The Midnight Tour

by Richard Laymon

  She used both hands to pick up her Red-Hot Beastie Weenie. It was darkly grilled, at least two inches longer than its bun, and looked delicious. The aromas of the spicy hot dog, onion and tangy yellow mustard made her mouth fill with saliva.

  Though she wanted to take a big bite out of it, she went on talking. “Whenever I’m on a trip and tell people I’m from L.A., I get these weird looks. Like there must be something wrong with me, living in a place like that.”

  Warren took his mouth away from the straw. “You won’t get any weird looks from me.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it.” She smiled at him and bit a crusty end off her wiener.

  As she began to chew, Warren said, “I’m from the People’s Republic of Santa Monica.”

  Her jaw dropped. But she shut it quickly, chewed and grinned. After swallowing some of the food, she blurted, “That’s even worse!” and was delighted that no bits of semi-masticated frankfurter flew from her mouth.

  Warren laughed and shook his head. “You’re telling me. It’s a real embarrassment.”

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “So where-abouts do you live?”

  “Over near Rancho Park. How about you?”

  “Well, I grew up in a house on Euclid.”

  Dana grinned at him and said, “I like to call it Thirteenth Street.”

  He laughed. “That’s so stupid!” he blurted.

  “Me?”

  “Them. It used to drive me nuts. Changing a street’s name so it won’t be Thirteenth? I mean, it’s smack dab between Twelfth and Fourteenth, what the hell do people think it is? Everybody knows it’s Thirteenth Street!”

  “Right! Isn’t it nuts? Like skipping the thirteenth floor in a high-rise!”

  “Exactly.”

  “Not that I’m superstitious or anything,” Dana said.

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  “But let’s get real.” What’s the matter with me? I’m running off at the mouth like a nincompoop! “It’s not the fourteenth floor, it’s the thirteenth floor. So, you’re, what, avoiding all the bad-luck baggage of thirteen by not calling it that?”

  “It’s bull,” Warren said.

  “Total bull. Thirteen, shmirteen.”

  “People gotta get a life.”

  Nodding briskly, Dana took another bite of her Red-Hot Beastie Weenie. Then she shrugged and tried to smile.

  “Anyway,” Warren continued. “Let’s see.” He sucked some soda up his straw and swallowed. Then he raised his head, nodded slightly, and said, “I got a little carried away.”

  “Me, too.”

  “anyway, I grew up on Euclid...”

  “Thirteenth Street,” Dana said through her mouthful.

  A grin split his face. “Cut it out, Dana.”

  “So sony.”

  “Anyway, now I live here.”

  “In Beast House?”

  “Sure.”

  “Where?” she asked, and finished swallowing.

  “Over across the street. I’ve got a little cabin in the woods over there.”

  “Neat!”

  “It’s not bad.”

  “So you live in town permanently?”

  “So far.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  “Oh, my Lord, I’ve ended up.”

  “You know what I mean,” Dana said.

  “Yeah. But you may think I’m a little nuts.”

  “There are worse things.”

  “I just...You’ve heard of the call of the wild, haven’t you? Well, I suffer from the call of the Beast.”

  Dana grinned and said, “Sure.”

  “No, it’s the truth. We came here on vacation when I was a kid. I think I was probably about six years old.” ,

  "Six? What year would that’ve been?”

  He frowned. “Eighty-one? Let’s see. I’m twenty-two now, so if I was six then...that’d make it sixteen years ago and this is ninety-seven, so...”

  "Yeah,” Dana said. “That’d make it eighty-one. A year after The Horror was published.”

  “You’re right! Turns out, my mom was crazy about that book. That’s why we came up here. She couldn’t wait to take the tour. So it was summer vacation, and Dad had two weeks off and he drove us all the way up from Santa Monica...”

  “Thirteenth Street.”

  "Right. I’ll never forget that trip. We came up the coast highway and stopped at some motel in Carmel. That made no impression at all, but then we stayed two nights in Boleta Bay and spent one whole day at Funland. I thought that was great.”

  “Cool place,” Dana said.

  “I loved it. I never wanted to leave. They had to drag me away in tears. But the next day we drove straight through San Francisco without even stopping, and ended up here. The minute I saw Beast House...1 didn’t even know anything about the place. But I just...felt as if I’d been looking for it my whole life...”

  “All six years.”

  “Yeah. I know, it sounds weird. It felt weird. I felt as if I’d arrived home. Almost as if I’d lived here before and forgotten about it.”

  “That is a bit odd,” Dana said.

  “Maybe in a past life...”

  “Do you believe in that stuff?”

  “Not really,” Warren said. “But I have no idea why I had such a strong affinity for the place.”

  “Maybe it reminded you of some other house.”

  “That’s possible. I don’t know. But it gets stranger. The next day, we went on the tour.”

  “That’s pretty heavy stuff for a six year old.”

  “I loved it. But the odd part was, I felt like I’d been in the house before. I knew the layout.”

  A chill crept up Dana’s spine.

  “The hallways and rooms...they were all familiar to me. I even knew which door led to the attic and where to find the entrance to the cellar.”

  Dana muttered, “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope. Afraid not.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “It didn’t seem creepy to me. Not at the time, anyway. Mind if I have a fry?”

  “Help yourself, Spike.”

  He smiled and reached over and took one of Dana’s Beastly Chili Fries. Heavily laden with chili and melted cheese, it drooped on the way to his mouth. Some glop fell off, but he caught it with his other hand.

  “Slob,” Dana said.

  He poked the fry into his mouth, then ate the fallen chili and cheese out of his palm.

  “What did your parents think?” she asked.

  “I didn’t make a big deal out of it.” Warren wiped his face with a napkin. “I just asked if we’d ever been here before, and they said no, so I let it drop. But I do remember that I begged and begged to go on the tour again. Dad wanted no part of that, but Mom sort of wanted a second look, herself. So Dad and my brother took off. I think they went to the beach, and Mom and I went on the tour again. The details are kind of fuzzy. But I’ve always remembered it as one of the best days of my life. And I always wanted to come back.”

  “Looks like you made it.”

  “Yep. The year I turned eighteen, it was adios to the People’s Republic, hello to Malcasa Point.”

  “And you’ve been working here at the snack shop the whole time?”

  “Well, I started as a guide.”

  “And moved on to bigger and better things?”

  He smiled. “Something like that.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Uh-oh, break’s over.” He sucked on his straw for a while, then got to his feet. “It was really nice talking to you, Dana.”

  “Same here.”

  “See you around, okay?”

  "Sure.”

  Turning away, he tossed his cardboard container into a nearby trash barrel. Then he smiled over his shoulder and headed for the snack stand. He wore the tan shirt and shorts of a guide. They were faded like Tuck’s. He seemed to be carrying his wallet in the left rear pocke
t of his shorts. It made a flat bulge. The pocket on the other side appeared to be empty. Its flap was buttoned down, and the fabric curved smoothly over his buttock. His legs looked strong and tanned. His socks were very white. His brown leather hiking boots looked dusty and scuffed as if they’d been on plenty of trails.

  After he was gone, Dana took another bite out of her Red-Hot Beastie Weenie. It was no longer very hot, but it still tasted good.

  It tasted just fine.

  It was perhaps the best-tasting hot dog she’d ever sunk her teeth into.

  I’m afraid we don’t serve hot dogs here.

  Oh, man.

  Take it easy, she warned herself. You don’t even know the guy. Maybe he’s some kind of kook.

  There’s gotta be something wrong with him. You don’t just run into a guy like him out of the blue and it turns out that he’s as fine as he seems to be.

  He didn’t have any rings on his fingers.

  But maybe he’s going with someone.

  Or gay.

  Or dying of some horrible, incurable malady.

  Or insane.

  He did seem to have some rather odd and spooky notions about Beast House.

  Won’t hold that against him.

  I’d like to hold myself against him.

  She set down her wiener and started to work on the fries and smiled remembering how Warren’s fry had bombed his hand.

  Chapter Fourteen

  SANDY’S STORY—August, 1980

  Lib continued to sleep and snore while Sandy drove north on Pacific Coast Highway. Eric, in his basket behind the passenger seat, was probably snoring, too. Sandy couldn’t hear him, though. Too much noise came from the night air rushing in through the broken windshield, from the heater blowing full blast, from the car’s engine and from Lib’s snoring.

  Every once in a while, another vehicle came along. Some approached from the rear, others from the front.

  The first time it happened, Sandy wanted to pull over but there were guard rails on both sides, trapping her on the pavement. So she clenched the steering wheel, held her breath, and drove on toward the glare of the headlights. If it’s the Highway Patrol...

  I’ll say a rock broke the windshield, she told herself. No, officer, I don’t have. a driver’s licence. I know I’m too young to drive, but Mom fell asleep at the wheel a while ago and we almost crashed. We couldn’t just pull over...not out here in the middle of nowhere. We were afraid it wouldn’t be safe. So we thought maybe it’d be all right for me to drive just for a few minutes while Mom took a little nap. I know it was terribly wrong officer, and I’m sorry, but...

  It wasn’t a Highway Patrol car.

  A pickup truck shot past her, and kept going.

  After that, approaching vehicles didn’t bother Sandy nearly so much. She still grew somewhat tense, but she gave little thought to pulling over.

  She had her story ready. It might work.

  it wouldn’t even be necessary, though, unless they got stopped by cops. And so far, there’d been none. Maybe the cops were all home asleep, or patrolling a real highway like the 101, over to the east. If you wanted to speed, that’s the route you’d take, not this narrow, winding road along the shoreline.

  Sooner or later, of course, they were sure to get stopped.

  Their luck couldn’t last forever.

  She doubted it could last much past sunrise. In the light of day, there’d be a lot more traffic. Everyone would notice the gaping hole in the windshield. Everyone would be able to see Sandy, too, and realize she looked too young to have a driver’s license.

  A cop was bound to drive by...

  But dawn was still a few hours away when Sandy spotted an unmarked dirt road that looked promising. Small and dark, it led into the woods like the mouth of a secret mine. Glimpsing it as she drove by, she had doubts about its size. It looked awfully small, and the trailer was fairly large.

  It’ll be perfect, though, if we can just fit in.

  There was no traffic in sight, so Sandy eased down on the brakes, brought the car to a halt, and started backing up. The trailer went crooked. She muttered, “Damn,” and stopped. Then she pulled forward and tried reverse again. This time, the trailer cooperated. She backed her way well past the turn-off before starting forward. As she neared it again, she swung so wide that she entered the south-bound lane. Then she steered for the dirt road.

  Leaving the pavement behind, the car bounced and shook.

  Lib snorted and woke up. “Huh?” she asked. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “We had to get off the highway,” Sandy explained.

  Entering the woods, she drove very slowly. She heard the leafy crunch of the tires, and scratchy, squeaky sounds that probably came from branches scraping against the sides of the trailer.

  “I guess we fit,” she said.

  “Huh? Yeah.”

  “I wasn’t sure the trailer’d make it.”

  “Where we goin’?” Lib asked, still sounding groggy.

  “I don’t know. Just in here. This looks like it might be a good place to hide. I figure we shouldn’t do any traveling in broad daylight.”

  “Yeah,” Lib muttered. Then she moaned and said, “Shit. I peel like I got myselp pounded to det widda baseball bat.”

  “I bet you do.”

  As Sandy drove deeper into the woods, Lib gently fingered her mouth, inside and out. Now and then, she winced. After a while, she started to weep quietly.

  “You’ll be okay,” Sandy told her.

  “Shit. it hurts. Hurts like puckin’ hell. And I’m gonna be so "puckin” ugly, ain’t no pella ebber gonna wanta look at me...Not as I were much ob a prize bepore.” She let out an odd, honking snort.

  Sandy reached over and squeezed her leg. “Everything’ll be fine, Libby. We’ll get you some new teeth and you’ll look better than ever.”

  “Yeah? Well...” She sniffed. “Ya got anudder bottle ob dat bourbon someplace?”

  "Nope. Sorry.”

  “Gotta get me some. I peel like shit.”

  "There’s plenty of aspirin and stuff in the trailer.”

  “Dat’d help.”

  Just ahead, there seemed to be a small open area. It would probably be a better place to stop than here, where the trees pressed in so tightly. Sandy said, “Hang on just a minute,” and drove on into the clearing.

  There, she eased the car to a stop. “I guess we’re probably far enough from the highway.”

  “We gonna stay here?”

  “For the time being.” She shut off the engine and headlight. The heater stopped blowing warm air against her legs. In the sudden silence, she heard a breeze sifting through the trees. The car’s engine made quiet pinging sounds. “Does it look all right to you?”

  Lib turned her head slowly. “Mighty damn puckin dark out dare.”

  “All the better. I want to get rid of the body. This looks like it’d be a good place for it.”

  “We gettin’ out?”

  "I am,” Sandy said. She opened her door, stepped outside, then eased her door shut.

  On the other side of the car, the passenger door opened and Lib climbed out.

  “Take it easy when you shut the door,” Sandy told her in a hushed voice. “We don’t want to wake up Eric.”

  “Tink he’s asleep?”

  "Pretty sure. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he was awake.”

  ‘Yeah?’

  “Oh, yeah. He’s a real little hellraiser.”

  Lib shut her door gently. “Gonna leab him in de car?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Sandy walked past the rear of the car and alongside the trailer. Reaching high, she opened the trailer door. The makeshift wooden stairway should’ve been right there, but she didn’t see it. Leaning forward, she raised her arms and felt around in the darkness. Nothing.

  “What’s up?” Lib asked.

  “I’m going in.” Sandy swung up a knee, planted it on the door sill, and climbed into the trailer.

&nb
sp; “Where’s da steps?” Lib asked.

  “Don’t know. Must’ve scooted off someplace. I’ll find ’em for you.”

  “Dat’s all right. One ob us oughta stay out here and keep an eye on tings.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Dat’s me.”

  “They’ve gotta be here,” Sandy muttered.

  “Don’t go lookin’ por dem steps on account ob me. Only ting I want’s some aspirin.”

  “You gonna make me do all the work? Climb on up.”

  “You’re in da way, honey.”

  “That can be fixed.” Sandy started to crawl away from the door and put a hand down on something that felt like a face. Gasping, she jerked her hand back.

  “Y’okay?”

  “Guess I found Slade.”

  “What’s he doin?”

  “Not a hell of a lot.” Gritting her teeth, Sandy slowly lowered her open hand again. But not all the way. She stopped it slightly above where the face should be, then poked at the darkness below with her forefinger. The tip of her finger didn’t touch anything, so she eased her hand downward ever so slowly.

  Her fingertip met a sticky surface. She shoved gently, wondering what it was. The surface felt solid, but yielded slightly. Exploring a bit more, she discovered a small curve. Something feathery brushed against her fingertip.

  Lashes?

  “Uck!” Her hand leaped high.

  “What?”

  “I touched his eye! Jeez! His bare eye!”

  Lib laughed.

  “Keep yuckin’ it up, babe, ‘cause here he comes.”

  Having a very clear idea about where Slater’s face should be, Sandy spread her hands and reached forward and down. She encountered damp, sticky fabric. Had to be his shirt. Patting her way to both his sides, she found his armpits. Then she grabbed hold and reared back. He scooted toward her just a little. She crawled backward and gave him another tug. He moved another inch or two.

  Crawling farther, she felt the door sill beneath the toes of her shoes. On the other side of the sill, the floor went away. She kept pulling Slade until her knees felt the sill. Then she let go of him and climbed down.

  “Can you give me a hand?”

  “Sure.”

  Side by side, Sandy and Lib reached into the trailer. Each grabbed one of Slade’s armpits. When they pulled, he slid toward them. He came along fine until he was out just more than halfway down his back.