"Don't be dumb," he said to himself out loud.
Then he took off his clip-ons and pulled open the library door. Carpet silenced his footsteps as he walked toward the circulation desk, where a young woman was reading. She held a felt-tipped pen. She wore a white blouse with a frilly collar, and had golden hair like Karen. Benny saw nothing threatening about her. She looked up as he approached, and smiled. "Hello," she said.
"Hi," Benny whispered. "Is it all right if I look around for a while? I'm waiting for my cousin. She's in class."
"Certainly. No problem. If you want to look at some magazines, the periodical room's over behind those stacks." She pointed to the right.
"Thank you."
"Help yourself. If you have any questions, I'll be right here."
Benny thanked her again, and walked over to the card catalog. Nobody else was using it. Except for a few students seated nearby at long tables, reading or scribbling notes, the big room was deserted.
He studied the drawer labels. Finding one marked WIK-WIZ, he slid the drawer open. He flipped through the cards toward the back of it. Soon, he came to a card marked Witchcraft in Salem Village. Behind it was Witchcraft Through the Ages, then Witchery Ditchery Doc, a novel. No good to him. He flicked that card forward. Witches and Warlocks. That sounded useful. But the next card set his heart racing: Witch's Spells and Potions.
He looked at the call number, and frowned. Instead of Dewey decimal numbers, which he understood, there was a series of letters.
Well, the librarian had offered to help.
Taking the ballpoint from his shirt pocket, he started to write the letters on the heel of his hand. The pen skipped badly. Then he noticed a small tray of scrap paper on top of the catalog. He took down a piece, and wrote out the call letters, author, and title.
Then he returned to the circulation desk. The woman finished marking a passage with her yellow felt-tipped pen, and smiled up at him.
"I'm sorry to bother you again," Benny said, "but do you know where I can find this book?"
She glanced at the paper. "Oh, that'll be downstairs. Are you familiar with the Library of Congress system?"
"No, I — "
"Well, you just go alphabetically along the shelves. They're all labeled. Then, when the books are all lettered the same, you go by the numbers underneath. It's pretty simple, really."
"Fine. Thank you. Uh . . . it's downstairs?"
Nodding, she swiveled her chair around and pointed. "Right through those double doors."
"Thank you," he said again. Taking the scrap paper, he walked alongside the counter and pulled open one of the doors. It swung shut behind him. The landing was dimly lit. Benny looked up at the fixture, a globe with the debris of dead bugs showing through its frosted glass. Wrinkling his nose, he started down the stairs. They seemed to be concrete, but rang under his footsteps as if there was metal inside. The echo made him uneasy. He tried to descend more quietly. As he neared the next landing, he imagined taking off his shoes to muffle the noise. That would be dumb. And what if somebody saw him? "Hey, kid, put your shoes on. What're you trying to pull?" Besides, why should he worry about making a little noise?
When he reached the landing, he looked down the final (light of stairs and hesitated.
It was dark down there.
The globe overhead cast its light on the first few steps, laded, and left the lower ones in murky gloom. The fixture below was a dull, gray ball, its bulb either turned off or dead.
He'd seen a movie last summer, where a monster lurked under a staircase. He leaned over the railing and peered down. There did appear to be an open space beneath the stairs.
Don't be a jerk, he told himself. He took a deep breath and charged down into the darkness, more certain with each clamoring footfall that he was not alone in the stairwell. The bottom of the stairs took him by surprise, lie thought there was one more step, but there wasn't. His right foot pounded down hard on the floor, sending pain up his leg. He stumbled forward, his shoulder driving open the door, and fell sprawling as the door slammed the wall with a stunning crash.
He picked up his glasses and glanced at the lenses. They hadn't broken. He put them on, and slid the clip-ons back into his shirt pocket. Then he got to his feet. Rubbing his .ore knee, he looked down the long aisle ahead of him. He glanced to the sides, down narrow lanes between book-helves. He saw no one. More important, no one had seen him; he felt like a clumsy idiot.
Klutz.
It was like the night he'd tripped Heather.
Good thing Julie wasn't here to ride him about it.
On the other hand, he almost wished she was here, except for a buzzing sound from the fluorescent lights, the room was silent. It's supposed to be silent, he reminded himself. This is a library. But somehow it seemed too silent. He strongly suspected that nobody was down here but him.
With a glance at the lettering on the shelves to his left, he realized that the witchcraft book was probably somewhere down that aisle. He should find it, grab it, and hurry upstairs. But the thought of the stairwell sent a shudder through him.
Sooner or later, he would have to face it. Unless he waited down here long enough for Tanya to come. The librarian knew where he was. She'd tell Tanya, or maybe she'd come down herself in a while. Or some students might show up and . . . For all Benny knew, there might already be students down here, silently searching the shelves. If he found one, he could follow him out.
This is really dumb, he thought, as he started walking slowly up the center aisle. He glanced each way into the narrow spaces between the shelves.
There's nothing in the stairwell. I'm just yellow.
So I'm yellow. If there just happens to be someone else down here and I just happen to see him leaving, I'll just happen to follow along. No harm in that. Nobody has to know what I'm doing. Nobody will ever know, if I don't tell.
He was halfway to the end of the aisle without spotting anyone when he noticed a sound like someone panting. He froze. The sound seemed to come from his right, somewhere not far ahead. Between those shelves. If he took just one big step, he could probably see.
It was a quick, harsh gasping sound that someone might make after running hard. Then a moan that made his skin prickle.
He knew he should take that single step forward. Or better yet, stride boldly by and just happen to glance over as he passed. But he couldn't. Instead, he backed silently away.
After several paces, he ducked into the stacks to the left. Hidden by the ceiling-high shelves, he made his way quickly to the far wall. There, he turned left and rushed back the way he'd come. He passed between the final set of shelves. Crouching at the end, he peered down the center aisle. He saw no one. He glanced behind him at the door to the stairs, only a couple of yards away.
Maybe he should run for it. The stairwell frightened him, but now it seemed no worse than the room itself. He had to get out of here before . . . The book. He needed the book. If he left without it, all this would've been for nothing.
He eased backward. The scrap paper was a crumpled, sodden ball in his hand. He picked it open, spread it out, and compared the series of call letters to those on a book near his shoulder.
He must be close. Standing, he sidestepped away from the aisle and scanned the labeled spines. The search led him deeper into the stacks, farther and farther from the door. As his eyes moved over the books, he listened intently, ready to bolt. He heard nothing but the buzz of the fluorescent lights.
On tiptoes, head tilted far back, he squinted at the top row of books. He couldn't quite make out the lettering. It's probably up there, he thought. If it is, I'll have to climb for it. The shelves were metal, about four feet long, deep enough to hold books on both sides, secured at each corner to upright rods. They looked very sturdy. Benny grabbed a forward edge, and tugged it. There was no wobble at all. He wouldn't try climbing, though, until he was sure he had to.
He stepped to the left, dropped to his knees, and stared at the bottom row of bo
oks. The first line of letters was right, but the numbers below . . . Turning his head, he read the titles: Black Magic, A Practical Guide to Sorcery, Step into Darkness, Tarot Made Easy, Witches and Warlocks, Witch's Spells and Potions.
Great!
He didn't see much use for the tarot book, and he had no idea what Step into Darkness might be about. A glance at the table of contents . . . No, he could do that once he was safe upstairs. He'd take it, and the other four.
As he reached for them, the books shot forward, knocking into his hands and tumbling against his knees. A bony, blue-veined hand snatched him by the wrist.
The lights went out.
Shrieking, he thrust his other hand forward, ramming books from the higher shelf into the darkness, hearing volumes fall on the other side. He tried again, this time finding the shelf's edge, shoving at it, trying to brace himself as the fierce grip drew his lower hand forward.
She wants to drag me through!
With all the strength in his left arm, he tried to hold himself back. "Let go!" he yelled. "Help!" The tugging grew more powerful until he felt as if it might rip his arm from the socket. His other arm gave out. He flew forward, head bashing the edge of the upper shelf, then fell onto his back.
"No!" he cried as he was dragged between the shelves.
In a frenzy of panic, he reached out with his left hand, felt the dry stiff fingers clutching his other wrist, pried one away. There was no yell of pain. Just the sharp brittle pop, like the snap of a twig, as the finger broke off. The grip loosened. He jerked his wrist free, whipped his arms down, and grabbed the bookshelf edge above his chest. With a quick yank, he thrust himself out. The metal edge scraped the top of his head as he sat up.
He lunged to his feet, turning in the direction of the door — he hoped. To the left? Yes! It had to be! He reached through the darkness, slapping at the books to keep his bearings. Then the books stopped. He threw himself against the wall, felt along it, found the door. He flung it open and plunged into the stairwell.
Clawing blindly, he smashed his forearm on the banister. He grabbed the railing. Hand over hand, he followed it upward. The entire stairwell was dark. At the first landing, he dared to glance back. Only blackness. He blinked to be sure his eyes were open. He heard nothing but his own rasping breath and thudding heart, but a chill spread over his skin like a spray of ice water. She's there, she's coming!
He charged up the next flight of stairs, trying not to scream, and saw a thin strip of light from under the door. He shouldered the door open.
The librarian flinched, swiveled in her chair, and opened her mouth. She said nothing, though, as Benny sprinted past the desk in his mad race for the exit.
He shoved open the glass door. He ran down the steps to the walkway, and he didn't stop running until he reached the car.
Chapter Thirty__________
Benny was lying across the backseat, sweltering in the locked car, when Tanya finally arrived. She opened the driver's door, and looked down at him. "Are you all right?" she asked.
Nodding, he sat up.
"I got worried when I didn't see you in here. Thought I'd lost you."
"Sorry," he muttered. He climbed out. After the oven of the car, the air outside felt fresh and cool. He mopped the sweat off his face, and put on his shirt. Tanya, leaning across the front seat, unlocked the passenger door for him. He opened it, and rolled down the window before getting in.
She handed him a small, black book. Benny stared at the cover. Witch's Spells and Potions. "You got it?" he asked, amazed.
"Kristi did. What went on anyway?"
"Huh?"
"At the library."
"I had some trouble," he muttered.
"So I heard. When I showed up, Kristi said you'd run off like a bat out of hell. What were you doing down there? She said the lights were off, and you'd thrown books all over the floor. She was a little ticked."
"I didn't do it."
Tanya glanced at him with disappointment, reached forward, and started the car. "Nobody else was down there, according to Kristi."
"Somebody was," he said, trembling now with the memory of it. He held his right hand toward Tanya. His wrist was ringed with faint bruises, raw furrows where fingernails had raked his skin.
Tanya stared at the injuries. "Who did that to you?"
He shrugged.
"My God, Benny! You should've told someone. Who did it? Did he try to — "
"She."
"We'd better tell campus security."
"They won't find her. She's a witch."
"That's crazy, Benny, and you know it."
"Yeah," he muttered. "I figured you'd say that."
"We can't tell security that a witch — "
"I'm not gonna tell 'em anything. They'll just say I'm crazy, too."
With a sigh, Tanya shifted to reverse and backed out the car. She started driving toward the parking lot exit. The air coming through the open windows felt good to Benny. "I know you're not crazy," Tanya told him. "But you've got witches on the brain, and a very active imagination."
"Did I imagine this?" he asked, holding up his hand.
"Of course not."
"You think I did it to myself?"
"Did you?"
"No."
"Okay, I believe you. Now why don't you tell me what happened down there?"
"All right."
"And then her finger broke off," Benny said. "Right in my hand."
"Broke off?" Scott asked. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"Bullshit," Julie muttered.
Scott frowned at her, and glanced at Karen. She was staring into her Bloody Mary, a look of disgust on her bruised face. "Okay," Scott said. "Then what happened?"
"Well, she let go and I got away."
"You never saw her at all?"
"It was pitch black."
Scott leaned back in his lounge chair. He wiped the wet bottom of his cocktail glass on his trunks, but it dripped anyway as he took a sip. On the sun-heated skin of his chest, the splash of icy water felt like a knife prick. He rubbed it with his fingertips. "Sounds like you had a rough time of it, pal."
The words of sympathy seemed to hit Benny hard. His chin started to shake. He pressed his lips into a tight line.
"You sure all this really happened?" Julie asked. "You weren't just dreaming or something?"
"It wasn't a dream," he mumbled.
Tanya, sitting cross-legged with her back to the pool, said, "The library worker went down to look around after Benny took off. She told me the lights were off and there were books on the floor. She thought Benny did it. According to her, nobody else was down there."
"I wonder how well she looked," Karen said.
"Did she happen to find a finger?" Julie asked.
"A finger doesn't normally just break off," Scott said. "Even if the bone . . . there are muscles, tendons, flesh."
"And blood," Julie added. "There'd be blood all over the place."
Shaking his head, Benny turned his hands over as if looking for stains. He said nothing.
Scott sipped his Bloody Mary. "Well," he said, "whatever happened, it was pretty bizarre. I don't know what to think. But at least you're okay, Benny. That's what really counts."
"What if it happens again?" he asked in a hushed voice.
"I don't imagine . . . well ..."
"You should be all right," Karen said, "as long as you're with someone. Just don't go anywhere alone for a while, if you can help it. That way, if something funny happens again, you won't have to face it by yourself."
"Maybe he needs a bodyguard," Julie suggested.
Benny stared at her, blinking rapidly. "You won't think it's so funny when it happens to you."
"Spare me."
"It was the curse," he blurted, "and you're part of the curse, too. All of us are, except Tanya. She's gonna try to get us all."
"Who, Tanya?" Julie asked, smirking.
"The witch! She's got our stuff and I said we'v
e gotta get it back and nobody listened. I'm just a crazy little kid and there's no such thing as witches and curses. Only there is, and she put a curse on us and it's gonna get us all if we don't do something!" He shoved himself off the chair and raced into the house.
Julie blew softly through her pursed lips. "He oughta see a shrink."
"That'll be enough out of you," Scott snapped. "The kid's been through God-knows-what and what he doesn't need is lip from you."
Julie flinched, her smirk falling away. "Excuse me," she muttered, and walked toward the house.
Tanya, looking embarrassed, stood up and brushed off the seat of her shorts. "I'll see how Benny's doing."
"Thanks." When she was gone, Scott turned to Karen. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."
"Happens to the best of us. God knows, it was mild compared to some of my tirades at school. I've been known to go totally berserk."
Feeling better, Scott turned his chair to face her. She was leaning back, bare legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, one hand curled around the glass resting on her belly. The front of the oversized, faded blue shirt she wore over her swimsuit had a patch of darkness from the glass's moisture.
"You deal with teenaged kids all the time," he said. "What do you make of my two?"
"I'd say, for starters, that Julie's scared, probably very upset about what happened to Benny."
"Has a funny way of showing it."
"The sarcasm's just a defense mechanism. She seems to use it all the time when she has trouble facing things. I don't think she's callous or insensitive. If anything, maybe she cares too much. The sarcasm's like a safety valve for her."
"All right. I'll give you an A for that one. She's always been that way, hiding behind it. Just gets hard to take sometimes."
"Look on the bright side — at least she doesn't go hysterical."
"I guess that's a blessing, of sorts. Okay. What about Benny?"
"I'd say he's extremely imaginative and sensitive, and handling the situation remarkably well. I'd be a total basket case if I'd gone through what he did. So would most people. They'd freak out totally."
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