* * *
It took well over an hour for them to make it to Pitch Place, another ten minutes to get up the access road to the long driveway, where an approaching car sent them scrambling into the woods. A few minutes later, another car came along, then another, forcing them to stay in the woods until they were close enough to see the front of the mansion.
“Man, look at all those cars,” E.L. whispered.
“Damn, there’s the mayor’s Caddy, and Clyde Barlow’s pickup,” Junior said, pointing at the brand new Chevy truck with the Barlow Motors decal on its side.
“What’re we gonna do?” Billy said. “Go up to the door?”
“Yeah, Igmo, we’re gonna go up to the door and say trigger treat, where y’all hidin’ them kids at?” Jackie said, causing the other two boys to snicker.
“Shhhh, y’all,” Billy said, but then he started laughing, too.
A moment later, Junior said, “What are we gonna do?”
Jackie said, “We’re gonna wait ‘til they’re all inside, and it’s good and quiet. Then we’re gonna sneak up to the house and slip in through the garage, or a window, or the back door.”
“Think we can sneak in there?” Junior whispered. “Without getting caught, I mean.”
“I ain’t worried about getting in,” E.L. said. “Know what I mean, jelly bean?”
“Why don’t we just go on down there and tell the mayor what happened?”
“Tell him what, Belcher?”
“You know. About that old man dressed up like some kind of farmer, or a coal miner. How he hit Jimmy and tried to put him in his truck and drive off with him. And now he’s tooling around in a brand new Cadillac dressed like the president of a bank or something.”
“Jesus,” Jackie said, shaking his head.
“What? I mean, if they knew that, they probably wouldn’t even be here.”
“Let’s see, they’re all going up to his door, laughing and joking around like it’s some kind of party.” Jackie snorted out a breath. “I tell you what. Why don’t you go on down there and tell them, then come back and tell us what they said.” And in a deadly serious tone of voice, “What if they do know what’s going on, Billy?”
“C’mon, Jackie, that’s crazy. We know all them people. Doc Fletcher wouldn’t have anything to do with something like that.”
“Maybe that’s why nobody’s ever got caught. Because all them pricks are covering up for the son of a bitch. But hey,” Jackie said, raising a hand in the air. “You go on down there and tell them if you want to.”
“Just don’t tell them we’re up here,” Junior said.
“Screw you, Junior,” Billy whispered, and after a short pause, “You really think they know?”
Jackie shrugged his shoulders. “Beats the hell outa me. But I know I ain’t gonna ask ‘em.”
* * *
The night air was cold on his arms, but Pitch hardly noticed. The sky was clear, and a million stars looked down upon him. Pitch took a long swig from a bottle of tequila, bit into a peeled lime, and looked up at Ward Rock. In his mind’s eye, he could see the old shack where the smell of fried chicken had almost driven him mad, the trail a hate-filled Aincil Martin and his posse had followed, the overgrown path winding its way up the mountainside. And there it was, the clearing off to the left, and that solid stone wall. He could almost see the wall open, and that barefoot son of a bitch beckon him forward.
One last time.
The thought sounded, and then echoed through his head, over and over. He remembered that shoeless bastard’s laugh as he followed him into the cave. Would Johnny Smith still be cowering in that corner? Somehow Pitch knew that he would be.
One last time.
Pitch heard laughter, the nervous chatter amongst his group as they milled about his front porch. He turned to face his bedroom, looked at the old grandfather clock, and noted the time: twenty-five minutes to ten.
Most of them were here. Some had come early and left, and then returned. Soon they would all be here. He wondered if they were as nervous as he seemed to be. Did they sense, as he did, that this would be their last night together, that something monumental was going to happen tonight?
The end… finality… One last time….
Pitch walked to edge of his balcony, leaned over the railing and looked down at Charles Hadley, who, drink in hand, put an arm around Clyde Barlow’s shoulders and whispered in his ear. Pitch smiled as the dimwitted car dealer looked around, and hesitantly began to laugh.
He could feel it: the dread, the nervous laughter and uneasy conversations.
It excited him.
He walked back to his old rocking chair, grabbed the tequila and the half eaten lime, and restlessly paced back and forth. Deep within him, something stirred. He felt it, pushing him, urging him, driving him forward. He felt it, and a moment later, something, some thing, seemed to grab him and spin him around, and leave him staring up at the place that had been waiting patiently for thirteen years, for all eternity, for him… for tonight.
Out of nowhere, a lightning bolt flashed across the dark sky, striking Ward Rock dead center, and then another, and another, each one brighter than the one before, hot, white branches flaming down into the mountain, followed by a clap of thunder, loud, then louder, and then a deafening roar as the house seemed to shake, and he knew that it did shake.
Hadley and the others scampered into the house.
And Pitch felt it, with every thunderous boom: Power.
Every bolt of lightning seemed to strike down on him, feeding him… energizing him. The thunder called his name, commanded him. He looked down, surprised to see the muscles in his arms bulging, his chest swelling like one of the body builders he’d seen back at Venice Beach. Pitch darted across the balcony and leapt upon the railing, howling and raising his arms to the starry night.
Tonight’s the night!
He put the bottle to his lips and tilted it back.
Tonight, I become a god!
Bit into the lime.
Tonight I am God
* * *
A distant rumble made Maudie wonder if it might rain. She hoped all the trick or treaters would be safely home if it did. But it shouldn’t rain. After all, the night had been crystal clear. There had been no signs of bad weather, and she didn’t see why there should be thunder now. She walked to the front door and stepped onto the porch. It was still as clear as could be. The sky, with its vast array of shimmering stars, was as beautiful as any picture she had ever seen.
A brilliant flash of light sent her reeling, and Maudie thought she had gone blind. She opened her eyes and saw nothing but white, as if she had looked directly into the sun. Lightning flashed again—this time she felt it more than saw it.
And a thunderous boom that wasn’t thunder, and wasn’t distant, either.
White dots danced across her field of vision as she stumbled to the door.
A deafening roar shook the old porch, and she fell to her knees. She looked up at the rocking chair in her living room, at the old shotgun rattling in its place above the mantle. At the edge of her vision, another flash of lightning sent Maudie crawling toward the rocker, thankful not to have looked directly into the flash.
Thunder roared across the valley.
And she heard it, a low murmuring sound that turned into a deep-throated moan, and then burst across the night as the thunder had, unbearably loud… thunderous.
Another blast of lightning sent electric tentacles burrowing deep into the mountainside, as Maudie reached her hand up to the table and pulled the family bible to the floor. She opened the bible, and heard it again: a deep-throated moan as loud as the booming thunder: “Tonight’s the night!”
“What in the world?”
Again: “Tonight’s the night!”
Thunder boomed, and Maudie leaned against the wall and clutched the bible to her chest.
“God help us,” she said, and wondered if he would.
* * *
Though
their situation was tense, it didn’t stop them from ragging one another. Or maybe the constant chatter was ammunition against what might be waiting inside Pitch Place. Something was going on in there, and even though none of them would admit it, they each knew something was going to happen when they made their move on the house.
When the lightning flashed, Billy jumped up and fell backwards into the bushes.
Then the thunder boomed.
“Y’all see that shit?” Jackie shouted.
“Shhhh, not so loud,” Junior said. Then, pointing at Billy, he clutched his belly and laughed.
“C’mon, Junior,” Billy whined. “You’re gonna get us caught.”
“I can’t help it,” he said. “You should’ve seen yourself.”
E.L. pointed at the front door. “Hey, y’all,” he said. “Look!”
Jackie leaned forward on his knees as Hadley and the others scurried for shelter.
“Goddamn!” Jackie yelled when lightning raced across the sky.
“Look, y’all,” Billy said. “It’s hittin’ right on Ward Rock.”
Once again, lightning raced across the sky, stabbing jagged white tentacles into the mountainside.
“Shit-fire, look at the sparks!” Junior said. He put his hands over his ears and lightning flashed again. “Son of a bitch! Y’all see that?”
“Hell yeah,” Jackie said. “What do you think, we’re blind?”
“No, man, that!” Junior shouted into the thunder, as he pointed up at Pitch Place.
“Damn,” E.L. said, when he saw Pitch standing on the porch railing.
With nothing but air between him and the ground two stories below, Pitch moved around the railing as if he were in the middle of a dance floor. Mesmerized, they couldn’t take their eyes off him.
Lightning crashed down on Ward Rock, and a shower of sparks lit up the night.
Thunder roared across the valley, and Junior said, “Look at that guy. How’s he keep from fallin’ off?”
Another crack of lightning, and Billy cried out, “Look, y’all, up there!”
They couldn’t believe it.
Illuminated in a third story window was a small child, a boy.
They stared up at Pitch Place in awe, lightning filling the sky as a single name echoed through their minds: Jimmy!
* * *
Jimmy found his way to the third floor, to an old, musty-smelling room. He figured nobody used it, and it would be a good place to hold up for a while. He walked over to the window and saw headlights coming up the driveway.
The sky lit up, and for an instant, night became day, as Jimmy ran to the window. Three stories down, Mayor Hadley and Clyde Barlow dashed onto the porch. Thunder boomed louder than he’d ever heard it before, and lightning flashed across the sky. Jimmy looked down to see that wild-eyed devil standing on the veranda; moments later, he jumped onto the inch-wide railing, put the bottle to his lips and turned it up.
When Pitch started howling, Jimmy backed away from the window.
He didn’t want any part of that.
* * *
Pitch was eager to get on with the business at hand. Earlier, he had presented each of his group with a gift. Some were given money, others, title to some of his prime real estate holdings. Frannie Mitchell, the eighty-seven year old owner of The Dime Store, was pulled aside and promised twenty more years of health and happiness, as was Doc Fletcher.
Pitch, feigning a modest smile when Damon Henry offered a toast, stood up and raised his glass high. “And here’s to another thirteen years of unlimited health, happiness, and prosperity for my wonderful children!” he said.
He downed his tequila and set the empty glass on the table, nodded to James Hastie, and then cheerfully announced, “Well, now that we’re through with our pleasure, what say we go downstairs and take care of a little business.”
Pitch shook hands with, and gave a reassuring pat on the back to every man, and took each woman into his arms. Like a father sending his daughter off to the Prom, he gently kissed them on the cheek, and hugged them affectionately. With each slap on the back, and every kiss on the cheek, he held them in place and gazed into their eyes. It could have been a minute; it could have been an hour or a day.
They, of course, would have had no idea how much time had passed.
* * *
The deed to Vonda Peters’ house and property, and her signed will leaving everything to her good friend Charles Hadley, had put the mayor in a much better mood. The apprehension he’d been feeling all day took a step back. After all, why would he be given such a gift if he weren’t going to be around to enjoy it? But when they sat down to eat, it all came rushing back. He’d been drinking whiskey all afternoon, and had downed several glasses with his meal. But nothing could slow the angst and anxiety that had been building since that creature had torn Gary Harbus to shreds. The hair on the back of his neck tingled when Pitch stood up to give his toast, and when Hastie opened the door, he felt the life draining from his body. Hadley stood up on unsteady legs to follow the rest of the group out of the room. He didn’t want to go into the basement. He didn’t think he would ever come back out. But he had to follow, so he pushed himself forward until his arm was suddenly grabbed, and he turned to see Pitch standing in front of him, a benevolent smile spread across his face.
“My favorite son,” Pitch whispered, and gave him a fatherly pat on the back, his dark blue eyes boring into Hadley, who found himself gazing into a deep, dark void, while a shimmering, golden light shone down upon him. Walls shifted, and words floated through the air. The ceiling tilted, sloping downward as the walls seemed to melt like sheets of candle wax, until the ceiling touched the floor, and Hadley felt the floor slip out from under his feet, leaving him standing on nothing but thin air. He blinked, and then looked at Doc Fletcher, who stood by the table, smiling.
Now he couldn’t wait to get down to the basement.
Hadley felt it.
Something was happening tonight, something big.
And the only thought in his head was, Tonight’s the night.
Trigger Treat!
“Y’all ready?” Jackie said.
He wasn’t surprised by their silence. He knew his friends weren’t ready, and never would be. Neither was he. “Put your masks on and follow me. We’re just gonna walk up there like a bunch of trigger treaters, sneak in and find my brother.”
Even as he said it he knew he didn’t believe it. There was more than a good chance that Jimmy was already dead, that maybe it wasn’t Jimmy but some other missing child in the window.
“What if somebody opens the door and grabs us or something?” Junior said.
“Look, if somebody tries to get us, we’ll run like hell all the way back to town and get the sheriff.”
“What if we still can’t find the sheriff?” Billy said.
“We ain’t got to get the sheriff,” Junior told him. “We’ll get my dad and a bunch of other men.”
“Maybe we should just go ahead and get them now,” Billy said, picturing the four of them chained up in a cold, dark room.
“We ain’t got time for that,” Jackie said.
“What do you mean, we ain’t got time?” Billy said.
“We gotta go now, or whoever’s up there’s gonna be dead.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t know. I just do.”
“Oh, come on,” Billy said. “What do you think we can do to a house full of grownups? This ain’t the movies, you know. We’ll end up getting ourselves killed.”
“Look, that was my brother, and I’m gonna get his ass out of there. If you don’t want to help me, then get the fuck outa here,” Jackie looked at Billy like he was a pile of just stepped in dog shit, and then spit out his name, “Belcher.”
“Screw you, Pritchard.” Billy put his mask on and started across the yard. “C’mon, y’all,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Somebody stepped out of the bushes. A moment later, three more followed, all fo
ur of them wearing Halloween masks. One was his brother, Jimmy knew it. He knew that walk. And if that was his brother, he knew who the others were.
* * *
Outside Mickey’s Playhouse, Pitch’s group had reached the basement. Frannie Mitchell, who had squealed at the sight of Vonda Peters’ dead body, laughed at herself for being scared; Charles Hadley and the rest of the group laughing right along with her as they stepped past the dead teacher and started for the robes.
* * *
Nathan raised his hand. “Listen. Y’all hear that?”
“Sounds like they’re havin’ another party,” Walt said.
Screams echoed across the basement as somebody shouted a fire and brimstone sermon. A wailing crowd answered the lamentations, and Nathan and his deputies did the only thing they could do: sit hopelessly by, waiting for a miracle to materialize out of nowhere.
* * *
Jimmy hesitated at the top of the stairs. He knew they had gone to the basement to kill little Johnny, but how many were still roaming the halls? Was Newton Hayes sitting in the kitchen like he was that first night, walking back and forth, patrolling the first floor? Maybe he was outside and had already seen his brother and his friends. Maybe he was waiting for them to get close enough to grab them.
Jimmy wanted to race into the basement and stop Pitch and his followers, save little Johnny and free the sheriff, like a hero out of the movies. But he wasn’t a hero, and this wasn’t a movie. He eased a foot onto the first step, gently, to see if it might creak, put some weight on it and started the process over again.
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