The Collected Horrors of Tim Wellman (14 page)

Heather drove past the dumpster, and then found
the little alleyway, just wide enough for a single car, and parked
out of sight. She looked over at the child. "You going to go get
the money?"

Lisa nodded. She smiled and put the gun against
Heather's leg and pulled the trigger, splashing the whole driver's
side door and seat with blood. Heather couldn't muster the strength
to scream; she simply slumped over on the steering wheel. The
little girl grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. "You
still in there?" She slapped Heather on the face a couple of times.
"Listen close. There's a few bricks that can be pulled lose behind
the dumpster. I'm going to put the money there. If you survive,
it's yours." She let Heather's head bang against the steering wheel
and then opened the door and hopped out. "I'm going home after
this; I'm hungry. I'll get the Mini Market clerk to call 911 for
me. Poor lost little girl who wants her mommy." She walked away,
laughing like she was being tickled with a feather.

The Perry house sat on the northern slop of the
tallest hill in the outlying woods and farmlands around Ceres, West
Virginia. From any of the windows along the front of the big old
house, the entire town was visible, laid out like a model train
diorama, with the Ohio River in the distance, with the twin town of
Kenoa to the west, and Ten Pole Creek corralling its eastward
growth. Not that the town worried much about growth, there were
still more trees than people, more grass than cement, and the old
house had held its high ground, the Perry clan always ready to
fight to keep what it had, even though there was seldom anyone to
fight against.

The old man, Jonathan Perry, had secured his
position as town leader through shrewd, though ethically
questionable, business deals during the war. No one was sure how he
could lay his hands on so much scrap metal, but he did and quickly
rolled the money he got from selling it to the federal government
into local buildings and businesses in town. By the time the
Japanese had signed MacArthur's documents, Perry, just out of high
school, owned nearly everything in Ceres worth owning.

He held his grip from a distance, though. There
were old people in town who claimed to have been friends with him
at one time or other, usually before the people hearing their
claims were even born, but it was certain no one in a generation
had seen him. Payments were made, checks were received, once a week
the grocery store he owned would make delivers to the old house,
but beyond that he was more legend than fact. He owned the tiny
newspaper and the bank, and his generous donations to city hall
secured his privacy and any hidden vices he may have had. It was
known he had a wife; no one knew her name or where she came from.
'Up east,' some said. But there was a rumor she died several years
ago right after Carter became president. He also had two sons, both
grown adults and presumably they had wives as well. Zeke Adkins at
the drug store said he had received orders for toys, mostly dolls
and such that young girls would like, so there must have been
another generation inhabiting the old house, as well. Zeke had been
mailing toys up there for the last few years, if he remembered
correctly.

But things change. A faulty lawn mower a mile or
so down the hill started the fire and caught the dry August timothy
grass alight and the small fire department, though valiantly
forthcoming, couldn't control it as it flashed up the hillside.
Fire burned faster uphill, it was quickly learned, and by the time
the other local departments had arrived with their pumpers and
manpower, it was completely out of control. And as it spread toward
the town and the other smaller houses in the fields around it, it
became more imperative to expend their energy on saving the things
they were more certain about rather than making a mad dash up the
hill to fight a futile fight for someone no one really knew anyway.
The Perry house would be lost, regardless of time, resources and
lives spent in the battle. And so it was.

By morning the view to the south had forever
changed. Every single citizen of Ceres had seen the old house on
the hill their entire lives, but now the hulking black hill held a
twisted frame, still smoldering, but razed to the ground. 'They had
forgotten' was the only explanation given by those who had spent
the evening and night fighting the fire. They had meant to rescue
them, no one was ignoring them, but minutes turned into hours and
in the end, no one made it up the hill.

Finally, it fell to police chief, Steve Wilson,
to gather together a team and head up the winding old dirt and
gravel driveway and tie up the ends the fire had loosened. A couple
of Kenoa's EMT's and his two officers plus his son, Steve Junior,
headed toward the top in his four-by-four truck and hadn't made it
halfway before the engine sputtered out and they were forced to
walk the rest of the way. But the chief couldn't make it any
further, too many meals under his belt, so it fell to Steve Junior
to lead the group and see what they could see.

"Y'all keep them radios handy," he said.
"Junior, ya need ta get your bearin's up there and find where ya
think the front door woulda been before ya can get a good layout in
your head."

"I know, dad," he said. "We've all been hiking
these woods all our lives. We can figure it out."

"Well, ya ain't knowin' what ya'll find up
there, though," the chief said. "Old man Perry mighta had the whole
place booby-trapped er somethin'."

"Go on over to the Chatterhouse and have a
burger," his son said. "We'll radio you when we get poking
around."

The men continued their climb and the chief
managed to get his truck turned around and bounced back down the
hill. His son looked back and waved, figuring his dad was looking
through the side mirrors.

"You guys hear that all of old man Perry's deeds
in town will go to the people operating the places?" John Samson
said. He was lugging a heavy paramedics bag and trailing behind the
other men.

"That's what they say," the other EMT said. "I
hope that's right. Dad's been keeping the hardware store open for
twenty years. He deserves to get it left to 'im."

The two police officers, Jake Smithers and Tom
Watts, both in their early twenties, were ahead of the rest. They
had joined the force last year after both had returned to town
after failing out of college. "Now see, if me and Jake had a stuck
'round town instead a goin' off to college, we'd a prob'ly took up
one of his shops and been fixed up right now."

"You're all assuming everyone is dead up there,"
Steve said. "I don't know, but I'd say if
any
of the family
is alive, they'll get all of the old man's property."

"Y'all smell that?" Jake said.

Everyone stopped and sniffed the air.

"Burnt flesh," John said. "Extra crispy."

"I know none of us really gives a shit whether
our reclusive benefactor is dead or alive, but let's show a little
respect," Steve said. "I reckon half a dozen or more people are
dead up here."

"Don't he talk good!" Tom said and dropped back
to poke Steve in the arm. "He was raised right here with the rest
of us, but he didn't get no hillbilly in 'im t'all."

They all breached the top of the hill and took a
quick look around. The remains of the house were hot with small
hand-sized fires still burning, their fingers looking for anything
else to ignite. The old stone foundation was still there but
covered with the blackened timbers and a thick layer of charcoal,
nails, and various pieces of heat-warped and twisted metal.

"Looks like we's late fer the barbeque," Jake
said.

"Smells like it too," Tom said. He turned around
and looked down the hill. "So, this is what the king saw."

The others turned and looked. "You look over
there," Steve said and pointed. "That fire been another twenty feet
and the pines in front of Thompson's house would have gone up like
gasoline and burned him out."

They all stared at the long black line the fire
had left. "Looks like something was just meanin' ta break the town
away from Perry hill," John said. He turned back toward the house.
"Let's see if any bodies are visible before we start poking
around."

Steve pulled his radio off his belt. "Dad, you
hear me?"

There was a few seconds of silence, then his dad
replied. "Yep."

"How's that burger?" Steve said. "Hey, listen,
we're at the house, now. We can smell burnt flesh, and it's looking
like no way anyone could have survived." He walked around to the
side of the house. "The fire looks like it surrounded the house
before it actually lit it up, and you saw how fast it was
moving."

"Get me a body count then," his dad said. "I
already sent fer the county off-roader, so I'll be up there as soon
as it gets here."

"Ten-four," Steve said.

"Ain't that there a body?" Jake said as he
pointed through a few half-standing planks. Everyone else peered
through the obstructions.

"Yeah, looks like a man from the size of 'im,"
Tom said.

"Jerry, you all right?" Steve said. He noticed
the other EMT was leaning on his knees as if he were trying to
catch his breath.

"Yeah, dandy," he said. But before he could
close his mouth, he vomited. "Sorry."

"Ain't no thang, partner," Jake said. "This shit
ain't no walk through the roses."

"There's another one over here," Tom said. "No,
make that two. Looks like metal rails and springs there, too. Got
'em in bed." He looked over at Steve. "Just how many Perry's was
livin' in here?"

"Well, I don't guess anyone knows," he said.
"Zeke and Terry Ann over at the store always told dad they sent
enough stuff up here for at least half a dozen, including a couple
of little kids."

"Some weird-ass fuckers, that's fer sure," Jake
said. "They was prisoners and paid fer their own jail." He shook
his head and then looked around. "Where'd Jerry go?"

"Jerry!" Steve yelled. "You all right,
dude?"

He stumbled out from behind the side of the
house with one hand over his mouth; he had been hidden by a small
stone room still standing, a boot-room or something connected to
the kitchen doorway. He pointed behind him. "Something fuckin'
crazy back here!"

"Whatcha got, Jer?" Jake said.

The other men quickly caught up and they all
walked back behind the small room, past Jerry who was still
standing in the same spot. There was nothing to see, just the burnt
out kitchen appliances. On the floor, though, as it remained with
its cracked and shattered granite tiles, were two bodies. From the
waist down there was nothing left, but above the waist they were
mostly intact, barely scorched at all. There was vomit around both
of them, a middle-aged man and woman and it seemed apparent they
were still alive when they began to burn and had dragged themselves
to within only a few feet of the doorway near the little stone
room.

"Damn!" Steve said. "This must be one of the old
man's boys and his wife."

"Wife, or sister," Tom said.

"Prob'ly both," Jake said.

"Hey dad," Steve said into his radio. "There's a
couple of bodies here that are still identifiable, so you're gonna
have to call in the coroner before they can be moved."

"Dammit!" came the reply. "Okay, I'll get on the
horn to Wayne County."

"So, we got five, then," Steve said as he put
his radio back on his belt. "I'm guessing that's the old man in the
living room, probably found him asleep on the sofa. One of his kids
and his wife in a bedroom, and then these two."

"So, where are the kids?" John said. "Think they
got burned completely up?"

"Possibility," Steve said. "Might just be too
mixed into the rest of the ashes to ever find if they were real
little."

"Did you see them?" Jerry said. He walked around
the wall, still pale, but seemed to be feeling better.

"Yeah," Jake said. "Purdy grizzly!"

"Are they.... alive?" he said.

"Alive?" Tom said. "Dude, they been burned in
half!"

"What?" Jerry said. Everyone pointed to the two
bodies. He cupped his hand over his mouth again and began
gagging.

"EMT'in' ain't the best career choice fer Jerry,
I'm thinkin'," Jake said.

"No, not them!" Jerry managed to get out. "In
the little room!"

"What?" Steve said. "He stretched his head
around the corner and looked through the burnt doorway. "Oh fucking
god!"

The other guys quickly stumbled through the
debris and took a look. "The kids?!" Jake said. "Are they
dead?!"

"Don't know!" Steve pushed some timbers out of
the way, burning his hands as he quickly grabbed the still-hot
framework. The other men were just as attentive, nearly
fighting
their way into the room. "Little girls! Hey!" As he
entered the room, the two young girls, who looked no more than
three or four years old, seemed to move. They were snuggled
together, huddled down in a corner so closely it seemed they shared
the same head of long, stringy red hair. "Girls!"

Then slowly, as if both had been in a dream,
they opened their eyes. They seemed stunned for a moment, and then
both began screaming.

"Hey, hey!" Jake said as he entered the room.
"You're okay, now! You're safe!"

His words of assurance didn't calm them
down.

"Hey dad!" He gripped the radio firmly and
shouted. "We got some big news! We got two living little
girls!"

John and Jerry had already pushed past the
others and were kneeling by the girls, quickly checking them out.
"Get that fuckin' door open!" John yelled. He pointed to the
outside door which was still locked, a large brass bolt too high up
the frame for the girls to have reached. They had made it to the
room, but couldn't get out, and from the position of the two bodies
in the kitchen, it appeared they had been carrying the children
until the fire caught up with them.