Authors: Richard Laymon
Beware
BEWARE
RICHARD
LAYMON
LEISURE BOOKS
NEW YORK CITY
Had you been rags or wood
I could have stuffed you and burned you.
But you were some bad breed of blood and bone
With arms that stretched an entire room,
Eyes without end and a heart of stone.
from “The Bogeyman”
by R. S. Stewart
On the night it began, Frank and Joan Bessler left the stifling heat of their home and walked four blocks to Hoffman’s Market. Frank wanted a sixpack.
“Doesn’t look open,” Joan said.
“It has to be.” Frank checked his wristwatch. “I’ve got nine fifteen.”
“Why aren’t the lights on?”
“Maybe she’s saving on electricity,” he said. He hoped he was right, but didn’t believe it. For as far back as he could remember—and he’d spent all of his twenty-nine years in Oasis—the market had remained brightly lighted until closing time.
Closing time was ten o’clock to keep an edge on the Safeway that shut at nine. When Elsie Hoffman’s husband died, three years ago, there’d been talk she might sell out, or at least close down earlier. But she’d held onto the tiny market and kept it open till the usual hour.
“I do think it’s closed,” Joan said as they stopped by its deserted parking lot.
The store sign was dark. The only light in the windows was a dim glow from the bulb Elsie always left on overnight.
“I can’t believe it,” Frank muttered.
“She must’ve had a reason.”
“Maybe she changed hours on us.”
Joan waited on the sidewalk, and Frank stepped up to the wooden door. Crouching, he squinted at the window sticker. Not enough light for him to read the times.
He tried the knob.
No go.
He peered through the window, and saw no one. “Damn,” he muttered. He knocked on the glass. Couldn’t hurt. Maybe Elsie was in the back someplace, out of sight.
“Come on, Frank. She’s closed.”
“I’m
thirsty.
” He rapped harder on the window.
“We’ll go over to the Golden Oasis. I’d rather have a margarita, anyway.”
“Yeah, well, okay.”
He took a final look into the dimly lighted store, then turned away. Behind him, the door banged and shook.
Frank jumped. Whirling around, he stared at the door, at its four glass panes.
“What was that?” Joan asked in a whisper.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, let’s go.”
He backed away, staring at the windows, and decided he would have a heart attack, then and there, if a face should suddenly appear. He turned away fast before it could happen.
“Who’s minding the mint?” Red asked.
Elsie sipped her whisky sour. It was sweet and tart.
Nobody could make whisky sours like Red. “I closed up a little early,” she said.
“Must get lonely in there.”
“I tell you, Red, I’m not as young as I used to be, not by a long shot, but I’ve still got my senses. I haven’t gone mush-brained. Not yet. Wouldn’t you say so?”
“You’re sharp as a tack, Elsie. Always have been.”
“Now, I went through pure hell when Herb passed on. Miserable old skinflint that he was, I did love the man. But that was three years ago, come October. I’ve perked up pretty well, since then. Even at my worst, though—right after I lost him—I never cracked up.”
“You were solid as a rock, Elsie.” He glanced down the bar. “Right back,” he said, and went away to serve a new customer.
Elsie sipped her drink. She looked both ways. To her left was Beck Ramsey, his arm around the Walters girl. A pity on her, Elsie thought. Beck would bring her nothing but trouble. To her right, separated from Elsie by an empty stool, sat the newspaper gal, Lacey Allen. A pretty thing. The men say she’s a cold fish, but they’ll say that about any gal who won’t drop her pants first time you smile at her. She always seemed pleasant enough in the store. A pity to see her sitting all alone at the bar like she didn’t have a friend in the world.
“You’re an educated lady.”
Lacey looked over at her. “Me?”
“Sure. Went to Stanford and all. You’re a doctor of something.”
“English lit.”
“Right. Probably one of the best educated folks in town. So you tell me something, if you don’t mind my asking.”
She shrugged. “All right. I’d be happy to try.”
“Is there such a thing as ghosts?”
“Ghosts?”
“You know. Ghosts, spirits of dead folks, haunts.”
Lacey shook her head. “You’ve got me. I’ve never seen one. All through history, though, people have claimed they exist.” She looked away from Elsie, picked up her wineglass, and raised it to her lips. But she didn’t drink. Her eyes suddenly opened wide. She gazed at Elsie, and set down her glass. “Did
you
see one?”
“Don’t know what I saw. Not sure I saw anything.”
“Mind if I…?” Lacey looked at the empty stool between them.
“Help yourself.”
She slid off her stool and climbed onto the one beside Elsie.
“This is just between us. I don’t want to be written up in the
Trib
, everyone in town saying Elsie’s got cards gone.”
“I promise.”
“Okay then.”
A hand from behind patted her shoulder. She jumped, splashing her dress.
“Jeez, I’m sorry!”
“Lord!” She looked around. “Frank, you scared the daylights out a me!”
“I’m really sorry. Gosh, I…”
“Well, that’s all right.”
“Let me get you another drink.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
He nodded a greeting to Lacey, then smiled at Elsie. “I guess I owed you a scare, though, after the one I just got at your store.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you got a watchdog in there, or something?”
“What happened?”
“We were over at your place a few minutes ago. I looked in the door, you know, to see if you were in, and something gave it a bash you wouldn’t believe. Scared the socks off me.”
“Did you see what it was?” Lacey asked.
“I didn’t see anything. It sure gave me a start, though. Did you get yourself a dog, Elsie?”
“I don’t keep animals. All they do is die on you.”
“What was it, then?”
“I wish I knew,” Elsie said. “Heard something, myself, around nine. Sounded like someone walking. I looked everywhere—up and down the aisles, back in the storage room. I even checked the meat locker. No one in the store but yours truly. Then the cash register opened on its own accord, and that did it. I closed up.”
“Maybe you’ve got a ghost,” Frank said, half grinning.
“That’s what I wonder,” Elsie said. “What do you think, Lacey?”
“I think we should drive over to your store and take a look.”
Lacey swung her car into the parking lot of Hoffman’s Market.
“Why don’t you wait here,” Frank told his wife.
“And miss the fun?” She flung open a rear door, climbed out, and smiled at Lacey. “You think we’ll make the paper?”
“That depends on what’s inside,” she said, and followed Elsie to the door.
“We’ll make the paper for sure,” said Frank, “if we all get slaughtered in there.”
Elsie frowned over her shoulder. “You do talk, Frank.”
“If you’re so ner vous,” Joan told him, “maybe
you
should wait in the car.”
“And let you get slaughtered without me? How would that look?”
Elsie peered through a window. “I don’t see anything. Course, I didn’t before.”
“Let’s go in,” Lacey whispered. She rubbed her arms. In spite of the night’s heat, she had goose bumps. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, she decided as Elsie pushed the key into the lock. But it had been
her
idea. She could hardly back out now. Besides, she did want to find out what had caused the trouble.
Elsie pushed open the door and entered. Lacey followed her in. The hardwood floor creaked under their footsteps. They stopped near the counter.
Except for the light from a ceiling fixture near the door, the store was dark. Lacey could see only a short distance up the aisles.
“Maybe you could turn on some…”
“Holy shit!”
She swung around. Frank’s hand was still on the door. He’d stopped in the midst of shutting it. He and Joan stood motionless, staring.
“I’ll be…” said Elsie.
Lacey walked to the door and crouched. “Wickedlooking thing,” she said. The meat cleaver was buried deep in the wood only inches beneath the lower windows.
“A little higher…” Frank muttered.
“That’s what hit the door!” Joan cried.
“That’s right.”
“God, you could’ve been killed!”
Lacey stood up. “I think we’d better get out of here.”
“Yeah,” Frank said. “And quick. Whoever threw that sucker isn’t fooling around.”
“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Elsie asked.
“From the bar. Come on.”
Oasis Tribune
Saturday, July 12
BURGLAR ATTACKS LOCAL MAN
Frank Bessler, local T.V. repairman, narrowly escaped injury last night when he interrupted a burglary in progress at Hoffman’s Market.
Bessler and his wife, Joan, arrived at the market shortly after it was closed for the night by its proprietor, Elsie Hoffman. As Bessler peered inside, the front door was shaken by a cleaver thrown by an unseen assailant.
Police were summoned after Bessler notified Mrs. Hoffman of the occurrence. The responding patrolman, Ralph Lewis, searched the market and determined that the assailant had fled.
No signs of forced entry were found. According to mrs. Hoffman, no money was taken. The empty wrappers of two T-bone steaks were discovered behind the meat counter, along with an empty bottle of wine.
Elsie Hoffman, who has operated the market alone since the demise of her husband, admits she is troubled by the burglary and the assault on Bessler, but has no plans to change the store’s hours of operation. “Fear can run your life if you let it,” she states. “I won’t let it run mine.”
Says Bessler, “I went in for a beer and almost bought a farm.”
Oasis Tribune
Tuesday, July 15
MARKET HIT AGAIN
Hoffman’s Market, over the weekend, was again the target of an unknown vandal. Opening her store for business, Monday morning, proprietor Elsie Hoffman found the empty wrappings of beef, potato chips, and other edibles scattered about the floor.
“Looks like someone had another feast,” commented Mrs. Hoffman, whose store was the scene of a similar invasion on Friday night. On that occasion, local T.V. repairman Frank Bessler barely escaped serious injury when the surprised vandal hurled a meat cleaver at his head.
Police believe that both incidents are the work of the same individual. To date, nobody has seen the perpetrator. Nor is it known how he gains entry to the store.
Red Peterson, bartender at the Golden Oasis and a longstanding friend of Mrs. Hoffman, has offered his German shepherd, Rusty, to guard the market’s premises. “I’ll put Rusty up against any ten hooligans, and we’ll just see who takes a bite out of what,” says Red.
Mrs. Hoffman has agreed to use the dog in hopes of preventing further losses.