The Face of Midnight

by Dan Padavona

  My charger was inside the den. Though I hardly had a use for it anymore, I didn’t want to leave evidence behind.

  Becca held my hand, fingers clasped and digging into my palm, as we walked into the den. In the faded light at the window, I saw the charger beside the television.

  I reached for the plug and felt paralysis knife through me.

  The DVDs leaned in a malformed stack.

  Thirteen of them.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her voice sounded miles away.

  “Dammit, Steve. You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  I ran my thumb along the cases, counting them again.

  Then recounting.

  I didn’t need to.

  Another disk had been added to the stack.

  Thirteen.

  Surely, I’d miscounted the first time. There’d been thirteen, not twelve, all along.

  The last disk we’d watched, the strange home movie of the clown mask, should have been on top.

  I saw my hand reach for the DVD and slip it into the player.

  “What the hell are you doing? We need to go.”

  “Give me a second!” I said, snapping at her.

  I flicked on the television. Gray, animated static lit the room like a funhouse.

  “The hell with this,” she said. “I’m getting my things and leaving.”

  She pulled away from me and stopped in the doorway.

  The video started.

  “My God, what is that?” she asked.

  I stared at the screen.

  A woman, naked except for her panties, pleaded into the camera. Black eyeliner rode the grooves of her face, smeared by tears.

  I thought I recognized her. I’d watched every low budget horror movie I could get my hands on. Had I seen this movie?

  Then I realized what was on the DVD.

  The abhorrent underbelly of underground pornography.

  “It’s a snuff film,” I whispered.

  “A snuff film? What’s a snuff film doing here? It wasn’t here before.”

  An axe raised before the camera.

  The woman cried for her husband, for God, for anyone.

  The blade ran tauntingly along her bare shoulder. She jerked, causing the blade to cut into her flesh.

  Blood rained down from where blade touched skin.

  “It’s not real, though. Right?”

  I tried to answer. Something like dead leaves scratching together came out of my throat.

  The woman was hysterical, wide-eyed and squealing. The sound reminded me of pigs led to slaughter.

  “It can’t be real. You can’t kill somebody for real in a movie.”

  But some snuff films were real, I knew. Though I’d never seen one before, I recognized clearly what was on the television.

  I wanted to heave the contents out of my stomach. Something kept my feet frozen to the floor.

  The unseen killer raised the blade over her head.

  “Turn it off!”

  I tried but couldn’t. My arms wouldn’t work for me.

  That’s when my brain connected the dots.

  I knew who the woman was.

  Erin Tuttle. The missing woman on posters all over Barton Falls.

  The camera spun around. A hideous mask, the same from the other movie, covered the murderer’s face.

  Becca was already gone. I heard her pounding up the staircase and running across the landing.

  As I ran from the den, crying Becca’s name, I heard a scream and a splattering noise come out of the television. The blue-gray light of the killer’s movie danced across the walls as I stumbled through the kitchen.

  “Leave it, Becca! We need to go!”

  But she didn’t recognize the woman on the television, didn’t realize the implications of The Midnight Killer’s victim starring in a snuff film left for us to watch.

  In my panic, I slammed a shoulder against the banister. Pain rocketed down my arm as I half-stumbled, half-crawled up the stairs.

  “Get out of the house!”

  I could hear her throwing her belongings into her bag. The light was on in the bedroom. Shadows from the room stretched out through the hallway.

  When I made it to the doorway, the bag was over her shoulder. She kicked my bag to me and started for the hallway.

  “Drop your bag,” I said, nearly out of breath. “Just bring the knife.”

  Her eyes searched mine.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Becca, I—”

  “There’s someone in the house, isn’t there?”

  The light went out. Someone had killed the power.

  Footsteps thundered across the living room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Midnight Killer

  I could no longer see where the bedroom ended and the hallway began. Feeling my way along the wall, my hand brushed through a cobweb before finding the door.

  I edged it shut.

  Now all three bedroom doors were closed. I prayed whoever was downstairs hadn’t seen the bedroom light before the power went out.

  Rats skittered through the walls.

  Footsteps moved toward the staircase.

  “Who is it?” Becca whispered in my ear.

  She was crouched next to me, both of us beside the door. I heard the switchblade pop out.

  “Stay quiet,” I said.

  I couldn’t hear over the vermin thrashing behind the plaster.

  A stair buckled under a great weight.

  Then another step groaned.

  The stranger was halfway up the staircase.

  As I felt my way along the door frame, something crawled down my arm. I nearly yelled and gave us away. I slapped down on my arm and felt something crunchy and wet under my hand.

  I hate bugs. They always seem to find me when the lights go out.

  I tried to remember the exact layout of the upstairs: the bathroom with the master bedroom across from it, the two unkempt bedrooms at the end of the hall.

  Another riser led to the attic. I recalled how loudly those boards screamed when stepped upon. If the person on the staircase climbed toward the attic, I’d hear.

  The images of the clown mask and the axe slicing into Erin Tuttle’s shoulder kept playing in my head.

  Christ.

  We’d crept right into the lair of The Midnight Killer.

  It was too quiet in the hallway. I hadn’t heard the stairs groan in some time.

  Maybe the killer had gone downstairs to look for us.

  I blindly made a move for the door. Becca’s blade caught my elbow.

  She realized what happened and pulled the knife back. Too late. A nasty gash ran from elbow to triceps. I was glad it was too dark to see the damage.

  She whispered an apology I barely heard. I was too intent on the quiet outside the bedroom door to worry about my arm.

  “I’m going out there,” I said.

  “No.”

  “Becca, if the hallway is empty we can make a run for it.”

  “It’s a trap.”

  “Then give me the knife.”

  “Not a chance. We go together, or you go without the knife.”

  “Fine.”

  Pressing my ear to the door, I pictured the hallway, remembering every potential hiding place and where I’d be most vulnerable to an attack. The bathroom door had been open, so I’d have to be ready for someone hiding inside. Next came the staircase and a helluva lot of dark.

  I grabbed hold of the knob and gave it a slow twist, careful the latch bolt didn’t pop.

  When I couldn’t twist the doorknob any farther, I pulled the door open to a thin crack. Dusty air rolled in from the hallway.

  The opening wasn’t wide enough to poke my head through. For all I knew, the person on the staircase was right outside the door.

  Something black lay inside my chest and wanted to crawl out. The death scent had risen up the staircase.

  Clenching my teeth, I edged the door open.

  I�
��m not sure what grabbed my pant leg when I crawled through. A staple or a nail. It ripped a hole in the knee of my jeans and dug another gash into my flesh.

  Some hero I was. I hadn’t encountered the killer yet and was already bleeding from my arm and leg.

  God, it was dark. I could see the small pool of gray down the hall cast from the bathroom window, but that was it.

  Becca was somewhere behind me, frozen and silent. I wished I could see her. I had no way to know if she was next to me or still inside the bedroom.

  The floorboards groaned. Close.

  I dived back against the wall, heart pounding. I knew I was fully exposed if the stranger’s eyes were better trained for the dark than mine.

  At first, I saw nothing but black.

  Then a shape took form.

  A massive figure stood at the top of the stairs.

  It swayed in the darkness, a monster out of a nightmare.

  Swaying, breathing, listening for us to give ourselves away.

  It can’t see me. If I’m quiet, it won’t know I’m here.

  My head felt dizzy. I still held the flashlight, but it was slipping out of my sweaty hand. If I dropped it now…

  The monster sniffed at the air. It took one lumbering step toward me.

  It stopped as though considering, then took another step down the hall.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are, my precious Steve.”

  I knew that voice. I couldn’t believe it was her.

  “I know you’re up here. You and your little slut. Did you think you could cheat on me and get away with it?”

  Donna.

  Her body was a massive shadow against the darkness. I smelled the cheap perfume intermingling with the grime and body sweat of someone who’d been on the run for days.

  Donna. The Midnight Killer?

  I didn’t want to believe it. There had to be another explanation.

  Yet Harry Jenkins lay in a hospital bed, and Riley looked as if he’d come out of a meat grinder after what she’d done to him.

  I no longer doubted what she was capable of. She was out of her mind.

  The death smell, the old house, my fear—Donna would revel in it. This was the perfect place for her to murder me.

  Leaping off the wall, I threw my shoulder into her belly. It felt like slamming into a tree.

  She staggered back against the wall, screeching my name. Her nails dug gorges into my cheeks.

  “I hate you!” I yelled, striking her across the face.

  What she shrieked back at me was utterly unintelligible and terrifying, the scream of an animal.

  Donna swung wildly in the dark, the meat of her arm catching my skull and flashing stars across my eyes.

  She lumbered at me.

  I kicked her belly and sent her flailing backward. Wood crunched as the bedroom door crashed off its hinges.

  A second shadow darted through the gloom.

  It wasn’t clear Becca had leaped atop Donna until I heard them struggling on the floor. Becca cried out. I saw the outline of her body thrown through the air. She slammed down on the bed with Donna’s monstrous form atop her.

  The bed collapsed. Becca’s choked gasps filled the room.

  Flipping the flashlight on revealed Donna astride Becca, choking her with hands strong enough to snap bone.

  I slammed the flashlight into the back of Donna’s head. She moaned and wobbled.

  I struck again.

  This time she released her grip on Becca’s neck and fell back on the mattress. Blood dribbled down her forehead. The life in her eyes flickered on and off.

  Coughing and choking, Becca twisted out from under Donna and reached across the mattress.

  “Stop!” I yelled, seeing her grab the fallen switchblade.

  I couldn’t stop her in time.

  Becca plunged the knife into Donna’s chest.

  Donna squealed.

  Becca ripped the blade free and jammed it down again. Blood geysered and splattered her face.

  Donna’s mouth was open, trying in vain to speak. Red fluid ran down from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes fixed on mine.

  Becca started hyperventilating. She kept looking between Donna and the switchblade, the horror of what she’d done dawning.

  She threw the weapon aside and stared at it with revulsion. She sucked air in gasps.

  “Easy,” I said. “Nice and easy. It was self-defense.”

  She shook her head. Tears washed dirt down her cheeks.

  “Becca, she would have killed us both.”

  “You…told me…to stop,” she said, stammering. “I didn’t have to kill her.”

  I didn’t want to look at Donna but couldn’t help it. She kept staring at me, lips moving without any sound coming out. What I saw in her eyes wasn’t love. It was shock. I’d allowed this to happen to her. I’m not proud of wanting her eyes to close for good, wishing she would die so the accusation would stop.

  She was strong. Even with two knife wounds bubbling crimson out of her chest, she wouldn’t die.

  “What the hell am I going to do?”

  Becca’s voice snapped me away from Donna. Panic filled Becca’s eyes. Donna convulsed, and Becca scooted back on the mattress, knees drawn protectively to her chest.

  My mind spun. I couldn’t seem to put two thoughts together.

  We had to dispose of the body, hide it somewhere. I knew that much. It felt wrong to admit such a thing while Donna was still alive to hear.

  Please just die.

  Donna’s arm reached for me. Whatever she’d become, in that moment, I only saw somebody’s daughter bleeding out on that dirty mattress. There would be a funeral and flowers and tears, and a mother and father putting their baby girl into the ground.

  I jumped when Donna’s arm thumped dead against the mattress. Her eyes were still open.

  Becca collapsed into a ball and cried. The finality seemed to hit us at the same time. I slumped down to my knees and buried my head in my hands.

  I wanted to cry but couldn’t. Not for a stalker I hardly knew who’d murdered several people and brutalized my best friend.

  We couldn’t leave her here.

  “We’ll hide the body in the basement,” I said.

  I started nodding as my mind sifted through the possibilities and formulated a plan.

  “Yeah…that should work,” I said. “She’s too big to carry out to the woods, so it’s gotta be the basement. Gotta figure out how to open that door. Then we’ll drag her down there. By the time someone finds the body, we’ll be days, maybe weeks gone. And once they see the DVDs…once they realize who she is and what she did…they won’t give two craps who killed her.”

  Becca watched me, too distraught to move. But I could see her coming around.

  “Shit, Becca. You’ll be a hero without a name. The woman who murdered The Midnight Killer.”

  Bewilderment twisted her features. The shock of what I said brought her out of her stupor.

  “The Midnight Killer?”

  “You better believe it,” I said. “Those creepy DVDs, the Barton Falls woman in the snuff film. It’s Donna, all right. Though I still can’t believe she killed all those people.”

  “My God.”

  She leaned back against the wall, dazed with disbelief, and gazed out at the night. It was going to be a long time before she fully appreciated what we’d done.

  “But I can’t open the basement door,” she said. “I’ve tried. And I’m not wasting my last lock pick.”

  I noticed the nickel-silver light flashing from the top of Donna’s pocket. The keys to her Subaru.

  “That’s it,” I said. “Problem solved.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I snatched the keys, jangled them in front of my face, and stuffed them into my pocket.

  “She must have left the Subaru somewhere down the road. All I have to do is find it, grab the crowbar out of the trunk, and wedge the basement door open.”

  Becca
sat up, suddenly recognizing the full value of Donna’s car keys. I could tell we were thinking the same thing—Donna’s car was our sanctuary from the cold, our ticket out of Barton Falls. Forget Pennsylvania. We could be in Miami in twenty-four hours.

  The wind threw black rain against the window.

  “Gas will be an issue,” I said. “It’ll take a couple refills to get south, and I don’t have much money left.”

  “Just get me away from this damn place, and I’ll figure the rest out later.”

  Together we dragged Donna off the mattress. She was too heavy to carry, even with Becca and me lifting together.

  I yanked her across the littered floor. Donna’s hair and clothes snagged dust mounds and dragged them along like tinsel on a Christmas tree. She left behind a few smears of blood, discernible on the water-stained floorboards.

  I wasn’t through the doorway before she became too heavy. I caught my breath, then Becca took one leg and helped tug Donna into the hallway. Placing the flashlight on the floor, I aimed it down the hall so we didn’t blindly plunge headfirst down the stairway.

  Dragging Donna down the stairs was the worst part of moving her. Her head thudded grotesquely on each step, leaving behind a trail of dust and hair. Her eyes were still open, cockeyed, bloody, and looking off in different directions.

  Once, we nearly lost control. I imagined us pitching forward with Donna’s weight careening down to crush us at the bottom. I kept one hand on the banister until my feet touched the floor.

  My arms were trembling by the time we pulled Donna through the living room and into the kitchen.

  I ran back to grab the flashlight. In the kitchen, Becca leaned over with her hands on her knees, exhausted, nauseous from the putrid stench.

  “The smell is definitely coming from the basement,” she said. “Maybe we should just leave her here.”

  I pictured a throng of dead rats congealing in their own body fluids.

  “No way. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right.”

  “But that smell.”

  “I know. Whatever died down there will mask her body. If we take the time to hide her in the basement, it might be a long time before someone realizes the smell is more than a few dead animals.”

  “I think there are more than a few.”

  I swallowed the bile crawling up my throat.

  “Fine. Let’s find where she hid the car.”

  Despite the cold and wind, it was an immense relief to be outside. The rain finally stopped, and a patch of clouds had shredded, allowing a slice of moonlight to shine through.