Authors: Curtis Richards
She stripped out of the robe and coat, pulled the red sweater on, jiggled into her skirt, and carried the discarded clothes back to the house. She found her purse and applied a light powder and blush to her cheeks, then traced an aggressive red line around her lips. "Ready for action," she told her image in the mirror.
The phone rang. "Hello?"
"Annie, it's me."
"Oh, hi, Dad."
"What are you doing?"
"Just watching TV with Lindsey."
"Good. Just be careful."
"Careful about watching TV?"
"No," the sheriff laughed, "just careful."
"Well, if you won't tell me, how can I be careful?"
"Keep the doors and windows locked, and call if you see or hear anything suspicious."
"The most suspicious thing I hear right now is you. But I understand. It's Sheriff Brackett's Standard Warning Number 305."
"No, it's a little more than that." His voice was deadly serious.
"Okay, Dad. I'll be sure to lock up."
"Good girl."
She hung up. "I'll be sure to lock up
after
leaving the house," she said aloud, feeling a little guilty about mocking her father. "Some good girl. If he could see me now." She picked up the house key from a dish on the foyer table and ran out of the house, locking the door.
She shivered as she stepped outside and walked around the side of the house to the garage. The sound of breaking branches startled her. "Lester, for God's sake stop creeping around in there."
She entered the garage, singing, "My Paul, I can no longer stall." She got into the car and snapped her fingers. "No keys, but please, my Paul,
da de da de da
. . ." She thought she'd left them in the ignition, but obviously they were in her purse. She ran back to the house, found them, and returned to the car.
Funny. She thougkt she'd left the car door closed when she left it a moment ago. "The old memory's going," she muttered. "Either that or the doors of the world have declared war on me." She wriggled into the driver's seat and inserted the key in the ignition.
Before she could turn it, he sat up in the back seat, massive and powerful, hideous in his rubber Halloween mask. She had time only to glimpse him in the mirror, the beat of her heart cascading into a runaway frenzy. She screamed, but the closed car doors and windows muffled the sound. A second later his immensely strong forearm was under her chin, crushing her windpipe. She beat and scratched at his arm, but it was futile. Her lungs tried desperately to suck air into her body. In one last effort to free herself, she pressed the horn on the rim of the steering wheel. It blared loudly in the night for a long moment. Then the knife plunged into her belly.
She could actually hear her mind contemplating the length and coldness of the long blade as it penetrated. But she didn't really feel any pain. The terror and resignation had made her impervious to it. She knew she was dead, and in her last moment she was aware of a blend of surprise and regret that the event could be so peaceful and undramatic. She wished she could have said a proper good-bye to her parents. She wished she'd understood her father's warning to be careful. She wondered if she'd be reborn and get a second chance to be careful. The light faded, and the last thing she heard was the car horn . . .
Across the street the children watched the
Creature from the Black Lagoon
swim out of its murky lair and glide toward the thrashing white legs of the pretty girl. Laurie was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the jack-o'-lantern.
Tommy got an idea for a prank. He sidled off the couch and slid behind a window curtain. Lindsey was so totally absorbed in the movie she didn't notice that her friend was no longer by her side. Suddenly, from the drapery behind her, a spooky voice called, "
Lindseeeyyyy, Lindseeeyyyyy
."
Lindsey jumped up in her seat. "Who's that? Tommy? Where are you?"
She jumped out of her seat and looked around the room, her little heart tripping with fright. She saw a bulge behind the curtain.
Behind the curtain Tommy happened to look out the window at that moment. He saw a huge dark figure with a white grotesque face carrying the limp body of a girl out of the Wallaces' garage. Tommy felt a surge of fear like none he'd ever known. "
The bogeyman!
" he cried, trying to charge out of the curtain but tangling himself in it. He felt something girdling his waist and pounding him. The air was filled with frightened wails.
Laurie rushed in and found Lindsey, Tommy, and the curtain tangled together, the children shrieking hysterically. She separated them and tried to hush them, but Tommy kept saying, "There he is, there he is! The bogeyman! I saw him again! He's over at Lindsey's house. The bogeyman, I'm telling you!"
Laurie held the boy in her arms. "Come on, Tommy, there's no bogeyman. Look."
"I won't look."
"Me either," said Lindsey, caught between the devil outside or the deep blue sea on the television screen. She chose the devil, but nothing was there. The street was empty, Her house looked the same as it always did. There was nothing, nobody.
"I saw him, I'm telling you. Carrying a dead body."
"Tommy, stop it! You're scaring Lindsey." Laurie shook the boy by the shoulders.
"He was big and tall and his face was like this . . ." He put his fingers in his lips and spread them apart.
"I said stop it! There is no bogeyman. There's nothing out there. If you don't quit it, I'm turning off the TV and sending you to bed."
That threat had the desired effect. Tommy walked docilely back to the couch, followed by Lindsey. They sat down as before, taking comfort in the cinematic horror flickering before them. "Nobody believes me," the boy complained under his breath.
"I believe you, Tommy," said Lindsey, hugging him.
The
Creature from the Black
Lagoon reached out with a disgusting leathery claw and prepared to grapple the ankle of the pretty swimmer . . .
On a dark cul-de-sac called Porter Lane, three diminutive figures dressed in dark clothes stealthily approached a large stone house. A big picture window commanding a sweeping lawn revealed a family watching television: a father and mother, a young girl, a baby boy, and an older woman, presumably the grandmother.
The three dark shapes blended with the shadows like jaguars stalking prey. On a signal from the one in the center the other two fanned out, approaching the target window from the flanks while the leader bellied toward the middle.
Now the three crouched directly underneath the window, and the leader indicated it was time. They donned their fright masks and rose up as one with their soap bars. "
Yaaarrrrghhh
," they roared, slamming their open palms on the window while scrawling with the soap bars with their free hands. The children went shrieking out of the den. The older woman put her hand to her heart and screamed silently. The mother gazed stupidly, while the father, who was the only one to grasp what was happening, stared in a combination of anger and amusement. He had probably done the same when he was a kid.
Howling with laughter, Keith, Richie, and Lonnie fled into the night, cutting across the frozen bed of the stream on the Samuels property and slowing to a panting walk on Willow Circle.
"Did you see the look on the old lady's face?" Keith said.
"Yeah. I just hope she didn't have a heart attack," said Lonnie.
"Nah," Keith sneered, but for a moment he wondered.
"Now what?" Richie asked.
"
You
know what," said Keith.
"The Myers house, right?"
"Right. Look at Richie," Keith said to Lonnie. "He looks like we just asked him to drop his pants in Taft Square."
"Bullshit," the smallest of the three said.
"Then let's go. And you'll go in first."
"Fine," Richie said biting his lip.
They cut across the Henderson backyard and found themselves on the sidewalk two houses down from the Myers house. It stood, squat and dark and malevolent among its neighbors like some deformed creature. The gusty wind beat the branches of a huge untrimmed tree against the upper story.
"Okay, wiseass, lead the way," said Lonnie.
Richie stuck his chin out. "Sure. Watch." He strode arrogantly up to the front door, then faltered. He turned to his friends and gestured for them to follow. Lonnie and Keith stepped forward , a few paces, bracing to run. "What are you afraid of?" Lonnie yelled.
"I'm not afraid."
"Bullshit. You're afraid of the bogeyman. You weren't afraid of him when you pushed Tommy Doyle around at school today."
"You pushed him too, you know, and I don't see you going into this house."
"We'll go in when you go in."
"All right, then stand right here behind me." The two stragglers looked up. Faint silver shadows flashed over the structure as clouds scudded before the moon. The wind gusted, quickening the tattoo of the branches on the clapboard upstairs.
All at once the bushes at the side of the house rattled and a human figure burst out. "
Get your asses away from there!
" it bellowed, waving its hands.
"Whoa!"
"Yikes!"
"Jesus!"
Moving like the wind, the three tumbled off the porch and hurtled down the street, not stopping until they were safely locked behind the doors of their homes.
Sam Loomis grinned. It was a dirty trick, but he had to get them out of there, both for their sakes and for his own. Now he went back to his blind watching and waiting, shivering in the cold night air.
He did not see the hand reach out for his shoulder, but at the first contact he whirled around in a fluid motion, the big gun materializing in his fist like a conjurer's hare.
"Hey, it's me, don't shoot!" Sheriff Brackett cried.
"Good God, Brackett, don't sneak up on me that way."
"Sorry, Loomis. It's second nature to me. Put that bazooka away."
"Yes, of course. I'm rather jumpy, as you can see."
"But you're all right."
"Sure. Has anything happened?"
Brackett shook his head. "Nothing going on. Just the usual, kids playing pranks, trick-or-treating, parking and necking, getting high. I have a feeling you're way off on this one."
"You have the wrong feeling," Loomis said firmly.
"You're not coming up with much to prove me wrong. Aside from one half-eaten dog . . ."
"Exactly what more do you need?"
"I don't know, but it's going to take a lot more than some sophisticated psychological interpretation to keep me up all night creeping around these bushes."
Loomis looked at him with a directness that made Brackett extremely uncomfortable. "I watched him for fifteen years, sitting in a room, staring
through
the walls, if you can understand that, staring through the walls and seeing
this night
. He's waited for it, planned for it, focused his life on it. He's inhumanly patient. Hour after hour, day after day, waiting for some silent, invisible alarm to trigger him—a voice to tell him the time has come, a gauge to tell him his blood has begun to boil. Death has arrived in your little town, Sheriff. You can ignore it, or you can help me stop it."
Brackett shook his head skeptically. "More fancy talk. You want to know what Haddonfield is? Families. Children. Nice homes, all lined up in white rows up and down these streets. Oak trees. Picket fences. An old school with a new annex, a lot of churches, all denominations. A five-and-dime, a hardware store, a beauty parlor, a coffee shop, some bars and gas stations. I'm describing a small midwestern town to you, Loomis, not a slaughterhouse."
"You could be describing both."
"I'll stay out with you tonight, Doctor, just on the chance that you're right. And if you are right, then damn you for letting him get out."
Loomis dropped his head. There was nothing he could say in reply.
His name was Bob Simms, and the girls all thought he was gorgeous. He was tall and lanky, a pitcher for the baseball team, a tight end for the football team. Possible valedictorian of the class, and at least one of its top three or four scholars. He could have any college he wanted, and any girl.
The girl he wanted on this particular night was Laurie and Annie's leggy blond friend, Linda.
Bob picked her up in his father's van, which had been customized as a recreational vehicle with a bunk bed in the back. Bob and Linda had made love back there many times, and though the car's heater worked they preferred to make love in a house now that cold weather had set in. So when Annie had gotten her babysitting gig with Lindsey Wallace, the two girls had worked out a plan. As soon as Lindsey went to sleep, Annie's Paul would come over and they'd make out upstairs in the Wallaces' bedroom, and Bob and Linda would do it downstairs on the convertible sofa. Good plan.
"You ready for a little trick or treat?" Bob asked her when he picked her up, yanking the tab off a can of Budweiser with a loud pop and a rush of foam.
"Sure," Linda laughed. They laughed, embraced, and guzzled, then drove over to the Wallace house.
As they pulled up in front of the Wallace home, Linda reviewed the plan. "Now, are you sure you've got it?"
"Sure. First I rip your clothes off . . ." He leaned across to the passenger's seat and buried his lips in Linda's soft neck while running a hand under her sweater.
She laughed and spilled beer over his head. "You idiot!"
"Then you rip my clothes off. Then we rip
Lindsey's
clothes off. I think I've got it."
"You've got something," she said, sliding her hand up his muscular thigh. "Now
I've
got something."
"Jeez, Linda," Bob gasped with a rush of desire. "Let's pray for a sleeping Lindsey."
"Yes, but in case our prayers aren't answered, maybe we can drop some Valium in her chocolate milk."
"You're terrible."
"Totally," Linda said, pushing open the door. Bob opened the door, got out, and helped Linda step down on the other side. They walked up the path to the big old house, and when they reached the front door Bob scooped Linda effortlessly into his arms and carried her the rest of the way. "Bob, put me down. Put me down! This is totally silly!" Linda protested, though her feeble kicks belied her protests. She reached out and turned the knob of the front door. The door swung open and the couple paused on the threshold. "Annie?"