Skeleton Key

by Steven Charles

  Suddenly she sensed the presence of someone else nearby. Someone looking at her. She turned and peered into the backseat of the car, gasped, and whirled away when the detective pushed her gently to one side and opened the door.

  “Surprise,” he said flatly. “A Fawkes bird.”

  Lee slid out, glaring at the cop as he wrapped Jennifer in his arms, giving her a hug that took away her breath before releasing her again. “He caught me hitching out to campus,” he said to Conrad’s unasked question. “I had to talk to you, Jen, but Rumbel and I had the long talk.”

  “Indeed we did,” the man said, lining them up with their backs to the lake so he could lean against the fender and watch them. “There I was, heading out to the school to find a kid who ran from me and some jerk who broke every speed limit in New England, and what do I see but this punk walking up the hill, like he didn’t have a care in the world.”

  “How come we didn’t see you?” Jennifer asked Lee.

  “I don’t know. I went through the woods part way,” he answered.

  “I picked him up and we took a ride,” the detective answered. “I decided I wanted some answers without any funny stuff. Nice time of year, don’t you think?”

  Jennifer felt rather than saw Lee start to take a step forward, and she stopped him by slipping her arm around his waist. When he looked at her, she sighed to let him know it wouldn’t do any good.

  “What did you tell him?” Conrad asked.

  “Everything,” Lee said sullenly.

  “What?” Jennifer and Marysue said together.

  “Well, sure!” Rumbel said, rubbing the gun barrel along the front of his coat. “I let him know there are always options, even for punks, and I explained each one to him, very carefully.”

  “And you believe him?” Jennifer asked, feeling Lee nudge her with his hip too late.

  “That boy,” Rumbel said, making the word sound as if he were talking about the scum on the lake, “is fairly well known in my line of work, little lady. But he isn’t dumb. He knows when to fish and when to cut bait.” He nodded slowly. “He told, and I’m surprised you let yourselves go along with him.”

  Conrad’s confused expression would have been comical in different circumstances, and Jennifer’s mind was racing, trying to understand what was going on. Lee hadn’t told about the aliens; he had told Rumbel something else, and she willed the others not to say anything until they knew what it was.

  Something moved in the dark beyond the cabin.

  Jennifer stared in that direction, looked back at the detective, who was scratching the side of his neck, and realized he hadn’t heard anything.

  They’re coming back, she thought. Oh, no, they’re coming back.

  “Ev-everything?” Conrad said, the question as much for Lee as for Rumbel.

  “Sure, why not?” Lee said, shaking Jennifer’s arm away and facing his friend squarely. “He already knows, right? He talked to me, he talked to Richmond here for who knows how long—what’s not to tell? Anyway, he said”—Lee kicked at a stone—“he said it would go better if we didn’t keep trying to talk our way out of it.”

  “Talk our way out of what?” Marysue asked, nearly shouting.

  “Telling him where it was.”

  Jennifer understood what was happening and couldn’t help a quick smile that vanished as soon as Rumbel looked in her direction. Then she leaned her cheek on Lee’s arm and continued the deception by saying, “I’m sorry. It was a good place.”

  “Not your fault,” he replied, delighted that she had caught on. “The whole thing was stupid.”

  “Right!” Rumbel said smartly, pushing himself away from the car. “Now all I want you to do is show me where you hid all the stolen stuff. Fawkes here,” he added to the others, “told me there’d be no trouble.” The gun came up, resting against his chest. “I think he’s right, right?”

  Jennifer, trying desperately to look repentant, nodded, as did the others, who had finally caught on.

  “All right, then.” Rumbel looked around the clearing and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t suppose we can take the car, huh?”

  “No,” Lee answered. “We have to walk.”

  “Far?”

  “In the dark, half an hour, maybe more.”

  “Great.” The detective reached through the driver’s window and pulled out a microphone that snapped static at him until he called in to the station and told the dispatcher he would be out of service for a while. After he had replaced the mike on its hook under the dashboard, he straightened up, put the gun in his pocket with his hand still around it, and used the flashlight as a pointer.

  “Go,” he said. “And do me a favor, huh? Don’t try to run.”

  They moved in single file across the clearing, Rumbel trailing and complaining about what a cop had to do to make good in a hick town. And as Jennifer followed Lee into the woods, Marysue and Conrad ahead, she understood why the detective hadn’t called in another unit to help him. Lee had convinced him that this wasn’t an ordinary series of thefts they were talking about. And a successful completion of what, for Staines, would be a major case, would mean promotion for the man.

  Ego had led Jack Rumbel, alone, straight into Jennifer’s plan.

  She heard something moving parallel to them, back in the trees. And this time the detective heard it too, because he paused for a moment, mumbled something to himself, and, when she dared a glance over her shoulder, she saw that his gun was out again.

  “Friends of yours?” Rumbel asked, pointing toward the sound.

  “No,” she said truthfully. “Probably just some animal.”

  “Great.”

  And he said “great” again when they reached the first clearing and he saw the gray dying plants. “What happened here?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, however. He used the flashlight to check the clearing’s edges, then waved them on, to the left and back onto the trail. He was panting softly now, and Jennifer prayed he wouldn’t be too winded by the time they reached the den.

  And she prayed that whatever was pacing them wouldn’t make its move until then either. This was their chance to get someone in authority involved, even if he was a kid hater, and she wanted to be at the site before anything was done. Rumbel had to be alert. He had to be ready. Anything less, and they would all be killed.

  The next clearing was even worse than the first—it was as if they had stumbled upon a lunar landscape, and she caught snatches of conversation between Zucco and Marysue, the gist of which was that the dead plants and their withered condition were evidence of the aliens’ failed experiments.

  But the dead areas had been so for quite some time.

  Mrs. Klopher had learned that things had changed since.

  Jennifer wished she knew more about genetics, because the skeleton key seemed like pure fantasy to her. How could one species, even at the cellular level, be crossed with another? It was impossible.

  Impossible for us, she answered herself. But these creatures come from the stars.

  “Hold it,” Rumbel ordered as Conrad started out of the clearing. “Hold it a minute.” And he leaned against the trunk of a still-living birch, his chest heaving, his face covered with perspiration.

  “Come on,” Lee said impatiently. “We can’t stop now.”

  “Why not?” the man asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “You got a time bomb or something?”

  “I just want to get it over with,” Lee told him. “And I’m cold.”

  “Well, that’s just too bad,” Rumbel said. “I’m out of breath, and we’re gonna wait until I get it back, you hear?”

  “I don’t think you will,” Marysue said and pointed to the alien who had stepped out from the trees.

  Fourteen

  NO ONE MOVED.

  Jennifer’s first reaction was terror; her second was relief because finally one of the wolf-creatures had shown itself to someone else. Yet terror was the stronger emotion, because where there was one alien, there were bou
nd to be others. And she couldn’t help but listen for the sounds of more approaching.

  Rumbel, whose expression had switched rapidly between amazement and disgust, finally sneered as he pushed away from the tree and drew his gun.“What’s this?” he asked, aiming the flashlight directly into the alien’s face. “Halloween?”

  The alien stood motionless at the back of the clearing, its eyes narrowing as it took in the detective and the others. Then it snorted and moved forward. When Conrad took a step forward, it stopped him with a glare.

  “Come on,” Rumbel said as if tired of playing games. “Is this what you were gonna show me, Fawkes? A lousy costume? Can’t you do any better than this?”

  Marysue covered her mouth with her hand, though not in time to prevent a soft whimper from escaping.

  “It’s not a costume,” Lee said tonelessly.

  “Lee,” Jennifer said.

  He gave her a look and a slight shake of his head.

  She suddenly realized what he was thinking—there were five of them and only one alien. They could overpower the creature and, with luck, take it prisoner. She could feel him shifting, and she saw Conrad slowly rolling his shoulders beneath his jacket. Marysue didn’t move—she was frozen to the spot, her eyes wide with fear.

  The alien ignored them as it moved straight for the detective.

  “All right,” Rumbel said, “this has gone far enough.” He raised the gun. “Stop, punk, and take off that stupid mask. This is the police.”

  The alien snarled.

  Jennifer thought it sounded like laughter.

  “It’s no costume, Rumbel,” Lee said again.

  “You must think I’m crazy,” the man said, shaking his head in disgust and pulling the hammer back.

  The alien hesitated and stopped.

  “Good, very good,” the detective said. Then, before anyone could warn him, he closed the gap between them and grabbed a handful of the alien’s hair. He pulled, and the alien bellowed, one arm sweeping out to knock the man aside.

  The gun fired harmlessly into the tree.

  The flashlight spun into the air, its beam whipping crazily across the boles and branches.

  Lee and Conrad immediately threw themselves at the creature, riding it to the ground while it howled and thrashed about in an attempt to throw the two boys off its back.

  Rumbel, who hadn’t been knocked off his feet but was nevertheless stunned, shook his head to clear it and advanced on the wrestling figures. His gun was out again, but if he intended to shoot, he had no chance—the boys covered the creature too well, and he clearly didn’t want to hit them.

  He looked around for a moment and said “What’s going on here?”

  Marysue finally screamed.

  Jennifer, after taking a step toward the fighters, whirled around and raced for the flashlight. She grabbed it and aimed it at the ground until she found a stout branch, which she picked up.

  The alien howled.

  Rumbel swore out loud.

  Marysue ran to Jennifer and grabbed the branch from her hand, ran to the boys, and lifted the club over her head, ignoring the detective’s orders to stand back before she got hurt.

  Suddenly the alien hunched up to its hands and feet and threw out one arm. Lee was flung to one side, landed at the edge of the clearing, and rolled up against a tree. His head struck the trunk, and he grunted and went limp. Jennifer cried his name and raced to him, dropped onto the ground, and passed the flashlight beam over his face—his eyes were open, but they were glazed. She slapped his cheeks lightly.

  “Lee,” she said tearfully. “Lee, come on, wake up!”

  Conrad was still grappling with the creature, his weight an advantage, but the alien was stronger, and it wasn’t long before it had struggled to its feet, the boy clutched in its deadly embrace.

  Marysue brought the club down on the alien’s shoulder.

  It snarled, but didn’t fall; nor did it release Conrad.

  “Move!” Rumbel yelled and bullied Marysue out of his way. He maneuvered himself behind the alien and threw an arm around its neck. He pulled back on his neck while stabbing the gun’s barrel repeatedly into its side.

  Marysue began exhorting Conrad to get out of the way so she could use her weapon.

  Lee groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. But when he tried to struggle to his feet, Jennifer stopped him, whispering anxiously that he was still too groggy.

  He looked at her angrily, but when he tried again, he could only moan and fall back against the trunk.

  Conrad freed one arm and punched the alien as hard as he could.

  Rumbel put the gun against the creature’s head and said, “Stop, or I’ll blow your head off.”

  But the alien suddenly bent its knees, straightened, and threw Conrad away, spinning and clubbing Rumbel with its forearm. The fat man stumbled back, and the alien clubbed him again, and a third time, sending the gun to the ground and the man after it. After Rumbel had regained his feet, he gaped at the creature with the first true fear he had shown.

  It growled at him.

  Rumbel began to tremble, sweat poured from his face, and he turned and ran back the way they had come.

  Then the alien whirled again to face the others, snarling, its teeth bared and its eyes so narrowed they were nearly closed.

  Marysue swallowed but didn’t drop her branch.

  Lee gulped for air, and Conrad barely managed to pull himself to his knees.

  Jennifer couldn’t think. She aimed the flashlight directly into its face and prayed the others would get back on their feet.

  Then the alien said, “You,” in a soft, whispering rasp.

  The flashlight dropped from her hand.

  The alien’s lips curled into a cruel semblance of a smile. “You,” it repeated.

  It took a step toward her, and Jennifer looked around, searching for something she could use to hold it off. Lee pushed himself upright, fists up though he was blinking rapidly, and the alien only snarled that hideous laughter again.

  “You,” it said to Jennifer. “You have no place to go now.”

  And before any of them could move, it sprang into the underbrush and vanished.

  It took them nearly thirty minutes to stagger back to the Witch’s Eye clearing. Conrad was badly bruised and shaken, and Lee was still having a hard time focusing. None of them spoke. They followed the flashlight’s beam until they saw the first cabin, and at a silent signal all but Jennifer fell exhausted through the battered doorway onto the floor.

  She stood on the threshold and watched the Witch’s Eye turn black.

  A chill deeper than any winter could provoke made her hug herself.

  More than anything, she wanted to wake up.

  But the faint moans behind her reminded her that she was not dreaming.

  “You have no place to go now,” the creature had told her, and by the time she had reached the cabin she knew it was right.

  Rumbel, a coward at the end, had fled, and she had no doubt he didn’t believe for a second the alien was real. Or maybe he was one of them—they hadn’t tested him—and Borden Overbrook was missing again.

  Even if Rumbel persuaded other policemen to go out there and search, she knew the aliens would be gone again.

  They were fugitives now. All of them.

  There was no one left to help them.

  Lee came up behind her and slipped an arm around her waist. “It’s lousy,” he said, in such a way that she knew he’d been thinking all the same things she had.

  “I guess,” Marysue said from the dark of the cabin, “we’re on our own. Right, Field?”

  She turned around. “Right.”

  “Well, you got any ideas?”

  Jennifer stared at her and suddenly began to laugh. It was the only thing she could do, because Marysue was right. They couldn’t depend on anyone now; they would have to do it all themselves. They had no choices.

  “All right,” she said. “I guess we have to plan.”


  And at that the others began to laugh, close to the edge of hysteria. But the feeling in the room was clear—they wouldn’t let anyone beat them.

  Or anything.

  And Jennifer almost allowed herself to feel as confident as she sounded. And then Lee said, “The alien.”

  Silence.

  And the one thought none of them had wanted to bring to the surface, Lee put into words.

  “The voice,” he said. “It sounds dumb, but I think I recognized it.”

  “I know,” said Jennifer. “I know. It was Monica.”