Night Show

by Richard Laymon

  ‘The Chill Master.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I frighten people.’ He spoke slowly, as if savoring the menace in his voice. ‘I give them goosebumps. I make them wet their pants. I make them scream in terror.’

  ‘You make them hang up,’ Dani said, and hung up. She sagged off the bar top and crouched down, hugging her belly. The peal of the telephone jolted her. It rang again and again. She covered her ears. ‘Stop,’ she whispered.

  And then she saw herself as if from a distance, huddled down and cowering.

  Just what the Chill Master ordered.

  She suddenly felt abused. Anger shoved her fear aside. She stood up straight and picked up the phone. ‘Hello,’ she snapped.

  ‘Hello, Danielle.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Have I frightened you?’

  ‘Yes. Happy?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Good. How about getting out of my life?’

  ‘But that’s the whole point, Danielle. I want into your life. How did you like my surprise?’

  ‘I don’t like anything about you.’

  ‘That’s not nice.’

  ‘I don’t like being attacked at dinner, and I don’t like being followed, and I don’t like being spied on . . .’

  ‘You’re beautiful naked.’

  ‘And you’re gonna be in big trouble if you don’t stop messing with me.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be mad, Danielle. You should be flattered that I chose you.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I could’ve chosen from so many others, you know. But I chose you.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m going to be your apprentice.’

  It all suddenly fell into place. ‘Last night . . . everything . . . it was your idea of an audition?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes! My way of introduction to the queen of horror makeup effects. Wasn’t I brilliant?’

  ‘Terrific,’ she muttered.

  ‘When do I start?’

  ‘Start what?’

  ‘Working with you. We’ll be wonderful together. We’ll set the world aflame!’

  ‘I already have an assistant.’

  ‘Fire him.’

  ‘Not hardly.’

  ‘But you admitted I scared you,’ he said, his voice rising.

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘It is the point! I’m a genius! Nobody can frighten people like I can. I’m the Chill Master. You’ll be famous for discovering me.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m good enough?’

  ‘I don’t need an assistant,’ she said.

  ‘You didn’t like my head?’

  ‘It was fine.’

  ‘It was great!’

  ‘Look, I have to go. I’m sorry I can’t help you.’

  ‘I want it back.’

  ‘Okay. Give me your address and I’ll mail it.’

  ‘I’ll come for it. Tonight.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Scared?’ he asked. Then he hung up.

  Dani finished mixing the drinks, and carried them outside. The sight of Jack stirring the potatoes was comforting. He turned to accept his drink, and frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘The telephone.’

  ‘I heard it ring.’

  She took a swallow of her vodka and tonic. ‘It was our friend from last night. He’s apparently a horror freak who wants to apprentice under me.’

  ‘Oh boy,’ Jack muttered.

  ‘Didn’t know I was that famous. He called me “the queen of horror makeup effects.” ’

  ‘He probably read the Fangoria article.’

  ‘You’re right. I hadn’t . . . that’d explain how he recognised me, too.’

  Jack shook his head, scowling into his drink. ‘So, he followed us here so he could deliver a sample of his work . . .’

  ‘And to prove how scary he is.’

  ‘The bastard sounds like a mental case.’

  ‘He really flew off the handle when I told him to get lost.’

  ‘Did he say who he is?’

  ‘Sure. He’s the Chill Master. I tried to get his name and address, but . . . Ready for this? He’s coming over tonight for his head.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Jack . . .’

  ‘He’ll have to trade in his hearse for a wheelchair.’

  ‘Let’s just leave the head out for him, and go to a movie or something.’

  Jack shook his head.

  ‘He’s just a harmless nut.’

  ‘He’s a menace, Dani.’

  ‘All he did . . .’

  ‘Do you realise all he did?’

  ‘He scared the hell out of me last night, and . . .’

  ‘How did he get your telephone number?’

  ‘I don’t . . .’

  ‘You’re not in the book. It’s unlisted, so he didn’t get it from an operator.’

  ‘Then how?’ she asked, her voice a shaky whisper.

  ‘It’s on the phone labels.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘He read it off one of your phones. He’s been inside the house.’

  10

  ‘HOW ABOUT here?’ Heather asked.

  ‘Let’s go one more,’ Steve said. The movie theater wasn’t crowded, so he thought it would be bad manners to settle down right in front of the couple already seated. They stepped to the next row. ‘Is this all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Do you want the aisle?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Steve preferred the aisle seat so he could stretch out his legs. If he took it, though, a stranger might sit down on the other side of Heather. He wouldn’t like that. Heather wouldn’t, either. Since both the seats in front of them were vacant, the view would be fine from either position.

  He stepped into the row, giving the aisle seat to Heather. She smoothed her skirt against the backs of her legs and sat down. The skirt left her knees bare. She was wearing no nylons.

  ‘Which show’s first?’ she asked.

  ‘Eyes of the Maniac, I think.’

  She drew up her shoulders and made herself shiver.

  ‘Hope it’s not too gory for you.’

  ‘The gorier, the better,’ she said.

  He gave Heather one of the Pepsis and a straw.

  ‘Did you see the one where the girl got scalped?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘A real gross-out.’ She tore off an end of the straw’s wrapper, slid the thin paper sheath down a bit, and twisted the other end. ‘I used to shoot these, did you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘It’s so juvenile, though.’

  Steve shrugged.

  With a laugh, she blew the wrapper at him. It streaked past his cheek and landed on the next seat.

  He held out his own straw. ‘Try again?’

  ‘Why not? You’re only sixteen once, as Dad always says.’ She aimed at Steve and puffed. He shut his eyes. The wrapper tapped his eyelid and fell. ‘Oh no. You all right?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She lowered her head and gazed at him from under her curtain of brown bangs, sheepish but grinning. ‘Sor-ry.’

  ‘I can take it.’

  She gave his straw back. He jabbed it through the X on the plastic top of his Pepsi. The tip had a pink smear from Heather’s lipstick. He put his mouth on it.

  Where her mouth had been.

  It gave him a warm feeling. Almost like a kiss. He’d never kissed Heather, but tonight, when he took her home, he would try.

  He sucked in a sip of Pepsi. When he slid the straw from his mouth, he could taste her lipstick.

  Would she let him kiss her? It was their first date, and . . . yeah, she would. She must like him all right or she wouldn’t be here.

  She reached for a handful of popcorn, making the tub push down slightly on his lap. The feel of it made him want to squirm.

  He took some popcorn. As he munched it, he watch
ed her. She was bent over slightly, head down, eating out of her cupped hand.

  Her blouse gaped like a slanted mouth in the space between two buttons. It showed a shadowy slope of skin, a lacey white corner of bra. Steve stared, suddenly dry-mouthed, his heart kicking, a hot surge swelling his penis.

  Then the lights dimmed.

  He looked away, relieved but disappointed, certain that nothing on the movie screen could match what he’d spied through the peephole of Heather’s blouse.

  She reached into the popcorn tub. The slight pressure was almost too much. Steve crossed his legs to ease the tightness. Pepsi washed the dryness from his mouth. He licked his lips, but the flavor of her lipstick was gone.

  A preview for Death Grin came on.

  ‘Oooh,’ Heather whispered. ‘That looks neat.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Maybe he would bring her back when it played here. A man dropped into the seat in front of Heather. The jerk. With all these empty seats . . .

  ‘Can you see all right?’ Steve asked.

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Want to trade places?’

  ‘Well . . . Let’s just move over one.’

  They did.

  The jerk scooted down and propped his knees against the back of the chair in front of him. A dark stocking cap covered his head. Steve saw no fringe of hair, and wondered if the guy was bald; he looked too young to be bald. Maybe shaves his head. Only a real jerk would shave his head.

  Steve looked back at the screen as the film started.

  A woman was taking a shower, humming as she soaped herself. Her back and rump were slick with streaming water. She turned round. Steve gazed at her small, glossy breasts, her nipples, the wedge of dark hair at her groin. He felt a warm stir, but it didn’t compare with the jolt of desire at his stolen glimpse of Heather.

  The woman turned away. She shut off the faucets. She slid open the shower curtain. Heather jumped as a shriek of music blasted through the theater and hands in leather gloves thrust a fireplace poker into the woman’s belly. The point broke her skin, went in deep, hook and all. As the music screamed, she was rammed backwards against the shower wall. The gloved hands twisted the poker. Blood spilled from her mouth. Then the poker was pulled out slowly, the point of its hook stretching her flesh below the original wound, popping through, ripping open a flap of skin and dragging out slippery coils of guts.

  Heather turned her head. Her eyes were squeezed shut. She opened one and looked at Steve. ‘Is it over yet?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘Geez!’

  ‘Okay, it’s over.’

  She turned her head, slumped low in her seat and sighed.

  The man in the next row looked around, grinning. His face was pale and bony, his eyes hardly visible in the shadows of their sockets. ‘Great effects, huh?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Steve muttered.

  Heather nodded. She sat up straight and leaned away from the stranger.

  ‘Know who did it? Danielle Larson.’

  ‘A woman?’ Steve asked.

  ‘The queen of horror makeup. I work with her, you know.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Wonderful lady. Beautiful, too.’

  ‘That’s very interesting.’

  ‘You think this is good, you should see our next film. It’ll scare the shit out of you.’

  Steve nodded. He took a deep breath when the young man turned away. The stiffness went out of Heather. She looked up at Steve, rolled her eyes, then settled her head against his shoulder. She kept it there while she sipped her Pepsi, ate popcorn, watched the movie. Sometimes, her hair tickled Steve’s cheek.

  On the screen, five young women were gathered for the funeral of their friend.

  ‘They’re all gonna get it,’ Heather said.

  ‘All but one.’ The talking eased his nerves.

  ‘Yeah. I bet it’s the blonde with the freckles.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, wiping his oily hand on a napkin. His stomach fluttered. ‘Okay if . . .?’ he mumbled, and curled his arm around her shoulders. Her head returned as if nothing had happened. He squeezed her shoulder gently. Then, for a long time, he didn’t move his hand. He’d made a big move, and needed time to get used to it.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Heather said.

  One of the five, a slim brunette, had let her boyfriend stop at a lover’s lane.

  ‘They’re gonna get it now,’ Heather said.

  Steve gave her shoulder another squeeze as if to comfort her. The pair in the front seat were hugging, moaning as they kissed with open mouths. Then the man unbuttoned her blouse. She was wearing no bra.

  Steve’s thumb stroked the bra-strap through Heather’s blouse.

  Her breasts were blue-gray in the darkness of the car, her nipples almost black. The man quickly covered them with his hands.

  They writhed against each other, gasping.

  ‘Any second,’ Heather said.

  She flinched as something tapped the windshield.

  Steve stroked her upper arm.

  The woman raised her eyes to the windshield and screamed.

  Heather jumped. She clutched Steve’s leg.

  A gloved fist smashed through the windshield, caught the woman by her hair, jerked her from the arms of her stunned lover and pulled her head through the jagged hole. The glass slashed bloody streaks down her face. The maniac, dressed in black and wearing a ski mask, leaped up and down on the car’s hood like a frenzied gorilla, hanging onto her hair, tugging the head from side to side until finally the windshield cut it free. He hugged the severed head to his chest and ran off into the forest while the man inside the car stared at the pumping neck stump of his girlfriend and screamed.

  Steve loosened his grip on Heather’s shoulder. She let go of his leg, but her hand stayed there, a warm pressure.

  The man in the next row looked back at them. ‘Tore it right off, huh?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Steve said.

  Heather reached for more popcorn.

  ‘Yeah, right off. Can I have some of that?’

  ‘Popcorn?’ Steve asked.

  ‘Let me have some. You don’t need all that.’ He reached over the back of the seat. His hand hovered over Heather’s knees. She stiffened. Steve thrust the tub under it, and he grabbed a fistful. He shoved the popcorn into his mouth and dug into the tub again.

  ‘Come on,’ Steve said. ‘We’re trying to watch the movie.’

  The young man made a mocking smile as he chewed. He reached in, took a third handful, then turned away.

  Heather let out a shaky breath. She leaned closer to Steve and whispered, ‘Let’s move.’

  He nodded. He felt shaky himself: angry and embarrassed and somehow frightened, just as he felt when accosted on the street by bums wanting handouts.

  Heather took the popcorn tub. ‘Want any more?’ she asked.

  ‘No way. Not after he’s touched it.’

  She set it on the uptilted seat beside her.

  They stood up. Though their cushions squeaked, the man didn’t turn. They stepped into the aisle and walked five rows back. ‘This okay?’ Steve whispered.

  ‘Fine.’

  They moved in, excusing themselves as they squeezed past a seated couple, and sat down near the center of the row. In front of them, two teenaged girls were slumped low, their heads well out of the way.

  Heather sighed.

  ‘Better?’ Steve asked.

  ‘A lot.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘What a creep,’ she said. She finished her Pepsi and set it on the floor. Then she took hold of Steve’s hand.

  ‘Want me to buy some more popcorn?’

  ‘No thanks. I had plenty.’

  On the screen, one of the women was running through dark woods, whimpering, glancing over her shoulder. She was missing a sleeve. She stumbled and fell, scurried to her feet and kept running. Finally, she ducked behind a tree. She peered into the darkness, apparently looking for her pursuer.

  The woods were silent. Nothing m
oved. The woman looked relieved. She stepped backwards away from the trunk. A vague blur appeared behind her shoulder – the masked face of the maniac.

  Heather’s hand tightened.

  The woman continued backwards, gazing ahead, moving closer and closer to the waiting man.

  People in the audience yelled warnings. Some squealed.

  The woman kept stepping backwards. Behind her, an ax raised high.

  Heather screamed and leaped from her seat, hands flying to the back of her neck, trying to pry loose the clutching fingers. The man, still hanging on, laughed like a lunatic. His stocking cap was gone, his hairless head gleaming like a skull.

  Steve swung at his jaw. He connected, snapping the man’s head sideways. A set of white fangs burst from the open mouth. He swung again. This time, he missed. The man grabbed his arm and bit it.

  An usher hurried up the row, yelling.

  The man sprang away. He hurtled over the seat backs, and raced up the next row. Yelling people rushed to get out of his way. He got to the aisle, turned on the charging usher, and bellowed a scream.

  The usher stopped fast.

  With a wild laugh, he bounded up the aisle and smashed through the door.

  Heather threw herself into Steve’s arms, sobbing. ‘Take me home. Please I want to go home!’

  11

  ALONE IN her living room with the curtains shut, Dani tried to read. Though her eyes moved over the words, her mind strayed. Again and again, she reached the bottom of a page only to realise she knew nothing of what had happened on it. Finally, she shut the book.

  She opened the front door. From where she stood, the aspen near the corner of the lawn was a vague, black shadow. She stepped outside. She toed the grocery bag, denting in its side. It hadn’t been disturbed. She left it on the lighted stoop and walked toward the aspen.

  ‘Jack?’ she asked softly.

  There was no answer.

  More than an hour ago, just after dark, he’d crouched behind the tree. ‘A great place for an ambush,’ he’d said, and smacked his open hand with a sawed off length of broomstick.

  Dani’s protests had been feeble. She wanted the boy punished, dissuaded from bothering her further, but she didn’t like the idea of using violence against him. Jack had promised to hurt him only enough ‘to get the message across.’

  He was no longer behind the tree.