by Rick Hautala
Whatever the answer, all Brian knew was that the old house scared the bejesus out of him, plain and simple. There was no way he was going back in there!
He hung around at the car for a while, looking for something to do but couldn’t think of anything. He was irritated that he had left his Walkman and tapes back at his father’s house; and he knew from the boring though blessedly short drive over here that there was nothing interesting to do in the car.
Maybe I can just sit here in the car and play “Cujo,” he thought, laughing morosely.
Shadowed by tall maple trees, the old garage and adjoining tool shed with its door partway open looked like they might be at least moderately interesting to explore. Brian started across the driveway toward them, but when he was halfway there, the sight of the dense shadows inside the shed made him suddenly draw up short. A bar of lemon sunlight angled across the front of the building, making the interior look all the darker. It didn’t take much for Brian to imagine all sorts of creepy, terrible things lurking there in the dusty, cobwebbed shadows. A shiver ran up his back like teasing fingertips. As he stared at the open doorway, his breath caught in his chest when he saw something shift inside the shed—a dark blur moved against the shadowy interior. It might have been simply a trick of his eyes, but Brian couldn’t stop wondering if it could be a ghost—the ghost of his dead grandmother, the Old Witch Lady!
Turning quickly on his heel, he walked back to the car, where he shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets, leaned back against the hot side of the car, and—keeping a wary eye on the shed—tried to convince himself that he hadn’t seen anything inside the darkened doorway … certainly nothing that had looked like it might be a person’s shadow!
Before long, though, he was feeling bored again and more than a little bit irritated, so after casting a wary glance over his shoulder, he walked out into the back yard. Once upon a time, the large expanse of lawn might have been beautiful, but it obviously hadn’t been cared for since last summer. It was tangle of tall grass and weeds—daisies, pale blue flowering chicory, and white puffs of dandelion gone to seed. In the far corner of the yard, a rusted swing set, the swing and chain long gone, caught Brian’s attention. Whistling softly to himself, he made his way over to it, wading through the thigh-high grass like a swimmer churning through heavy surf.
Could this really have been my dad’s swing set, back when he was a kid?
Brian gripped one of the metal support legs and ran his hand over the gritty surface, watching the rust crumble and fall to the ground. Looking back at the old house, he tried to imagine what it must have been like back when his father was a kid. The house might have been in good repair then, the lawn freshly cut, and his father and younger brother would have been out here, playing on their brand-new swing set. He squinted for a moment and could almost hear the squeak-squeak of the shiny, new swing chain, a chorus of laughing voices, the heavy chirring of grasshoppers and crickets. A moist breeze carried to him the rich, pleasant smells of green growing things in the forest. It made him feel almost dizzy with pleasure.
With a sudden start, Brian opened his eyes. Dropping into a protective crouch, he spun around and stared at the thick woods that bordered the yard. He didn’t know why he had reacted like this, but something—some primitive warning bell had sounded in his brain.
I’m being watched!
A ripple of goose bumps broke out on his arms. He looked up at the house, expecting to see his father and Dianne out on the back porch, watching him, but the porch was empty, and as far as he could tell, no one was watching him from any of the windows.
Still shivering, his gaze swung back over the surrounding forest. He tried to pierce the tangled green darkness, but the wall of foliage blocked his view; he couldn’t see more than ten or twenty feet into the woods. Deep blue shadows shifted back and forth as heavy branches waved in the warm wind.
The woods were quiet—seemingly too quiet, Brian thought. Every bush, every spray of pine needles seemed to be alive with obscure shapes and unblinking eyes that glared right back at him, confident in the protection the woods afforded them. The heavy scent of pine filled Brian’s nostrils, but beneath that, he thought he detected something else—the raw, nauseating stench of decay and death.
It’s all in my imagination. I’m still all worked up thinking about that branch that was tapping against the window … and what happened after that.
His fists clenched at his sides as he scanned the woods, trying to see if any of the shifting shadows resembled a human shape—or something worse! Off to his left he saw a narrow path that disappeared behind the trees. The hard-packed brown earth danced with shimmering sunlight and shadow that dazzled Brian’s eyes. As he was gazing up the path, wondering where it might lead, he saw from the corner of his eye something move from one tree to another. It wasn’t much—just a shifting darkness, but he knew it wasn’t just a shadow; it had looked like someone who was stooped over as he ran deeper into the woods, trying to stay out of sight behind the trees.
Brian opened his mouth, about to yell something, but then fell silent. He realized he had been holding his breath and let it out in along, loud whoosh. A sharp pain jabbed up under his ribcage, feeling as if he had run a mile right after drinking a gallon of water. He stared so long and hard at the place where the shadow had disappeared that his vision began to blur.
“It wasn’t anyone,” he whispered to himself, although he sensed that he was trying to convince himself. “It couldn’t have been anyone!”
But the feeling of being watched hadn’t gone away.
Eyes!
From somewhere nearby, eyes were riveted onto him, drilling into him like invisible laser beams. He could feel it! He turned again and looked up at the house, positive that his father and stepmother were watching him. He flushed with embarrassment that they might have seen him out here, acting like a fool as he stared off into the woods.
But no—the porch and back yard were still deserted. Only the faint hiss of the wind through the trees and the steady sound of insect song broke the quiet calm of the day. But the peacefulness did nothing to quell the winding tension inside him.
He knew someone had been out here—somewhere—hiding and watching him.
And maybe there really was someone outside the bedroom window that night, he thought as another wave of chills rippled through him. Slowly, feeling his way with his feet, he started backing away from the swing set toward the house. Tangles of weeds and grass swished at his legs, tugging at his feet and almost pulling him off balance. He wanted more than anything just to turn around and start running, but he was suddenly terrified that something—whoever was out there, hiding in the fringe of the woods—would give chase, catch up with him, and drag him down before he could reach the house or even scream.
Should I yell? Would my father even hear me? And even if he did, would he know I was really in danger? Could he get to me in time, before I was caught and killed?
“But there’s nobody there,” Brian said aloud, hoping the sound of his own voice would give him courage.
He kept backstepping, moving faster and faster away from the swing set, but then his foot caught on a divot or something, and he fell backward. He hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but that pain was nothing compared to the sudden jolt of terror he felt when he caught s glimpse of something moving in the shadows. It was right near the tree where he had last seen that dark blur of motion.
Uttering a low, moaning cry, Brian scrambled to his feet, spun around, and raced for all he was worth toward the house. Saw-toothed blades of grass slashed at his legs and arms, but he didn’t feel anything except the rushing wind in his face and the cold, gripping fear that had taken hold of his stomach.
“Dad!” he shouted.
His cry seemed no louder than a whisper above the roar of the wind in his ears. His clenched fists chugged like throbbing pistons, and his sneakers pounded the ground hard, but he seemed to be getting no closer to the
house. All he could think was—How close behind me is he? Will I make it?
Several times he chanced a quick glance over his shoulder but didn’t see anyone. Still, he was convinced that he was being chased and that his pursuer was racing toward him, running with his head bent down low to keep below the level of the tall grass. He tripped and almost fell every time he looked behind to see who was chasing him, but he wheeled his arms wildly and maintained his balance, knowing that another fall could spell the difference between making it to safety and not.
“Hey, Dad!” he shouted as he neared the relative safety of the back porch. He strained to hear the sound of his pursuer’s footsteps closing the distance between them. He tripped and went sprawling onto the porch floor when he tried to leap all of the steps at once. A sharp pain lanced the palm of his left hand, but he paid no attention to it as he got up and shot forward, slamming into the closed door. His heart was pounding heavily in his throat as he grabbed the doorknob and jiggled it.
“Shit!” he shouted, realizing the door was locked. He started hammering on the door with both fists. The drumming impact rattled the glass, threatening to break it. Before he could turn to see if he was still being chased, he saw a shadowy motion in the hallway through the dirty door window. For a heart-clutching instant, he wondered who—or what—this was; then the figure moved closer, and Dianne’s bandaged face resolved in front of him like a leering apparition from an old horror movie. Through his raging panic, he couldn’t tell what—if anything—she said as she smiled at him while working to turn the rusty door lock.
After agonizing seconds, the lock clicked and the door swung open. Dianne stepped aside as Brian burst into the hallway, took one deep, gasping breath, and then spun around and slammed the door shut.
“Hey, Brian—is everything okay?” Dianne asked.
The wires holding her jaw in place restricted the movement of her jaw, so her words came out muffled and garbled. Through Brian’s white blaze of panic, what she said barely made any sense at all. He was trembling all over and sweating profusely as he looked back and forth between her and the square of sunlit back yard he could see through the window. The long stretch of uncut lawn was deserted and undisturbed except where it was trampled down where he had been. At the border of the woods, the rusted swing set stood motionless, like a lonely sentinel. Brian made a faint whimpering sound in the back of his throat as he grabbed the lock and snapped it shut.
“I saw—there was a—I think I—”
“Hey, take it easy, will you? You’re hyperventilating,” Dianne said. “Calm down and tell me what’s got you so worked up.”
She reached out in an attempt to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but Brian dodged away from her as if her touch was more dangerous than whatever he had imagined was skulking around out there in the forest. He wiped the slick of sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm and swallowed noisily before trying to speak. He wanted to say that he was all right, but he still couldn’t catch his breath. He just shook his head and looked down at the floor, feeling like a complete idiot.
“Well, your father’s just about done upstairs,” Dianne said, obviously not wanting to force him to talk about anything he didn’t want to talk about. “We should be heading home soon.”
“Good,” Brian said. His voice croaked, sounding like someone had stepped on a frog.
“Your father has to work this afternoon, but maybe after lunch you and I should head out to the beach,” Dianne said. “Lord knows, it’s hot enough.”
“Umm—”Brian said, nodding his head stupidly. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Did … uh, did something happen out there?” Dianne asked, eying him suspiciously as she nodded at the locked door.
Brian feverishly licked his lips and backed away from her, wanting to get as much distance as possible between them. “I, uhh—no, no … nothing happened at all.”
Dianne regarded him for a moment, then shrugged and said, “Well, why don’t you wait down here. I’ll go see what your father’s up to.”
Brian considered for a second, then in a high-pitched voice said, “No, I’ll go get him.”
Before Dianne could respond, he ran down the hallway toward the staircase, thankful that whatever might have been outside—at least, for now—was still outside!
Chapter Seven
The Witch Is Back
“So what are your plans for today?” Dianne asked. She was using a plastic straw to sip at the cup of coffee she’d just poured, but it was still too hot to drink.
Brian glanced up from his cereal bowl and looked fleetingly over at his stepmother. The sight of her bandaged face made his stomach do a quick flip, and all of a sudden he didn’t feel all that hungry anymore. Even after more than a month of seeing her face wrapped up like this, he wasn’t used to her. He pushed the bowl of Cracklin’ Oat Bran aside and shook his head, wishing he had slept in a bit longer this morning … at least until she went off and did some shopping or something.
“I dunno,” he said softly. “No plans, really.”
Just like every other damned day so far this summer, he thought bitterly.
“Well, your father is working with Fred Pierce this morning to go over their plans for the subdivision—again!—before the planning board meets tomorrow night. He’ll probably be tied up all day. I was thinking of heading into town to do a bit of grocery shopping. I have to pick up … something at the pharmacy, too. Want to come along?”
Brian ran his lower lip under his teeth and considered for a moment. In fact, he’d been thinking about riding his bike downtown to see if he could find any kids his own age. So far, it had been a long, lonely summer, living here with his father and Dianne. Tense, too, what with Dianne’s accident and his grandmother dying and all. For the hundredth time already this week, he wished he’d never agreed to spend the entire summer in Maine. Sure it was nice spending time with his father, but his dad had recently quit his carpentry job and was subdividing the family property to make some money. He was so involved with getting the project approved, as well as making plans to build a new home for himself, that he hardly had any time for Brian.
Back home in Arizona, Brian had plenty of friends and there were lots of things to do. By now, he would have been off swimming at the public pool, or playing baseball or Nintendo, or doing something interesting. His idea of fun certainly wasn’t hanging around the house with a creepy stepmother who looked like an extra from the remake of The Mummy and who sounded like she was choking on her tongue every time she spoke.
“Or—” Dianne said, leaning forward and clasping her hands tightly together on the table, “maybe we could drive to Portland. Maybe catch a movie in town. Didn’t you want to see that new Robin Hood movie? What was the name?”
Brian looked at her again, forcing himself to maintain steady eye contact with her for more than a few seconds.
“Outlaws,” he said, “but I dunno—I don’t feel all that up for a movie.” Then, before he could stop himself, he added, “But maybe I’ll go with you and just … just hang around downtown while you do some shopping.”
“Sure,” Dianne said, her face brightening as she pushed the chair back and stood up. “If you’re ready to go, just let me dash upstairs and grab my purse, and we’ll be off.” She left the kitchen in a hurry, her footsteps echoing on the stairs in the hall.
Brian sat there at the table, staring glumly at his now soggy cereal and wondering why in the hell he ever agreed to go along. Wasn’t it obvious how uncomfortable he felt around her? Couldn’t she pick up on how much he didn’t even like being in the same room with her? Oh, sure—she seemed to be trying really hard to get to know him better, but the circumstances were pretty peculiar; he wanted simply to ignore her and avoid her as much as possible, if only to make the remainder of his summer here more bearable.
Before his thoughts got much further, he heard the clicking of her shoes on the stairs. Standing up with an almost studied, slouching indifference, he placed his h
alf-full cereal bowl and empty juice glass in the sink and followed her out to the car.
The drive downtown to the Shaw’s Supermarket was mercifully short, and—thankfully—Dianne didn’t try to make any more conversation. She dropped him off on Main Street in front of the post office with instructions to meet her in the Shaw’s parking lot in one hour. As soon as he was out of the car, Brian heaved a huge sigh of relief. With no idea where to go or what to do, he started walking.
Dianne was frankly relieved when she pulled the car to a stop in the grocery store parking lot. Ever since her accident, she had been taking a painkiller and antibiotics, and after she’d taken her first pill this morning—hell, ever since she started the medication, she’d been feeling really spaced out. Her concentration just didn’t seem to be what it used to be. She had a lot more trouble than usual falling asleep and getting up in the morning. Her major concern had been that it wasn’t just the medication, that she had some as yet undetected brain damage from her fall; but her doctor reassured her that her X-rays and CAT scan looked absolutely perfect, and that the medication she was taking couldn’t have such a side effect. She just hoped—with time—that she would get used to it. She was tired of feeling like she was viewing the world through a foot-thick plate glass window.
“I’m sick and tired of feeling sick and tired,” she muttered as she pulled the keys from the ignition and dropped them into her purse.