Hobgoblin

by John Coyne

  "Okay, Dunn. Take your clothes off." "Are you crazy, or what?" Nick Borgus nodded toward Simpson. "You want Hank to do it for you?" "Yeah! Simpson rubbed his hands together. Valerie backed away from the two boys and stepped up flush against the graveyard fence. Steepletop was deserted, and she was trapped between the two of them like a calf they wanted to grab and wrestle to the ground. "You know, you're really gross, and if you think I'm not going to tell my Dad..." "Come on, Dunn, we don't have all day," Borgus said, moving closer. "What are you hiding anyway, Dunn?" Simpson added. "Your body ain't worth shit." "Cram it, Simpson," she shot back without looking at him. It was Borgus she feared. He was sauntering straight toward her, grinning, amused by the situation. "You don't have to take off all your clothes," he said, as if striking a compromise. "You can keep your panties on." "Hey, man, I want her panties. I mean, I collect 'em," Simpson protested, laughing. He kept looking back and forth between Dunn and Borgus, puzzled by what Nick planned to do with the girl. "Shut your fuckin' mouth, Hank. You're getting Valerie all upset. Look, she's crying. Come on, give me your jeans and your blouse. You can keep your shoes and socks." "Nick, what are you going to do?" she asked, pleading. "We won't hurt you. Not if you give us your clothes." "Why? What are you going to do with them? I'm going to freeze, Nick. It's going to be dark soon." "We'll leave your vest. Hank, get Dunn's vest from the car." "Hey, I want her panties," Simpson called over his shoulder as he trotted back toward the MGB. Valerie made her break then. There was a small opening in the cemetery fence, and she ran for it. If she could make it into the woods she'd be safe. She knew those woods better than anybody. Nick dove for her, cut her down in the open field between the woods and the fence. She swerved, trying to avoid him, but he clipped her foot and she fell forward into a deep bed of leaves, then kept rolling, unable to stop and regain her feet. Nick crawled after her on his hands and knees, seized her right ankle, and held her long enough for Simpson to get there and haul her to her feet, struggling and furious. "Strip her, Hank," Borgus ordered, then turned and headed back to the car. With any luck, the preppie would have a piece of rope stashed in the MGB's trunk. Simpson's sleeves were rolled up, and Valerie bit him on his bare left forearm. Her teeth broke the skin and he bled into her mouth. "You fucker!" He released his hammerlock on her neck but slapped the side of her head, knocking her momentarily senseless. Her knees buckled and she staggered, then Simpson grabbed her again by the shoulder and, holding her, ripped open the front of her blouse. The row of white buttons popped off one by one into the leaves. "No," Valerie moaned. She was dizzy and too weak to resist. He pulled the white blouse away and reached for the hook of her bra, which was in the front instead of the back. She doubled over so he couldn't find it, but he grabbed her long hair and yanked it until, with a cry, she straightened up. "Jesus, Simpson. Don't hurt her," Nick shouted from the car. Simpson held the bra high over his head like a battle trophy and they laughed. Valerie turned her back on both of them, shaking her head and crying, her arms crossed over her nakedness. She realized now she wouldn't get away from them. "Do you want me to take your jeans off?" Simpson asked, following her. "No! No!" "Okay, then you do it-now!" "Come on, Valerie, take off your jeans. Let's see your pretty panties," Nick added, arriving with the rope. "You fuckers. I'm telling the police. You'll go to jail for this. This is rape." She unzipped her fly. "Forget it, Dunn. We'll leave your precious body to your preppie boyfriend-if he knows what to do with it. But this will teach him not to play games with us. Running the wrong fucking way. Shit, who does he think he is?" Her back carefully turned, Valerie pulled down her jeans. "Hey, Dunn, you've got a cute little ass." Borgus reached out and felt her bottom. "Oh, God, please!" Valerie slumped forward, tripping on her jeans and fell down again. Borgus reached over and grabbed the jeans, ripped them off her ankles. Free of them, Valerie curled up her long legs and lay still in the dead leaves. Borgus dropped them and pulled her arms behind her, then wrapped the rope around her wrists and ankles. "Don't hurt me," she said again, choking on her tears. "Hey, Hank, are we going to hurt her?" "Are we?" he giggled and shook his head. He had no idea what Borgus was going to do next. Back in the parking lot at school, they had spotted Valerie running for the MGB and only then decided to go after her. Now Hank watched as Nick tied her arms behind her then pulled her legs up and looped the rope around her ankles, tying her tight, like a young calf. "Please, Nick, let me go. I won't tell anyone." Her frightened young face was pressed against a brilliant display of large yellow maple leaves. Next to them her skin was white, almost transparent. "Hank, give me her blouse," Nick ordered. He was working fast, grunting from the effort. A band of sweat had broken out on his face and made his face shine. He folded the torn white cotton into a swatch, then blindfolded her with it. "Hey, man, what the fuck are we doing?" Simpson asked. "Shut up. Give me some help." He moved around and grabbed Valerie by her armpits. Simpson took her feet. "Where to?" Hank asked. "The graveyard," Nick directed, nodding to a slab of tombstone. Between them, they lifted her up and then arranged her on the cold slab of marble, laying her flat on her stomach as if setting her on a high shelf. Valerie knew immediately where she was and her heart leaped in her throat. There was only one slab in the graveyard. The square tomb of Fergus O'Cuileannain, guarded by its ominous black angel. It was the one spot in Steepletop that frightened her. "Please, Nick, don't put me here," she begged. "Bye, bye, Valerie," Nick whispered in her ear. "Nick, you can't just leave me," she cried. She'd thought she could stand anything, as long as they didn't rape her, but the thought of lying naked in the dark on Fergus's grave terrified her. "I can't, huh?" Borgus was grinning. It was only then that he realized what he would do, how he would get the preppie. Grabbing up the rest of Valerie's clothes, he signaled Simpson and together they ran for the woods.

  Upstairs, Barbara closed the door of her bedroom and went into the bathroom to turn on the hot water in the tub. Until she moved into the guest house, she had never had a bathroom of her own, but now it seemed a necessity rather than a luxury. She promised herself that when she left Ballycastle she would never share another bathroom with a man. She sprinkled soap into the steaming water and returned to the bedroom, stripping off her clothes as she moved. Her blue turtleneck she stuffed into the laundry; her tight jeans were returned to the closet. She took her blow dryer out of the bottom drawer and laid it on the bed, ready for when she wanted to dry her hair. Wearing only her black bikini underpants, she stretched luxuriously, then went back to the tub and tested the water with her hand. She peeled off the panties and sank with a sigh into the deep, sweet-smelling water. Only then did she let herself think of him. It was like a small pleasure that she saved for her private moments. At the office lately she had to fight to keep herself at work. Keep her mind off him. But since they had made love, it was a struggle to concentrate. Several times she had found herself sitting motionless, gazing off at nothing while she replayed their night together in her mind. She was like a teenager, she thought, consumed with lust. She cupped some water in her hands and splashed her face, as if to cool herself down. It would be all right, she decided. Everything between her and Derek. Everything between her and Scotty. Everything, she realized with pleasure, between all of them.

  For a few moments Valerie heard them running, laughing as they went downhill. Then slowly her breathing began to level off. She way first thankful; they were gone and she had not been hurt. But immediately she remembered she was on Fergus's tomb, and somewhere above her was the evil black angel. Even on a bright, sunny day it was never cheerful in that part of the graveyard. She struggled at once with the tight rope and felt a stab of pain across her back. If only she could see what she was doing. "Nick." she shouted. "Nick, come back here, you bastard." Her voice sounded weak and lost and she started to cry again, sobbing with pain. They couldn't leave her like this, she thought. It was just too mean. She would freeze without clothes. The hinged gate at the graveyard moved and she stopped sobbing. It could have been the wind, she thought, but then
she heard the rustle of leaves. Someone was coming toward her. "Nick? Please, Nick, don't do this to me." She struggled again with the tight rope. The rustling leaves stopped. She lay still, listening, her cheek flat against the marble slab. "Nick?" she asked, whispering, begging for a reply. The leaves rustled again, the sound of something moving around the monument. It was an animal, she thought next. A deer looking for a salt lick. She had seen deer before on Steepletop but never inside the cemetery. Well, scaring him off would be easy. She yelled as loud as she could, paused, and yelled again. There was no rustle in the fallen leaves. It was not a deer. A deer would have bolted at the first sound. "Who is it? Who's there?" she cried. The leaves were rustling again, and the sound was moving closer, but from a different direction. Whatever it was, it was coming up behind her. "Nick? Hank? Oh, God, please say something." She felt the two hands on her skin and screamed. Hysterical now, she tried to squirm away from the leathery touch of the fingers that caressed her shoulders and bottom. The bony fingers ran along her quivering side and found her small left breast, then continued down to touch the fabric of her panties. Valerie's breath caught in her throat and she couldn't scream. Beneath the tight blindfold she closed her eyes and lay rigid as the hands lifted her, turned her over so her body was exposed.

  Scott washed all the dishes himself, by hand. The roasting pan took the longest and he used up two steel wool pads before he was satisfied. Then the leftover meat had to be wrapped and put into the refrigerator. When all that was done, he wiped the table and counter and swept the kitchen floor. He wanted the kitchen to be spotless when his mother came down. Still carrying a wet dish rag, he walked to the bottom of the stairs and listened. Behind the closed door of her bedroom, he heard his mother's hairdryer. That would take her half an hour, he knew. He had time to clean the downstairs bathroom. The telephone rang as he passed it and he lifted the receiver, saying hello. "Scott?" "Yes...?" "Hey, Scott...this is Lou. You know, down at the gate." "Yeah, hi. My mom's taking a bath. Can she call you later?" "Well, I was calling you, as a matter of fact. You got your car there, Scott, your MGB?" "No, I left it at school today. Someone drove me home. Why?" "Sheet" The security guard sighed into the phone. "Damn, I think I spotted your car 'bout half hour ago. I wasn't sure, but it flew in by the gate, and then Ted radioed that he didn't see it by your garage when he made his rounds. With the trouble the other night, we've been watching your place." "But it has to be at school," Scott protested. "I had an accident early today and..." Then he thought of Valerie. She had threatened to hot-wire the car and drive it back to Ballycastle. "It was your MGB," he heard the guard say. "Ain't but one around here." "That's okay, sir. I mean, I think one of the kids at school brought it. I think I know where it is." "Okay, I'll tell Ted. We just wanted to be sure." "Thanks. It's okay." Scott tried to sound positive. "Thanks again." Hanging up the phone, he spun around and threw the wet dish rag against the wall. "Damn her," he swore and slammed the door and walked out into the dark night.

  "Scott?" Barbara opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. Her hair was dry and she was wearing a white tent' cloth bathrobe. For a moment she hesitated, listening for her son, then she called out again, "Scotty? Are the dishes already done?" When he didn't reply she moved down the hallway to the stairs, a quick tremor of fear racing through her body. She was overreacting, she knew, but couldn't stop herself. She thought again of the strange woman at the kitchen window. "Scotty?" she shouted. At the first floor landing, she heard the back door open and slam shut. Thank God, she sighed. "Scotty, I'm done with my bath," she called, then continued down the stairs and into the living room. Turning on the television set, she settled down on the sofa and waited a few minutes. When he didn't come inside, she called once more. "Scotty, dear, are you okay?" She got up and walked down the dark hallway to the kitchen, saying as she approached the lighted room, "I think there's some ice cream in the fridge." Then she stepped into the kitchen and saw that the man there wasn't Scotty. A moment later the screen door opened again and a second man joined them, grinning. "Who are you?" she asked, "and what are you doing here?"

  Valerie thought she would be killed, strangled to death on the marble slab. "Please," she sobbed. Then she felt the fingers working on the rope behind her back. First they untied her hands, then moved down to tug at the rope around her ankles. She felt the pain of blood rushing to her feet as the rope was stripped from her and she straightened her legs. "Ouch," she whispered, feeling the brief tear of her muscles. She lay still, unwilling even to raise her head. But the bony hands were insistent, pulling her up by her thin shoulders. Valerie grabbed at the smooth wet stone, scraped her nails on the hard edge of the slab, but there was no resisting. When she was upright, the blindfold was pulled from her eyes, and Valerie instantly covered her face with her hands. She was afraid to open her eyes, afraid to confront face to face the owner of the bony hands. Whoever it was, he was moving again, circling around behind the slab. Valerie opened her eyes a crack and saw that it was dark; night had fallen on the hillside. She felt a stir of hope. If Old Bony stayed on the far side of the slab, she could bolt away and run straight downhill to Scott's house. Bony was directly behind her. She heard him pause, felt him breathing. Then the leathery hands were on her, circling her body to cup her breasts. For a moment he weighed them in his palms, his thumbs brushing the nipples harshly. Then, slowly, he began to massage them, his hands moving unhurriedly in lazy circles. Valerie sat petrified, her eyes wide open, her brain racing. But no ideas would come, only the fear. In the end, it was the fear that saved her. With the strength born of terror she threw her elbows backward where they met Old Bony's body and, for an instant, broke his hold on her. In that instant she flew off the monument as if launched by a crossbow. At the graveyard gate she glanced back, to see if he was gaining on her. But Old Bony hadn't moved, except to hop up on the slab that she had vacated. The figure was powerfully built, and for a moment she thought it was Borgus, come back to play an elaborate game on her. Then the creature threw back its head and laughed, and at the sight of its long yellow hair Valerie suddenly knew. Sobbing with fear she turned again and ran, stumbling out of the graveyard, running naked, downhill toward the castle.