The Tea Party - A Novel of Horror (36 page)

He guided her silently to the doorway, looked out and saw Judy standing in the hall.

Smiling sadly.

“Don’t bother to look for Ollie,” she said. “She’s already having her baby.” She lay a finger on her chin. “He’ll look just like Eban.”

Doug slammed the door and locked it.

Liz, her clothes disheveled, her face showing sign of bruising on the cheeks, swayed before turning to look for another exit. There was only the window, and the door to the hall.

“I passed out,” she told him with a shrug and an apologetic smile. “Clark said it wouldn’t hurt me. He said a lot of things and gave me some water.” She put a hand to her throat and made a face. “A mild drug, I guess. To keep me calm, huh?” A weak smile now, and she bit down on her lower lip. “He said it wouldn’t hurt and he said that the whole family would be together forever. He said—oh god, Doug, where are Keith and Heather?”

She ran for the door, and he grabbed her, dragged her away while she kicked at him, shouting her children’s names and begging them to come to her. They struggled for several seconds while he tried to tell her Keith was outside and all right, that he hadn’t seen Heather, but they couldn’t do anything until they got out of the house.

The doorknob turned, and they froze.

A voice called their names, sweetly, with venom.

Doug ran to the window and looked down on the yard, on the canopy tent, then jumped when a booming crash against the door made the whole room shudder.

Liz staggered to his side and looked out, looked at him and said, “Why doesn’t it take us?”

He didn’t know. They were trapped, as trapped as all the others, yet the house had not made a single move to absorb them.

The booming continued, and a jagged crack appeared down the door’s center panel.

Liz grabbed his arm, and he watched as the door began to splinter, began to flake, began to grind and squeal and tear at its hinges. He thought of shoving the bed up against it, but a single glance told him the frame was bolted to the wall. The only loose pieces of furniture were the wardrobe (too heavy), the chest (not tall enough), and the chair.

The top hinge cracked in half, and the door sagged in front of the ceiling. Judy’s arm snaked around, probing like a serpent testing the air.

“Douglas,” she said calmly. “Douglas, love me and I’ll protect you.”

Liz grabbed up the chair and drove it into the arm; Judy shrieked and pulled back, and the booming began again.

“We can’t get out,” she said, startled at herself. “We—”

“Well, sooner shot for a sheep as a lamb,” he said suddenly, took the chair from her, and whirled around in a single fluid motion; the chair left his hands at the wide sweep of the arc and crashed through the window.

The house trembled.

It did nothing.

Doug stripped off his jacket, wrapped it around his arm, and dashed it around the window frame to clear it of glass shards and what was left of the panes’ inner frames. Then he put the jacket back on and reached for Liz’s hand.

“You wanna fly?”

The door scraped inward.

Liz looked out, and down at the tent snapping in the wind. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m still alive.”

“It won’t hold us.”

The bottom hinge snapped.

Doug stepped back from the window to the middle of the room, looked to Liz
(will you follow?)
and ran, reached the sill and dove headfirst through the empty frame, kicking at the outer edge to give himself one more inch of distance.

The wind soughed, the canvas bulged and drew away, and hitting it was like landing on hard-packed sand; he gasped and rolled, stretched out his arms to try to stem the slide down to the edge, felt his feet kick empty air when Liz landed not far from him. The canvas surged and flipped him over, the posts groaned, and one of the center four buckled and let the tent sag further.

He didn’t stop.

Though the tent was collasping slowly inward, it wasn’t giving enough to prevent him from going over the edge. He hit the ground with a grunt, a yell, and rolled out of the way to make room for Liz. He wanted to stand and catch her like they did in the movies, but his legs and ankles stung, his lungs were empty, and all he could do was watch when she toppled off and landed perfectly, feet and hands, a sideways tumble, and up now and running to him.

In the window Judy watched and shook her head.

“Where?” Liz said, panting as they scrambled away from the house.

His right leg ached, his palms burned, and he hissed in a deep breath when something lanced up his spine.

Liz shook her head. “Clark . . . good god . . . Clark showed me all the rooms, all those people just. . . just sitting there. They wouldn’t help me, they just sat there. They were just sitting and smiling. What were they doing?”

He told her as quickly as he could—about Judy, the candlestick, what he saw happen to Davermain, and what Parrish had told him. All of it so breathlessly he felt himself gasping, and he wondered if he were making any sense, if she understood at last what they were up against. Then she turned away and held her stomach tightly, twisting her neck as if fighting a cramp until at last she looked back.

“Doug, we can’t just stand here. I can’t . . . I’ve got to find Keith and Heather.”

He tried to stand upright, tried to cast the pain someplace deep in his mind. Judy was still watching them, hands on her hips, a mother waiting for her children to do something against the rules. The back door was open. He swayed while his body fought the urge to collapse, then snapped his fingers when he remembered what Keith had said.

“Maggie,” he told her. “Keith said Heather was worried I hadn’t given her enough to eat and went to feed her. If she came back, we would have seen her.”

“Then Keith,” she said.

And Keith came around the corner.

7

7:45

Ollie dreamed of castles on cliffs overlooking an emerald green ocean, of castles in valleys surrounded by emerald green hills, of courtiers and knights serving no one but her, of armies and champions fighting only for her; she dreamed of darkness that comforted, of light that bathed, of men in processions bringing gifts for her child, of women in silks who would tend her at birth.

An ache centered in her belly, an ache that had settled in for at least a century or more; it was part of her, but it hurt her, and finally it expanded and began to spin and sharpen its edges, expand and whirl in waves of red lava, filling her stomach, filling her chest, filling her mouth until she opened it to scream.

She opened her eyes and saw Eban Parrish.

He stood at the foot of the canopied bed, and it must have been the pain because he was turning to stone— light flesh to dark rock in blotches and streaks while he leaned over the footboard and pushed her skirt to her knees, pried apart her legs and rubbed his hands together.

She couldn’t speak.

She could only watch.

While lava crested inside her, and Parrish appeared to shrivel as he gloated, shrink as he smiled, vanish as he fell forward between her legs.

And she couldn’t move at all as she felt the baby coming.

8

7:45

Piper sat up suddenly. “Huh?” he said, looking around for the person he thought called his name. “Wha? Who’s there?”

But the backyard was empty, the hounds dozing on the porch, and the sky overhead couldn’t tell him the time. Nausea made him shudder as he dusted off his trousers, slapped his deerstalker against his thigh, and stumbled over the burnt grass to the porch, into the kitchen. He peered at the clock; it was blurry; he rubbed his eyes.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered when he saw how late it was. “Good god, I fell asleep.”

He started for the door, then sighed and shook his head. There was no sense going to the party now; it would be just about over, and all he would get would be a scolding from Nellie and some harsh words from Wilbur, and he certainly didn’t want to see Mr. Parrish at all.

So he took two cans of beer from the refrigerator and walked into the living room, found all his Carmel Quinn records and stacked them on the turntable. After several adjustment for volume, for bass and balance, he slumped onto the couch and started to sing at the top of his voice.

Later, he decided, he would go over to Sitter’s and explain what had happened.

Not now, though, not now; he could feel them demons walking.

9

7:45

Liz ran to Keith and engulfed him with a cry, looked at Doug and grinned though tears filled her eyes.
He’s all right,
she mouthed gratefully while the boy squirmed in her grasp; then he broke away and stood shivering while the clouds lifted, and grew black. “Keith?” She started for him again, fearful now, glancing at the house with every step, at Judy still watching. “Keith, come on, we have to get out of here.”

He matched her step for step, holding the same distance and keeping an eye on Doug. “I want Heather. I can’t leave her.”

“She’s at my place, chief,” Doug said. “C’mon, we haven’t got time to fool around.”

Keith shook his head, and Liz made a grab for him, shouting angrily when he ducked under her arm and raced for the house. At the door he stopped and looked back, then leaned against the frame and his arm
merged
with the stone.

Liz blinked, it was a trick of the light, until he pulled the arm out, and did it again. Then she screamed.

“I want Heather,” he demanded. “I want her now!”

She would have run to him, grabbed him, but Doug took her shoulders, shaking his head, matching her cries with shouts of his own, telling her it was too late, that Winterrest had him. As if to confirm it, Judy began to laugh, and the ground began to rumble, swaying the grass, toppling the chairs. The lights in the house winked out one by one until there was only the hall that framed Keith in gold, and the light in the window where Judy remained, laughing.

Liz denied it with a shake of her head, sobbed when the boy stomped a foot on the ground. A gap appeared in the grass and the mangled body of a young dog rose to his feet. He kicked at it, and splattered his shoes with droplets of blood.

“Keith!” she shrieked.

The boy laughed, and hugged the doorframe as if it were her waist.

Doug was startled when Liz suddenly ran to one side and searched through the party’s ruins for a weapon. Cursing loudly, he screamed at Judy while Liz screamed for her child.

Madness, he thought, tossing aside plates and puny knives and jagged shattered cups; madness, I can’t think, Jesus God, let me think!

Then Liz broke away, and he heard Judy and Keith shouting. He lunged toward the house where he thought she’d be heading, spun around when she wasn’t there and saw her racing for the first rise. He frowned until he heard the sound of a horse running.

Oh god, no! he yelled silently, and wanted to weep when Heather and Maggie rode over the crest. She slowed abruptly; Maggie reared and stopped when the girl saw the destruction, the darkness, and her mother racing at her from one direction while Keith ran from another. And Judy called lightly to her, inviting her in.

Maggie reared halfway, backed off a step and tossed her head.

Doug started for them with a cry, and tripped, falling on his hands and knees. He punched out at the object that had tangled under his feet, but stopped and grabbed it instead.

No!
Judy had commanded when he’d tried to light his cigarette.

neither bring a cigarette in or light a match once inside,
Parrish had warned.

Doug looked down at the Sterno can that had kept the food warm on the table.

The stone is alive,
he had said;
if you like,
Parrish had answered.

If it’s alive, it’s not stone . . . at least not stone as we know it.

Keith was trying to pull Heather from the saddle, his lips drawn back, his voice deep as he filled the air with obscenities. Maggie was turning away, confused by Heather’s frantic sawing of the reins as she tried to decide what was wrong with her brother, what was wrong with her shouting mother who kept flailing at Keith as though he were a stranger.

Doug scrambled through the party’s wreckage, burrowing under the canvas for other cans. Then he ran to the pole nearest the door and pulled at it, saw it bend in the center and pulled again until, with a ripping screech it came free of its eyelet in the corner. The canvas flapped feebly to the ground. He kicked and pulled at the rest until the tent collapsed completely.

He looked up at Judy and showed what he held in his hand.

She lifted her palms and begged him with a shake of her head, a wild look over her shoulder and a terrified call for Parrish. Doug dropped the cans on the grass and pulled at the canopy. It was heavy, too heavy, and he shouted for Liz.

She heard him only after the fourth call, and turned just as Keith raced by her and sliced afoot into her leg. She bellowed and went down on one knee, watching helplessly as the boy tried to get at his sister again. Maggie, however, had made up her mind and was rearing despite the orders given by Heather; she reared and lashed out, and Doug saw her that first day, lashing at the air, only now Keith was there and trying to escape the hooves and the bared teeth.

Maggie knew.

The ground rumbled; to the left of the house the earth began to fall back, and dark stone forms began to rise from the grass.

Liz swayed and stumbled her way back to the tent, saw where Doug was pointing and took hold of one edge. They pulled, and the slick grass enabled them to slide the canopy toward the house. A chair crashed on the ground near her shoulder; a lamp shattered across his shoulder, and he ignored the cuts he felt sliced into his scalp and back.

The back door slammed shut.

The ground shook violently, knocking them off their feet, so they crawled and dragged the canvas behind them, feeling the house trying to shift on its foundation, feeling the grass slowly turn to blades of rock.

He stood, arms out for balance, and grabbed as much of the tent as he could; but even with Liz’s help the huge canvas was too heavy, weighted by itself and the light rain. He cursed, he railed, and suddenly he grinned when Liz lashed out with a foot, lifted a piece of the tent and uncovered a lantern.