Night Show (2 page)

Linda started to cry.

‘Maybe you’ll get cut up into little tiny pieces: first your toes and fingers, then maybe those nice big tits . . .’

‘Come on, stop it,’ said the boy on her legs.

Tony laughed. ‘Bet you can feel that knife, right now, slicing into your . . .’

‘Don’t listen to him. We’re not going to hurt you.’

‘Don’t count on it.’

‘Hey, you said we’d just . . .’

‘I know, I know.’

‘Go ahead and tell her,’ Arnold said.

‘Okay okay. Here’s what’s really gonna happen. You know the old Freeman house?’

‘Yes,’ she sobbed, and wiped the tears from her face.

‘It’s still deserted. Nobody’ll touch the place. It’s supposed to be haunted. They say the ghosts of all those bodies moan inside the walls where crazy Jasper plastered them up, and that Jasper himself walks the house at night looking for fresh young girls to chop. Girls just like you.’

‘He’s dead,’ Linda muttered.

‘It’s his ghost,’ Arnold whispered. ‘And he wants
you
.’

‘Fun, huh?’ asked Tony. ‘Nice place to spend the night.’

‘You’re not . . .!’

‘Oh yes we are.’

Her dread was mixed with relief. Tony had talked of rape and torture just to scare her. All they really intended was to leave her alone in the Freeman house.

All.

Oh God!

But Jasper’d hanged himself in jail. No reason to fear him.

No such thing as ghosts.

But to be alone in the very house . . .

‘You’re crazy,’ Linda muttered.

‘Yeah,’ Tony said. ‘Real crazy. But not half as crazy as old Jasper.’ She felt the car slow down and turned. ‘Here we are. Your home away from home.’

It stopped. Tony climbed out. He opened the tailgate,
and
Linda was dragged feet first from the car. The boys stood her up and held her steady. Their faces, in the darkness, were weirdly stretched and distorted, their hair flat as if painted on. She realised, now, that the effect was caused by nylon stocking masks. Knowing the cause, however, didn’t help. She felt as if the boys were grotesque strangers only pretending to be Tony and Arnold and – who was the other, Joel?

‘Let’s go,’ said the one with Tony’s voice. He started toward the gate of the low, picket fence. The other boys, one on each arm, forced Linda ahead.

The Freeman house looked similar to many of the older homes in Claymore, a two-story frame structure with a front porch, and a picture window looking out from the living room. Someone had kept it up. The lawn was trim. Only the shuttered upstairs windows and the FOR SALE, LELAND REALTORS sign hinted that it stood vacant.

The hinges groaned as Tony pushed open the gate. ‘Wonder if Jasper heard that,’ he whispered.

Arnold laughed softly, but his fingers dug into Linda’s upper arm. He’s frightened, she thought. He doesn’t want to go in there any more than I do.

She looked to the right. In that direction was only the golf course, deserted now, a sprinkler hissing on the nearest green. To the left was the abandoned Benson house.

No help from the rear, either. Across the street, she knew, was only the bait and tackle shop – closed for the night.

The boys forced her along the walkway, up the wooden stairs, onto the porch. She expected the front door to be locked, but Tony turned the knob and pushed it wide open.

They must’ve been here before, forced their way . . . They’d planned all this. No spur of the moment decision. They’d plotted, made preparations.

‘Anybody home?’ Tony called, leaning into the darkness.

‘Just us ghosts,’ Arnold said, and gave a nervous laugh.

Tony entered. He waved the boys forward, and they guided Linda into the house. The air was cold, as if some of the winter’s frost had been trapped inside, the heat of the warm June days kept out. The cold moved up Linda’s bare legs, seeped through her thin blouse, brought goosebumps.

Arnold nudged the door. It banged shut, its crash resounding through the house.

‘Loud enough to wake the dead,’ Tony whispered.

Arnold laughed again.

‘Let’s hurry up,’ said the other boy.

‘Nervous?’ Tony asked.

‘Damn right.’

They walked Linda through the dark foyer. She let each foot down softly, heel first, rolling toward the toe, straining for silence. All three boys, she realised, were also treading softly. Arnold, holding her right arm, cringed when a floorboard squeaked under his weight.

At the foot of the stairway, Tony stopped. His head tilted back as if he were studying the darkness at the top of the stairs. ‘Jasper’s bedroom was up there,’ he whispered. ‘They found one of the bodies on his bed. He’d been . . . snacking on it. They say the head was never found.’

‘Come on,’ said the boy on Linda’s left. Joel. She was sure of that, now. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘’Fore we freeze our nuts off,’ Arnold said.

Tony turned around. He slung the coil of rope off his shoulder. ‘Bring her here.’

They tugged Linda’s arms. She stamped on Arnold’s foot. He grunted and his grip loosened. She jerked her arm free, spinning toward Joel, and drove her elbow into his face. He staggered backwards, letting go. She lunged through the darkness. Her hands clawed the door as footfalls raced toward her. She found the knob. Turned it. Then her back was hit. She slammed forward, her head exploding with pain as it crashed against the door.

A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes. She grimaced, her forehead burning as its skin pulled taut.

She blinked her eyes open, and saw her hands on her lap. They were bound together. The pale rope angled upward to the banister.

She was seated on the third stair, leaning awkwardly against the bars of the railing, her legs sloping down, her feet resting on the floor. Her ankles were tied together.

So, they’d done it. They’d tied her up, and left her here all alone.

Or had they left?

From her position on the stairs, she could see little of the house: the front door, a set of closed doors to the left of the foyer, a corner of the living room and some of its picture window through the entry on the right, and a narrow hallway that ran alongside the staircase. The only light was a pale spill across the living room floor: moonlight slanting in through the window.

No sign of the boys. They’d either left the house or hidden themselves.

‘Guys?’ she asked, her voice no more than a whisper. ‘Hey, look, I know you’re here. You’re just hiding on me.’

She waited. The house was silent.

She started to shiver. She raised her arms and pressed them tightly against herself for warmth.

‘Guys?’

They’re probably just out of sight, she thought, huddled together in the living room, nudging each other, trying not to giggle. Sooner or later, they would jump out at her.

‘Okay,’ she muttered. ‘Have it your way.’

The rope, she saw, was looped around the banister and knotted at her wrists. She twisted her arms. Straining her head forward, she found that her teeth could just barely reach the bundle of knots. She bit into it, and tugged. The rope didn’t give. Her tongue explored the mass of swirls, felt knot piled upon knot.

Her throat tightened. Her chin started to tremble and
she
blinked tears from her eyes. She lowered her arms in frustration.

‘Come on, guys,’ she pleaded. ‘You’ve had your fun. You’ve taught me my lesson. Now let me go, please.’

Somewhere above Linda, a board creaked. With a gasp, she snapped her head around and looked up the stairway. She stared for a long time, afraid to move.

There was only darkness.

It’s just them, she told herself. They didn’t hide in the living room, they hid upstairs.

Fuck off!
she wanted to yell.

But she kept her mouth clamped shut so hard her teeth ached.

She heard another quiet moan of wood. Above, but off to the left. As if someone were sneaking very slowly through the upstairs hallway.

The thought of it raised a whimper in her throat.

She flung herself away from the railing. The tether pulled taut. Ignoring the pain in her wrists, she tugged furiously. The banister squeaked and wobbled a bit. But it held. The rope held.

She drew her legs up, planted her tied feet on the next stair down, dropped to a crouch and sprang at the railing. Her shoulder smashed against the banister. Pain blasted through her body. She recoiled, and fell until the rope yanked at her wrists. It swung her sideways. Her other shoulder slammed into the newel post.

She hung there, numb with pain, her feet still on the second stair, her side against the post, all her weight
tugging
at her wrists. As she tried to pull herself up, the rope snapped. She dropped. Her back and head pounded the floor.

She lay there, stunned at first. As the pain started to fade, she realised she was free.

Free of the banister!

If she could just untie her feet . . .

Opening her eyes, she raised her head. Her skirt was rumpled around her waist, her panties pale in the darkness, her bare legs angling up to the second stair.

She drew her knees forward. She spread them, reached between them with her tied hands, and felt the knotted rope. As her fingers picked at the coils, a movement drew her eyes to the top of the stairs.

A dim figure stood in the darkness.

Linda’s breath burst out as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Her bladder released. She clawed at the knots as the warm fluid spread down her buttocks.

Her eyes stayed on the motionless form. It just stood there.

She jerked a knot loose and kicked her feet. The bonds held. Another knot! She grabbed it, picked it, winced as a fingernail tore off.

An arm of the figure swung forward. A pale object seemed to break off. It hung in the air, fell, and hit the stairs midway down with a harsh thud. Gazing through the gap in her upraised legs, Linda watched it tumble down the remaining stairs. She saw trailing hair, a blur of face. She heard herself whimper again. She ached to throw herself out of its path, but the knot was pulling
loose
. She tore at the rope. The knot opened as the thing thumped off the final stair and rolled against her rump. A single, wide eye peered through the crevice between her legs. With a shattering scream, Linda kicked her legs free and rolled aside. She flipped over. On her belly, she glanced from the severed head to the stairway.

The figure was halfway down, walking slowly as if he had all the time in the world. He was naked, boney, and dead pale. A dark beard hung to his chest. He held a long object in his hands – an ax!

Linda shoved herself to her feet. She staggered back, whirled around, and raced for the door. She hit it with her shoulder. She swept down her tied hands, seeking the knob.

Found it!

Her sweaty hands twisted the knob. She dropped back, jerking the door open, crying out as it hammered her knee. Her leg buckled. She dropped hard to her rump, losing her grip on the knob.

The door swung open wide. In the dim light from the porch, she saw the man striding slowly forward. His head was tilted to one side, his face ragged with open sores, his tongue drooping out.

‘No!’ she shrieked.

He raised the ax high.

With her good leg, Linda thrust herself backward. She slid over the doorsill, and tumbled onto the porch. She rolled, forced herself to her knees, and scrambled for the porch stairs. She hurled herself off them. Clearing the three steps, she caught the walkway with
her
knuckles and landed flat with an impact that slapped her breasts and thighs and slammed the breath from her lungs. Dazed, she flopped onto her back.

She sat up, and peered into the porch.

The front door of the Freeman house swung shut.

Inside the house, Tony lowered his ax and leaned back against the door. He started to peel the makeup and false beard from his face.

In spite of the chilly air, he wasn’t cold.

The tremors that shook his naked body had nothing to do with cold.

They had to do with excitement.

He’d scared himself silly. His heart was thundering, his guts knotted. Touching himself, he felt his gooseflesh, his stiff nipples. His penis was shrunken as if to hide. His scrotum was shriveled the size of a walnut.

My God, what a charge!

Hefting his ax, he made his way across the dark foyer. He stooped, picked up the mannequin head by its hair, and eagerly started up the stairs toward the black upper story of the house.

D
ANI
L
ARSON
leaned forward, bracing her hands on the sill, resting her forehead against the window pane. ‘I’m so afraid,’ she said. ‘Margot, Julie, Alice – all dead.’

She flinched as Michael touched her bare shoulders. ‘It’s all right, honey,’ he whispered. ‘You’re safe here.’ His lips brushed her shoulders.