Otherworld (25 page)

You're an idiot, Jimmy! How could that little girl pull that heavy bed three feet over to block the door? You must be out of your mind!

“I'm not out of my mind!”

You must be, Jimmy! You must be! No sane person would ever think that a little snot-nosed girl could move her heavy bed!

“What, then?”

Think, you fool!

Jimmy didn't want to think. He wanted to ram the door open and kill everyone in the house. He leaned against it with his shoulder. Nothing. Okay, she couldn't prop anything against the door, and even if she could, he would have already pushed it away. No, whatever held that door closed was not an object, but a force. That was the only way to explain it. Some force pressed against the other side of the door.

This door's about to eat it
, Jimmy thought, and he backed up until he touched the closet's back wall. He tightened his grip on the knife.
Mr. Black's comin' out blazin'.

On the other side, Carlos, a baseball bat in hand, crept toward the closet. For some reason, whoever happened to be in there couldn't get out. And for some reason, he had stopped trying. He reached for the handle, holding his Louisville Slugger aloft. “Who's there?”

Jimmy's mind raced:
Just like
The Shining
, man.
Heeeeeeere's Johnny! Well, get ready, you little witch, 'cause heeeeeeere's Jimmy!

Jimmy sprang forward with furious speed and strength and hit the door like a cannonball. The door flew open, smashing into Carlos Diaz's face and shattering his nose. He dropped the bat and put his hands to his bloodied face. Jimmy's momentum threw him right into Carlos's body, and the man flew back, hitting Abby's dresser with the small of his back and slamming it into the wall. The mirror on the wall fell on the top of the dresser and tipped forward, crashing onto Carlos's head and sending shards of glass to the floor.

The dresser propped Carlos up, prevented him from falling, and Jimmy, who had already taken a step back to regain his footing, moved in swiftly, ripping the butterfly knife across Carlos's face between his nose and upper lip. The man screamed and leaped onto his attacker. He caught Jimmy in the ribs with his knee, and the kid doubled over, gasped, and stumbled back, but he did not fall down and he did not lose hold of his weapon. Carlos, blood pouring from his face, darted for the bat. The coppery taste of his own life in his mouth, on his lips, and on his tongue, drove him quickly, and he reached it. His hand squeezed around it, and he righted himself, but Jimmy had caught his breath and was bringing his knife down once again. He stabbed Carlos in the forearm, the one attached to the hand that held the bat, but the man didn't drop the slugger. He winced, stepped back, and gripped it in both hands. Jimmy stabbed him again, this time in the chest, and he twisted the blade before pulling it out.

Carlos groaned, dropped the bat, and retreated to lean against the wall behind him.
The bad man
moved in, striking like lightning. In wild, dramatic swipes, Jimmy slashed Carlos across the chest and stomach, managing to nick the man's arms in the back swings.

Carlos pushed forward with his remaining strength and knocked Jimmy down. The man picked up the bat and brought it down onto the kid's hip. But the man's power was draining with each drop of blood. He hit Jimmy several times, some of the hits hard, but not hard enough to do any damage. Jimmy smashed the bottom of his foot into Carlos's shin, and the man dropped like a rag doll, screaming in pain and terror.

The bad man
, Mr. Black, Jimmy Horn, pounced on the fallen man and killed him.

 

Lisa and Abby Diaz made it to the house down the road, but it took seven minutes for anyone to answer the door, despite Lisa's frantic screams. Chris and Melody Taylor let them in, and Lisa ran to their phone.

“What's going on?” Chris asked.

“
The bad man
,” Abby said solemnly. “He's in my closet.”

“What?”

Lisa dialed 911 and got through. Hysterically, through sobs and sniffs, she cried into the phone, “There's someone in my house! … Yes! Please! … 457 Derry Road, please hurry! … No, I'm not there, I'm at the neighbor's! … Please! My husband is still there! Please hurry!”

 

Jimmy Horn must have been crazy, because, before leaving the house, he walked into the bathroom down the hall and washed all the blood off of his hands and arms. He wiped his blade clean on Abby's bath towel, which still hung over the shower curtain rod.

He knew the girl had escaped.

Again!

He took his time walking down the stairs and left through the back door, scaling the backyard fence and sauntering into the woods. The first thing to greet him was the wind, freezing and without mercy. He had taken the stolen coat off in the little girl's closet, and he regretted that move immediately.

He began to run, for the most part sure-footed, although a few hanging branches and vines scraped against his face. A light drizzle began to fall, and the wet, bitter wind burned into his skin with its coldness. His ribs hurt, but he would have traded a broken arm for that warm coat.

He ran for miles on the pure adrenaline of fright and insanity. He came out of the woods onto a road and looked around. He could hear sirens in the distance, but they came from far enough away for him to take it easy for a while. Inside his chest, his lungs raged with a suffocating fire. Scanning the street, he noticed only one house and, behind it, a tiny flicker of light.

As he approached the house, he realized he had been there before but couldn't quite remember when and under what circumstances. He climbed over the property's wood fence and bypassed the house in favor of the fire burning behind it. He walked into the open and saw the shadowy figure of a man sitting on the ground. He had his back to Jimmy, his face to the fire.

Jimmy's hand felt immediately for the knife in his jeans pocket. He walked slowly and quietly, but he didn't know exactly what he should do. For some strange reason, he didn't feel as if he needed to kill the man. He pulled his hand from his pocket and walked right up to the fire, circling it and looking into the man's face.

Pops's expression remained blank. The old man acted as if he had been expecting the boy any minute. Jimmy saw the shotgun resting across the man's lap but didn't feel afraid. He hugged himself, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, trying to get warm.

“Got a coat on the back porch,” Pops said.

Jimmy walked to the back porch and put on a dirt-brown coat that waited for him on the steps. He walked back and crouched down next to the fire.

“Are you gonna shoot me?” he asked.

“Do I need to?” Pops replied.

“No.”

“Okay.” Pops placed the gun on the wet ground next to him. “One chilly night, huh?”

Jimmy didn't say anything.

“With the wind, it's gotta be in the teens,” Pops said.

“Should we go inside?” Jimmy asked.

“No. Gertie's in there. Passed out, you know. Wouldn't want you to be tempted to … well, you know.”

“What?” Jimmy asked.

“Well, you're a killer. I know that.”

“How do you know?”

“Don't know how I know,” Pops said. “Just do, that's all. You killed somebody tonight, didn't you?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, you did. Don't worry about it, son. I'm sure whoever it was had it coming to 'em.”

Jimmy said nothing.

“They'll be looking for you, I'm sure,” Pops said.

“Yeah. So?”

“Well, we couldn't let them take you away.”

“I've been in jail before,” Jimmy said. “It's no big deal.”

“We can't let them take you away, son. We're supposed to be together, you and I,” Pops said.

“How do you figure?” Jimmy asked.

“I was told,” Pops said, and he pointed a bony finger at the sky.

Jimmy looked around him and noticed the barn in the distance. It all came rushing back. He said, “I've been here before.”

“Yeah?” Pops said.

“I killed your cow.”

Pops looked at the boy through the dancing tongues of the fire. “I don't think so, son,” he said.

“I did. I killed your cow.”

“No, no, you didn't.
They
did,” Pops said.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Aliens, son. The grays.”

“The grays?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah. Three feet tall. Large round heads with big black eyes. Long arms with long skinny fingers. Gray skin. The grays.”

“You seen 'em?”

“Yeah,” Pops said. “I've seen them.”

“Sometimes I hear voices,” Jimmy said.

Pops smiled. “Why don't we get on inside before we freeze to death?” he said.

“What about your wife?” Jimmy asked. “You know I'm a killer.”

“You won't touch her,” Pops said.

“How do you know?”

“'Cause I'll blow your head off.”

They rose and began walking to the house.

“What about the fire?” Jimmy asked.

“Let it burn.”

 

No one turned on any lights, but they kept knocking. Pops could hear the voices of Graham and Petrie out on the porch, commiserating.

Mr. Black looked at Pops.

After their meeting by the fire, they had come into the house together and found Gertie still lying in the same spot as before. Pops became a little worried at the sight of her, but after checking her vitals, he picked her up in his wrinkled arms and carried her into the bedroom. He gently laid her on the bed and drew the covers up to her neck, pausing before he left to plant a kiss on her forehead. “One of us may be dead before this is all over,” he whispered, and despite her unconscious state, he believed she heard him.

He and Jimmy (who Pops had begun to call Mr. Black without any prompting from the boy at all) were just walking into the kitchen when the knock on the front door came.

“They're here for you, Black,” Pops whispered.

“Who?”

“Who do you think? The cops. You killed somebody tonight. Didn't you think they'd be looking for you? I'm sure they're checking every house in a fifteen-mile radius, maybe more.”

“I ain't going,” Jimmy said.

“'Course you're not,” Pops replied.

Graham knocked again. “Hello?” he yelled. “Anybody home?”

“Just a second,” Pops shouted. He looked at Jimmy. “Get in the closet and don't do anything stupid.”

Jimmy took a peek at the closet. “I ain't getting in no closet,” he said.

Pops whispered, “Then go get in the tub in the bathroom down the hall. Make sure the light's off and you close the door.”

Jimmy hesitated.

Another knock came. “Mr. Dickey! This is Trumbull Police! Please open up!”

Jimmy retreated down the hallway and hid in the Dickeys' bathroom.