Beneath her waist, it burned. The whole region radiated an icy hot numbness.
The thing on top of her growled. She could feel its hot breath brushing against her face, could hear its guttural voice inside her mind. “Worship me, Margaret. Speak my name.”
And then she heard herself screaming as loud as she could, screaming until her voice was hoarse, until her vision was blurred by a veil of tears. "Trell! Trell! Trell! Trell!"
***
She wiped away her tears with a trembling hand and stared out into the darkness of night. It was hard to believe that the mere memory of a nightmare could dredge up so much terror.
It wasn’t a nightmare, she told herself. It really happened ... and you know it.
But she shook her head. Huh-uh. No way. It was a bad dream; no more, no less.
So how do you explain the mud? You tracked it all through the house. And what about the cuts on your legs? The scratches on your back?
I was sleepwalking.
Oh really? So why can’t you find your panties? Why are you so sore down there? Why can’t you even sit without wincing?
Shut up! Please, just shut up. I don’t know what happened, okay? People do crazy things when they’re sleepwalking. Maybe I caught my panties on a branch and it tore them off. Maybe I tripped and fell, and a rock hit me there.
A hand clamped down on her shoulder, and she nearly screamed. She whirled around to find her husband standing there, and not some terrible beast with lurid red eyes. “You scared me half to death, Nick.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes blinking behind his glasses.
Margaret smiled in spite of herself. The expression he wore made him look like a confused little boy—a far cry from the cool, collected attorney on the rise. But the smile didn’t last. Something was happening to her, something so terrible she refused to even think about it.
Nick slid his hands over her shoulders. “Margaret? Are you okay? You’ve seemed out of it the past couple days. You know, off in your own little world. What’s wrong?”
She drew a deep breath. How was she going to explain it to him? She stared down at her hands. “It’s the nightmares. They haven’t stopped.”
“The same one from the other night?”
“Not exactly. It changes all the time, but it’s always similar. It’s just that—” She shook her head. “It seems so real. Even hours after waking, it’s still with me. I can’t ever get it out of my mind. And the strange thing, the scary thing, is that sometimes it seems less like the memory of a nightmare and more like a plain old memory.”
“You haven’t been sleepwalking again, have you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” But in her mind’s eye she saw herself standing over the sink and rinsing blood from her hands. She couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. Partly because she didn’t want to upset him, and partly because she wasn’t sure she knew the difference between dreaming and waking anymore.
He stroked her hair and hugged her. “Maybe you should see a doctor. Or a psychiatrist. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, but I think it will help to put your mind at ease. And mine too.”
She wrapped her arms around the small of his back and was saddened to find that his embrace failed to evoke its usual sense of security. Why can’t I shake this feeling that something terrible is going to happen?
She squeezed him tight. “I love you, Nick.” But in the back of her mind she heard a deep, mocking laugh.
Oh God, what’s happening to me?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jay walked home in the failing light, his mind reeling at the revelation of Frank’s dark secrets. Samuel was right about the beast, about Trell. It wasn’t some mindless animal. It was cunning. It was evil. And it liked to play games.
Thank God he’d listened to his instincts and withheld Frank’s identity from the feds. They would have locked Frank away in an insane asylum, along with the truth about what was happening in this town.
Jay had a hard enough time believing it himself. If the back of his hand didn’t display a pattern of clover-shaped welts from Frank’s work boot, he probably would have dismissed what he’d just witnessed as a hallucination.
He hoped Frank wasn’t seriously hurt from the fall down the stairs. For the first half hour of being locked down there, Trell had shouted at him until Frank’s voice was hoarse. After that, nothing but silence. He wished he knew whether Frank had slipped into unconsciousness or whether Trell had simply grown tired of making threats.
When Jay got home he noticed that he had a missed call from Tim. After what he learned today he wasn’t sure he should get the kids involved any more than they already were. In fact, what he needed to do was get them uninvolved, find a way to get them out of town because, in the end, whoever stood in Trell’s way would likely die. And if anyone had to die, it might as well be Jay. No one would mourn his passing anyway.
As he walked through the living room, he took notice of his surroundings and stopped dead in his tracks. The place had been ransacked—drawers pulled open, books stripped off the shelves, papers strewn about … everything coated in a fine, white powder.
Come on, he thought, his arms flopping to his sides.
He’d told the feds that Frank had worn gloves … so what did they expect to find? But then he remembered the way agents Calhoun and Murdock had studied him during questioning and how Calhoun had accused him of knowing the man who did it.
Cleaning up was the last thing he felt like doing, but he set about the task anyway. When he finished, he called Crystal. Denise answered instead and cheerfully told him that Crystal didn’t want to speak with him. He was about to argue with her when he heard Crystal in the background saying she’d take the call.
“Fine. Here you go. Talk to the loser all you want.”
He heard a brief rustling as the phone changed hands. “What do you want, Jay?”
“Uh, hi Crystal. I just…it’s been a rough couple of days. I wanted to hear your voice. And Denise’s too. I think she misses me.”
The sound of Crystal’s laughter made him grin. “I knew I could surprise a giggle out of you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Denise just gave you the finger.”
“She can hear me?”
“Not anymore. You’re lucky she didn’t hang up on you.”
“I hope that means my luck is changing for the better because, frankly, I don’t see how it could get any worse.”
“I heard about what happened the other night. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. It’s actually you that I’m worried about.”
“Me? Why?”
“It’s a long story, but it has to do with what’s been happening in town. Twelve kids have been murdered. And I’m afraid it’s going to be more than that soon. Probably adults too.” He paused. “I think you should leave town. Take Denise and go on vacation for awhile. Please. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt.”
It was a long moment before Crystal answered. “You haven’t gotten yourself involved in anything dangerous, have you?”
Her tone said it all. “Don’t you mean am I the one killing those kids?”
“I didn’t say that. It just seems odd that you’d think they’re all dead. The cops haven’t found any bodies. Does this have anything to do with the boy you insisted was in that picture? Don’t tell me the boy is responsible for the missing kids.”
“Actually, it’s not a who that’s responsible. It’s more like a what.”
Judging from the awkward silence, he was pretty sure he’d crossed the line.
“I’ve got to go, Jay. I don’t have time for this.”
“Wait, Crystal. Please. Just hear me out. I’m not crazy. That man tried to kill me because I know too much. And now he’s threatened to go after you. Look, I know you probably don’t believe me, but please just humor me. Get out of town for a week or two. I’ll pay for it. Wherever you want to go.”
“Goodbye, Jay,” she said, and
hung up.
***
With a runner on first in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and six runs in the hole, the Red Sox didn’t stand a chance. The Yankees had attacked early with a five run lead and posted another eight by the seventh inning stretch.
The camera panned out on the stands and Tim saw that only a few die-hard fans remained in all of Red Sox Nation.
“Come on!” his dad shouted. “What’s that idiot swinging at?”
Tim sat on the sofa next to his mom, who was leafing through a Woman’s Day magazine and glancing up every so often to see if the game was over yet. Just as the umpire called the batter out on a cutter over the inside corner of the plate, the phone rang.
Tim leaped off the sofa. “I’ll get it!” He bounded up the stairs to his room and snatched the receiver from his bedside. His parents refused to provide him with even a basic cell phone, so he was forced to suffer the indignity of sharing a landline.
“Hello?” he said, making his voice an octave deeper than normal.
“Tim, it’s Jay.”
“Oh.” He was hoping for Maria. “I take it you got my message.”
“Yeah. What’s going on?”
Tim recounted his ordeal at the library, including how the man’s eyes had changed from brown to red and how he’d stalked Tim through the maze of stacks. When he finished, he said, “I heard that someone broke into your house. I thought it might’ve been the same guy.”
“It was.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. And believe me, I’ve spoken to both of them twice.”
“Both of who?”
“Frank Patterson, my mailman, and a thing that calls itself Trell.”
Tim pictured Jay spread-eagled on his couch, surrounded by a pile of crumpled beer cans. But the thing was, he didn’t sound drunk. Didn’t sound like he was joking, either. “Why do I get the feeling that your story will be a lot more interesting than mine?” He swung his legs over the side of his bed and leaned forward. “Go ahead, tell me what happened.”
When Jay finished speaking, Tim sat for a moment in stunned silence. “Where is Frank now?”
“Still in the cellar. I think I might have hurt him when I pushed him down the stairs.”
“You think he can tell us how to kill this thing?”
“Maybe. But I probably shouldn’t even be telling you this. You should get out of town before you get hurt. Sarah too.”
“How am I supposed to do that? I can’t leave without my parents.”
“Take them with you.”
“Yeah, right. And tell them what? ‘Guess what, Mom, there’s a monster in the woods, and apparently it LOVES the taste of children! So what do you say we get out of here before it feasts on our flesh?’ I’m sure she’ll march right into her bedroom to start packing our bags.”
“So make up some other excuse.”
“Like what? You don’t know my dad. He just started this job. He’s not going anywhere.”
Jay sighed. “All right, I guess that’s not going to work.”
“So what do we do now?” Like it or not, Tim would have to take an active role in stopping Trell. He couldn’t trust Jay to do it on his own. The guy had good intentions, but he was a drunk, and Tim refused to put his life in the hands of a guy who drank first and asked questions later.
“You’re sure you want to be a part of this?”
“Yes,” Tim said, and pictured Jay on his knees, hugging the toilet while Trell killed several children in the next room. “I’m positive.”
“All right,” Jay said. “Here’s what I need you to do.”
***
Jay stood in the kitchen with his arms folded across his chest. He’d earned a drink, and not even the holier-than-thou voice could argue with that. He grabbed the Jack Daniels off the counter and took a swig from the bottle.
Later, when the empty slipped from his hand and thumped onto the floor, he closed his eyes and let the alcohol work its magic. And as the moon rose above the trees outside, hoisting itself into a violet canopy of stars, he felt himself drifting away on a sea of alcohol.
Sometime later, the phone rang. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been ten hours. The sound was muted and low, miles distant. A part of him knew he should get it, knew it might be something important. But that part was no longer in control.
He closed his eyes and slipped into the welcoming arms of sleep.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Helen Winthrop stood at the intersection of Elm and Main streets and hummed softly to herself. A warm breeze fluttered her dress about her legs, the tickle of the silky fabric sending a pleasurable tingle coursing through her body. An image flashed through her mind—a deeply tanned man lifting her onto the bed and sliding off her panties. The man wasn’t Bill, her husband. In fact, she’d never even asked his name.
He had come to her house one day to repair her hot water heater, muscles flexing beneath his too-small brown uniform, and she had found herself instantly aroused. Bill was out of town as usual on business, probably boring the hell out of a room full of executives in an attempt to win a consulting bid. And six-year-old William Jr. was still at school where he would remain for another two hours.
The repairman went to work in the utility room, and she retreated into her bedroom to slip on a negligee. When she emerged from the bedroom, she walked slowly over to him, enjoying the way his eyes crawled all over her.
“Have you ever made love to a married woman?” she had asked, and pressed her body against his. What followed was the hottest, most satisfying hour of unbridled passion she had ever experienced. She was pregnant now, and poor, stupid Bill thought it was his. It served him right. He was such a bore and always unsatisfying as a lover. Not like her mystery man, who had made her feel so good she thought she might explode.
Trell grinned at Helen’s memory and watched the approaching school bus through her eyes. The doors folded open and the kids filed off the bus, backpacks and lunch boxes swaying among a sea of little bodies. Trell wondered if Billy knew his mother was a self-serving whore. Not that it cared, of course; human life was meaningless to it, but occasionally it found itself amused by their antics.
“Hey there, kiddo,” Trell said, using the pet name Helen reserved for Billy. “How was school today?”
Billy, who turned out to be a brown-haired boy with bright green eyes and a toothy smile, looked up at his mother and said, “It was great! Ms. Hurley let us make paper animals in art class.” He dropped his backpack at his feet and unzipped it. “Look!” He pulled out a neatly folded piece of Origami resembling a big dog. “I made a dinosaur! It’s a T-Rex!”
In Helen’s sultry voice, Trell said, “That’s wonderful! It looks just like a T-Rex.”
Billy smiled.
“Come on, big guy. I’ve got something I want to show you.”
“A surprise?”
“Why yes,” Trell said. “A surprise.”
Billy switched the T-Rex to his left hand and folded his right into his mother’s. Together, they walked along the sun-dappled sidewalk. Billy hummed a Disney song and swung his arm back and forth, the T-Rex chasing imaginary prey. A few minutes later, they arrived at a sprawling field spotted with giant elms. Wooden benches lined the side of a brick path, the only occupants a pair of elderly men hunched over a chessboard. Trell rifled quickly through Helen’s memory and learned that this was Elm Street Park.
Billy glanced around the near-empty park. “Where are we going?”
Trell drew the boy to a halt. “Can you keep a secret, kiddo?”
Billy nodded. “You bet!”
Trell grinned at the child’s stupidity. “I’m taking you to a cave. There’s something there I want to show you.”
“Is it the Bat Cave? Are we going to meet Batman?”
“Better than Batman. Come on. You’ll see.” It led the way through the woods, Billy’s tiny fingers curled around Helen’s.
Upon entering the cave, Billy’s ex
citement began to wane. “It’s really dark in here. Do you think it’s safe? What if there’s a bear in here?”
Billy tightened his grip, his fingers moist with sweat. “Not a bear, Billy. Better than a bear.” It was pitch black now, but Trell could see just fine. Its luminous red eyes swept back and forth across the snaking passageways.
Billy glanced up at his mother. “Where are we going? Why are we—” He stopped dead in his tracks. “What happened to your eyes? They’re ... glowing.”
Trell answered the boy in a guttural voice. “Your mother’s gone, Billy.”
The boy let out a whining gasp—the kind of sound Trell would have expected from a cornered fox. Trell squeezed until the boy’s fingers snapped, and then laughed over the boy’s wailing sobs as it dragged him through the tunnel.
“Mommy! Help!” His high-pitched shrieks echoed off the walls.
“Your mother is mine, Billy. She can’t help you now.” It stroked the boy’s cheek, caressing the baby soft skin with Helen’s manicured nails. “It’ll be over soon.”
Tears streaked down the boy’s face. “What are you gonna do to me?”
Fear rolled off the boy in waves, the scent strong and sweet. Trell could hear his heart pumping, could hear blood coursing through his veins. “You are going to yield your life to me, Billy. You are going to die so that I may grow stronger.”
It steered Billy to the pool and the surface came alive with movement. Phosphorescent light gleamed on the rippling water, rings of dazzling blue dancing among the shadows.
Billy struggled to break free. “Mommy!”
But his mother didn’t respond. Instead, she pushed him closer to the pool.
It was his mother now—Trell had withdrawn from her body—but she was still under its command.
Billy stared down at his feet and watched the roiling water. Helen gripped the boy’s shoulders and watched the Dark One reveal itself to her. She offered it the boy and admired its stark beauty, the fluid grace with which it lifted a clawed limb and slit the boy’s throat.
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