. Your Bobo. We want to help. Have you got guns?”

“Goin’ after Bobo?”

“Hurry. You can come along if you want.”

“Uhhh.” His face left the window. A light came on inside the bus, illuminating its brightly colored panes. A few seconds later, the door wheezed open.

“My Lord, is that you, Janice Crogan?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“Figured Bobo got you.”

“It did.”

“We’ve got to hurry,” Tyler said, stepping close to the door.

Captain Frank wore striped boxer shorts, and nothing else. His torso was matted with white hair. “Grab some clothes,” Tyler said, “and show us where you keep your guns.”

“Aye. Come on aboard, mateys.”

With the policeman’s revolver clenched in his sweaty hand, Gorman followed Abe and Jack down the stairs to the cellar. He kept his other hand on the railing as he descended. Except for the bright path cast by the flashlight, all was black.

The risers creaked under their feet.

The dirt floor of the cellar below looked gray in the pale beam. Then the light swept from corner to corner. Shadows quivered and died as the light circled.

“There’s your hole,” Abe whispered. He settled the beam on a patch of darkness near a pile of bushel baskets.

Gorman tried to speak. A choked sound came out. He cleared his throat and asked, “Did you get pictures?”

“Sure,” Jack said. “Then we heard Janice.”

In silence, Gorman followed them down to the cellar floor. They stood in a cluster at the foot of the stairs. Abe swung the light toward a wall beside the staircase. It stopped at a large steamer trunk. “That’s their door,” he said. Gorman noticed a short hank of rope nailed to a side of the trunk—apparently a handle for pulling it back against the wall.

The beam edged sideways. It lighted the tunnel entrance.

And the beast.

“Glad it didn’t walk away,” Jack whispered.

They stepped closer.

The creature lay face down, just inside the tunnel, its shiny flesh so white it almost seemed to glow. Its back was splattered with gore. Gorman quickly looked away from the remains of its head.

“We didn’t get any pictures of it,” Jack told him.

Gorman took a deep breath. “Would you mind rolling it over?”

“We’ve got a job to do,” Abe said. “You can stay here if you want.” He stepped over one of the outstretched arms and moved deeper into the tunnel.

“Wait. You can’t leave me here.”

“Then come along,” Jack said, and went in after Abe.

The light faded to a dim glow as Abe disappeared around a bend. In another moment, Gorman would be left in darkness. Gritting his teeth, he started to edge past the beast. He stared at it, half expecting a clawed hand to dart for his ankle. Then the light was gone. He couldn’t see the beast at all. Something nudged his shoe. With a yelp, he sprang away.

He rushed forward, bumped a moist wall, and felt his way along its turn until he spotted broken light ahead and the hurrying shapes of Jack and Abe.

“Wait for me!” he cried out.

Jack turned around. “Quiet, damn it!”

Gorman quickly joined the two men. He stayed close to Jack. He couldn’t free his mind from the beast at the tunnel’s entrance. It must be dead. But had it stirred in the darkness, one of its sprawled legs knocking against his shoe? No, he must have simply kicked it in passing. It must be dead:

But what if it’s not?

What if it’s coming?

Ridiculous.

And yet, he could sense it creeping closer.

He stepped on the back of Jack’s shoe.

“Damn it, watch where you’re going.”

“Would you mind if I walk between you two?”

“Shit. Suit yourself. Step on Abe for a while.”

“Would you guys knock it off?” Abe whispered.

Jack pressed himself against a wall of the tunnel. Gorman moved past him. With the sound of Jack’s footsteps behind him, he immediately felt better. But his heart continued to pound wildly. His mouth was dry and he felt vaguely nauseated. His legs trembled.

He wished he hadn’t come along with these men. He wished he had stayed at the inn, out of harm’s way.

Thinking of the inn reminded him of Janice.

So the girl wasn’t dead. That was a blow. Apparently, at least, she had no suspicion that he’d murdered her parents. Thank God for that.

She would present a problem, however, even with the contracts destroyed. If she took the matter to court…Of course, he might resolve the situation by giving her the agreed-upon amount.

Half of everything.

If Black River had been a blockbuster—a bunch of ghost nonsense with nothing but a single suicide (ah yes, suicide, Martha) to give it credibility and bolster sales—this one would skyrocket.

How many deaths? Four tonight. Three last night. Janice’s imprisonment (I’ll have to interview her about that), two captives in the Kutch house for God only knows how long. And the biggest bonus of all, the corpse of the beast.

National media coverage.

And me, Gorman Hardy, in the center of it all.

The potential was staggering.

Turning over half to Janice would be an outrage. If only the beast had killed her.

Without doubt, it had raped her.

And both her parents were killed.

Nobody would consider it unusual if a girl in such circumstances committed suicide.

He could hardly risk faking suicides for both Janice and Captain Frank.

There were other ways to handle Captain Frank.

Suicide was perfect for Janice. But what method? A girl would certainly be unlikely to blow out her brains. Slashing her wrists was out of the question: it would raise eyebrows if she died in the same manner as Brian’s wife. An overdose? Perhaps. That might be difficult to arrange, but…

Following Abe around a bend in the tunnel, he saw a blue glow ahead. Abe switched off the flashlight. The glow, Gorman realized, must be coming from the cellar of the Kutch house. An icy tightness clutched his stomach. His heart thudded faster. His trembling legs felt leaden, as if they wanted to hold him back.

Jack nudged him from behind. “Keep moving.”

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped. He forced himself to take a step, another step.

Abe, a couple of yards ahead, crouched at the mouth of the tunnel. He inched his head forward and looked to both sides. Then he stood up and entered the cellar.

If there was any danger, Gorman told himself, Abe wouldn’t walk in that way.

Clenching the revolver so hard his hand ached, he followed. His feet were silent on the blue carpet. As Abe strode toward the stairs, Gorman gazed to the right. On the far wall hung the bodies of two naked men—Marty Crogan and Brian. Their skin was blue in the strange light from the ceiling fixture. Their blood looked purple, almost black. Claire’s body was sprawled on the carpet near one of the shiny cushions that littered the floor. He stared at the awful, gaping crater in her thigh. Panic choked him. He stood motionless, struggling for breath.

Jack, stepping in front of him, shook his shoulder. “Hey,” the man whispered. “Let’s go.”

Gorman knocked the hand away, staggered backwards, twisted himself around and lurched for the tunnel. At its entrance, he glanced back. Abe and Jack, both standing at the foot of the stairs, watched him and said nothing. He flung himself into the darkness. He ran.

Let them think what they like.

Let them think I’m a coward.

With his left hand out, he felt the moist wall to keep his bearings and rushed away from the hideous blue light of the cellar.

Better the darkness. Better anything than to climb those stairs and enter that house. He dreaded coming to the end of the tunnel. The beast would be there. But it was dead (it must be dead), and a live beast was waiting for those two inside the Kutch house. Maggie with a gun, and maybe others, but most of all the beast—it eats people. Let it get those two fools.

It won’t get me!

He ran until he collapsed. On hands and knees, he sucked in the dank air. He heard nothing except his noisy gasping and the pounding of his heart. He saw nothing but blackness.

How far had he come? Surely, he must be at least halfway. He wanted to rest, but he knew he wouldn’t be safe until he was outside Beast House. He longed for the fresh night air, for the brightness of moonlight. He saw himself rushing across the lawn to Front Street, locking himself inside Abe’s car…If only he were there now.

Pushing himself to his feet, he reached out to the wall. He looked over his shoulder. Then he started forward again. After a few shuffling steps, he managed a slow jog.

You’re all right now, he told himself. You’re almost out. You’ll be there soon.

Try not to step on the beast.

I’ll fall on it, and it’ll…

If only he had a flashlight! Or even matches!

If only he knew how close it was!

It’s dead. If you fall on it, you’ll get messy but it’s dead and can’t hurt you and you’ll know you made it to Beast House and you’ll be outside in another minute.

Who says the living beast is in the Kutch house?

Who says it’s not in Beast House?

That thought sent a shock of alarm through Gorman, but he kept on jogging. He shambled around a curve in the tunnel and saw dim light ahead.

There shouldn’t be light.

It didn’t make sense unless he’d somehow gotten turned around. But the light in the Kutch cellar was blue, not white like this.

He staggered around another bend, and stopped. He held his breath.

He squinted against the glare.

A gasoline lantern. It hissed in the silence.

A bearded man—Captain Frank—was crouching over the sprawled body of the beast. He had rolled it onto its back. Just behind him stood a girl in a yellow blouse. Janice! Nora and Tyler were there, too. They all held guns. They were all staring at the beast.

Raising his revolver, Gorman took careful aim at Janice and fired.

A blast roared in Tyler’s ears. Janice spun and smashed against her. The girl’s pistol bounced off Tyler’s foot. Falling back against the tunnel wall, she flung an arm around Janice to hold her up. She staggered sideways with the weight, and fell to the cellar floor just outside the tunnel.

“Don’t shoot! It’s me!” Hardy’s voice.

“Stupid fuckhead!” Nora cried out.

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean to…I thought…My God, is she all right?”

As Tyler pulled her arm out from under Janice, Nora dropped to her knees beside them. Captain Frank rushed over with the lantern.

“Oh my God,” Hardy muttered, staring down at the girl. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was so frightened I didn’t know what I was…”

“Shut up!” Nora snapped.

Janice’s eyes were open. Her face was contorted with agony. A bloom of red was quickly spreading over the front of her blouse. Nora ripped the blouse open. A button popped from it and flicked against Tyler’s cheek. The blood was welling from a place just above the left breast, and close to the side. Nora slid fingers over the area, then pressed her palm tightly to the wound. Janice yelped and flinched.