“No bother. No bother. I’ll be seeing you again.” He was in a hurry to get out of the house. He and the people around here must believe it was haunted, or worse. It was the only explanation for his odd behavior. He seemed like a pleasant enough man otherwise.
Jeremy tailed after him to his car, a sporty blue Mercedes. So business wasn’t too bad, I thought, amused, as I watched from the window until he drove off. It’d been a short visit.
Jeremy came back in and picked up his brush. “Mister Largo said his wife’s gonna send over supper for us. Some kind of noodles and something.” He scratched his head and a clump of white paint ran down his wrist. “Chicken, I think.”
“That was nice of him.” I was surprised. Was he trying to make up for the less than neighborly way he’d rushed in and rushed out—or had he felt sorry for us?
“Ah, just when I was going to make the biggest, best supper.”
“You hate to cook. Noodles and chicken sounds delicious to me. A home cooked meal, finally.” He stressed the last word and kept painting. “The stove doesn’t work anyway, remember.”
We didn’t finish the room. Our supper came, hand-delivered by Mrs. Largo, a sweet woman with sandy red hair. She practically dropped the food on the porch and dashed off. I hardly had time to say thank you before she was gone.
Was everyone going to act like this?
I sure hoped not. It was beginning to freak me out.
I wondered what had been happening here since my family had moved away. Whatever it was I brooded, it couldn’t be good.
Chapter Eight
I stared out the window. The night was dark as Jeremy slept behind me and I shivered. I’d be glad when the heat was on.
Jim might arrive tomorrow. Once he was here I knew I’d feel better about everything.
It’d been awhile since I’d seen my brother. Too long. I missed him even though he was often in my thoughts. Had he changed? The last time I’d seen him he was in the throes of the rock culture, complete with shoulder length hair and wire-rimmed glasses.
The glasses weren’t for show because he couldn’t see a thing without them. I always told him it was because he stayed up nights writing his music and lyrics he’d worn out his eyes. I also wondered if he still dreamed of being a famous songwriter. He’d informed me years ago the traveling life wasn’t for him. So how did he feel now, still being bounced around from one town to another with a group of rag-tag musicians, playing what they wanted and how they wanted it?
Jim never seemed to settle down anywhere for long. If he’d wanted to write music he would have found a way. So there had to be more to his wanderlust with the band, doing dives and one night stands as he did.
How could he stomach the nomadic life? He’d always put such store in a real home.
He’d been running in his own way, too, all this time. Was it because he suspected, or knew, what was waiting here for us?
If that was true, why was he coming back?
For us. Me and Jeremy
I was exhausted, freezing, and crawled into the sleeping bag beside Jeremy, sharing my warmth with him. Tomorrow the electricity and heat would be switched on and we’d see if the relic of a furnace still worked. If the plumbing would hold out, and the wires in the walls wouldn’t catch fire and burn the structure down.
I fell asleep envisioning Jeremy and I plugging leaks in the rusted pipes, with hunks of rags and fighting fires in the archaic wiring system.
It was a dreamless sleep, so deep it was with a terrible jolt, the unwelcome noises roused me. Someone was pounding on our door and I felt the familiar chill creep up my toes and spread along my body.
Angry echoes boomed through the house and the perfume of roses nearly choked me. In those first moments of wakefulness I had the faintest of hopes it was Jim knocking at the door, but somehow I knew it wasn’t.
Staring at the door, I got up and tiptoed across the floor. Laid my hand on the knob and felt the hairs on my neck stand on end. Something was behind me. The same drowning sensation I’d experienced earlier in my grandmother’s séance room assailed me, only stronger.
The horrendous pounding continued. I clapped my hands over my ears.
“Who is it?” I cried. My mouth was cotton and my heart was doing a rain-dance in my chest.
“Don’t open the door…Sarah….don’t open it!” Somewhere behind me a sibilant whisper warned.
Was I dreaming? Was this a nightmare? I pinched myself and tried to clear my frantic thoughts. No, I was awake and it was real. What should I do? Jeremy was asleep, didn’t he hear the noise? How could he not?
The battering grew more insistent. Louder. The house was shaking. Yet I obeyed the whisper at my back and didn’t open the door. “My God.” I leaned against the wall, fist in my mouth to keep from screaming or fainting, while Jeremy slumbered through the god-awful racket.
He couldn’t hear it.
I pressed against the wall. Prayed. The murmurs swirled around me and the racket trickled into laughter. Ghastly laughter, I’d last heard in the woods when I’d been a child.
I am safe here, I told myself, a protective chant, over and over. I’m safe. It can’t get into the house.
Oh, how it wanted to, but it couldn’t gain entrance because it wasn’t allowed.
“Go away, go away!” I was angry. How dare it terrorize my son and me? What did it want from us?
“Go away,” I yelled, my head against the door.
The laughter trickled off into the night, a train whistle dwindling into the distance.
The pounding also ceased. Blessed silence.
A whiplash of vertigo assailed me and I clung to consciousness with all my strength. Something was pulling, willing me to follow until the sensation was almost irresistible.
I swung around and reached my fingers out to what I believed stood guard behind me. “Grandmother, help me.”
I was sucked into eternity and was no longer Sarah. I was someone else. No longer in the house but far away and in another time.
A long woolen cape clung to me and flapped softly against my ankles. I was a young boy running through the woods. Stunned at where and how I found myself, I hid behind a tree and fought to keep from screaming. Who was I? Where was I?
It was night, the wind was cold and rain splattered my hair. I stared down at myself and realized I could see in the dark. Loose fitting peasant shirt and heavy britches. Rough. Hand stitched. My fingers traced the unfamiliar lines of a stranger’s face.
I began to run, hearing laughter and footsteps rustling behind me. So close. I fled, stumbling and crying, away from my tormentor. The shirt was spotted with wet blood and somehow I knew it was a child’s blood. It was sticky on my hands and my bare feet.
There was blood on the ground. Blacker spots dappled on the gray mingled with the shadows.
The boy ran, twigs snapping beneath his feet until he came to a tethered horse rearing and pawing at the wind. He tried to calm the frightened beast but still it rolled its eyes until only the whites showed. It seemed to be in pain.
“Hush, now, hush.” The boy soothed the horse and gathered the reins trying to gain control of the animal. “It will be all right. I promise.” He threw himself up on the animal’s bare back and its huge hooves whipped the night air around them.
“Back. Back!” the boy screamed as the wind ricocheted with menacing laughter and the horse battled an invisible foe, whirling itself around as if it were possessed. As the forest was.
The boy slapped the reins against his mount and turned it to face…something. His eyes flashed with brilliant fire. He would not be beaten. He would not lose this time.
The voice in the woods bellowed at him. “Josiah, this time you will not escape. Not this time!”
Far away, Sarah recognized the voice and screamed.
>
The boy on the thrashing horse screamed in the same instant. The death cries of the horse and the boy rose together into one wail and the animal went down in its own blood, white teeth bared in a gruesome mask of agony.
And the boy…torn to pieces.
Sarah hid her eyes as the horse fell. Blood showered the leaves and trees. The vision faded to a blur and died.
Then there was blackness and nothingness for a long while.
It could have been minutes or hours later when I moaned and felt into the darkness. A wall, a floor. I opened my eyes and attempted to sit up.
I was in my house. It was still night and Jeremy lay sleeping, undisturbed. I was huddled against the door, sobbing in the dark.
What had happened? Where had I been? I shook my head, wiped the tears from my face and crawled into my sleeping bag. There had to be an explanation to what I’d seen, experienced and I had to find them.
It might have been another life, another time, but I knew the boy on the horse. It’d been Jimmy and he’d died in a horrible way on a night so long ago.
I lay awake trying to understand what it meant. I sat sentinel over my son and as dawn’s fingers crept into the house I finally felt safe enough to close my eyes.
Chapter Nine
I must have fallen asleep because I awoke to a soft knocking at the door—clearly a human knock this time. I stumbled towards the sound. The clear light of day had all but obliterated the terrifying episode of the night before. I found myself doubting it’d ever happened; surely it’d been a nightmare?
No, I knew better.
Outside the window, parked in the driveway, there was an old truck with a U-Haul behind it. With a relieved smile, I flung open the door. “Thank God, Jim, it’s you. I thought you’d never get here.” I laughed and threw my arms around the man standing in my doorway—only it wasn’t Jim.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” I snatched back my embrace, red-faced. “I thought you were my brother.”
A tall, dark-haired stranger was framed in the doorway, blocking out the sun. I looked up into his laughing eyes. He still had his arms around my waist, and wouldn’t let go. I firmly withdrew his hands, angry he was so amused by my mistake.
“Do you always greet strangers like this?” His gruff voice had the tone of authority. “I’ll have to come more often.”
He was tall, at least six-five, with rugged good looks; dressed in a worn leather jacket and blue jeans. His eyes examined me as if he were trying to memorize my face.
“Not usually,” I got out somehow. I was a mess. I’d slept in my clothing for three nights straight and hadn’t had a bath or washed my hair in days. I felt embarrassed and irritated. He’d caught me looking so ragged. No woman wants to be caught looking like a wreck by an attractive man.
“Well, it’s not often a pretty lady greets me so affectionately. Usually I get the cold shoulder. But I liked it. I liked it a lot.”
Something in the set of my chin and my angry eyes must have stopped him. His hand went up in a conciliatory gesture. “I know. You thought I was your brother.”
“I did. By the way, where is he?” I peeked around the stranger’s shoulder to look. “That’s his truck.” I was careful not to go near him again.
It was then I saw Jim fooling around with something on the rear of the truck. “Jim!” I yelped and ran past the stranger into my brother’s waiting arms.
“Sis!” He grabbed me and planted a kiss on the top of my head, and held me away from him to get a good look. “You’re too thin, Sarah.”
“It’s the fashion, isn’t it?”
“For what?” He grinned. “Tooth-picks? You look gaunt.”
“Thanks, still the same old Jim—so damn truthful it hurts.” It was my turn and hands on hips, my eyes took him in. The hippie of a few years ago was gone. His hair wasn’t shoulder length and scraggly, but shorter and neatly cut, the wire-rimmed glasses, however, remained. He wore cowboy boots and blue jeans.
A Stetson was clutched in his hand. I thought he looked thinner, too. His shoulders drooped and there were circles smudged under his eyes. Yet they were the same green eyes I remembered staring up at me when I was a child. Melancholy eyes that held something I couldn’t understand hidden in their depths. They were an old man’s eyes. My brother could have been forty, instead of younger than I.
A chill passed through me. Something was wrong. Though Jim was smiling, I could sense a struggling inside of him and it snaked out to me like an electric shock.
“You look pretty tired yourself,” I remarked. “I thought you’d never get here.”
He eyed me over his shoulders as he jammed the tail gate of the U-Haul up and with a loud thump the back of the trailer came down suspended on rusty chains. “Thought I’d never get here, either.” He swung around and looked at me and then past me. I looked, too. “Had some trouble.”
“By the way, if it’s not being too nosy,” I asked, “who is he?” The stranger was lounging against the door watching us. Something about the way he stood or the set of his jaw reminded me of someone else. He casually gave me a mock salute and smiled.
“Oh, him? He’s a good Samaritan. The truck died on me about five miles back and if he hadn’t come by and offered to help, I’d still be crawling around under the hood without the slightest idea what was wrong. You know how I am about engines, Sis. Don’t know enough to fill a thimble. Now this guy,” he aimed a thumb at the nonchalant stranger, chuckling. “He knows all about them.”
I sighed and turned to the man. “Seems I owe you my thanks, also. It’s my furniture in the truck there. It’ll be lovely to sleep in a real bed again. Thank you.” I put out my hand to shake his. He took it and his skin was warm against mine. “Mister?”
“Detective Ben Raucher,” Jim supplied, amused. As if it was a joke.
I yanked my hand away immediately. I should have known, he was a cop. I should have recognized the stubborn set of the jaw, the arrogant stance. So like Jonathan.
“Oh, you’re a police officer?” I said coldly. “Anywhere around here?”
“Yes. Here.” He smiled boldly.
“You don’t look like a cop.”
“What’s a cop supposed to look like?” He raised an eyebrow and threw Jim a conspiratorial glance. What had Jim told him about me? I wondered.
My brother chuckled and I gave him a small shove.
“Apparently not like you, Ben.” Jim shrugged. “And, oh, my, you even ride a motorcycle.” He shook his head, horror in his voice.
It was then I saw the shiny black Yamaha parked in front of the house. With a side look I watched the tall man lounging nearby and was aware again of how I must look. I inched my way closer to Jim, lowering my head and trying to pull my fingers through the tangles in my hair. I felt Ben’s eyes appraising me.
“Mom?” The voice was Jeremy’s. He swayed in the doorway, half asleep and rubbing his eyes. “Who you talking to?” He glanced at the detective and over at Jim. His face lit into a big smile, and, in a flash, he was out the door and into Jim’s outstretched arms. It’d been years since he’d seen his uncle but he seemed to know him instinctively. The boy threw his arms around Jim’s neck and hung on like an octopus.
“Is this Jeremy? I can’t believe it. Last time I saw you kid, you were sucking a bottle and playing with your rattle.” They all laughed.
The detective stood smiling behind the two. He reached out a hand and ruffled the boy’s hair until he got his attention. Jim introduced them and sent Jeremy off with a playful swat to his behind. “Get in the house. It’s chilly out here.” But Jeremy had seen the motorcycle and headed right for it. The detective walked around the other side and showed him the bike, pointing out some of its better features. The motor roared into life, disturbing the early morning silence. I marveled at how I could have slept through its arrival
.
Jeremy gazed up in awe at the stranger as they talked over the loud hum of the machine. He’d made a friend. I looked on in displeasure, knowing once my son knew the man was a cop, like his father, he’d idolize him even more. I heard Jeremy ask him for a ride.
The detective, the sunlight streaking through his wavy hair, looked to me to see if it was all right. He was so good looking he could have been an actor or something. “Maybe sometime, if your mom says it’s okay,” I heard him promise. Jeremy’s begging eyes focused on me.
“Maybe sometime, later. We have work to do now.” I motioned towards the loaded U-Haul and the packed truck in front of it.
I hadn’t meant to rope in the detective but he rolled up his sleeves with a huge grin. “Well, let’s start moving in this stuff. I haven’t got all day.” He tapped his watch. “I have to be on duty in two hours.” I tried to protest, looking first at Jim and then at him, but they ignored me.
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Sis.” Jim jumped up on the tailgate of the U-Haul.
“Detective?”
The man nodded.
“You don’t have to help. We can manage,” I protested stubbornly.
“Sarah, right?” He stated more than asked as he grabbed the end of the couch and began to pull, pushing me gently out of the way. “Call me Ben. I’m a human being, too, you know. I’d be a fool if I didn’t take advantage of helping a pretty woman out, now, wouldn’t I?”
“Flattery will get you nowhere with me. I’m immune.” I didn’t much care for his pushy manner. I didn’t care for him. He was like every other cop I’d ever met. Brash, arrogant, and probably a womanizer. I glared at him as he helped Jim carry in the couch, but he seemed oblivious to my growing dislike. The angrier I became, the more he smiled and winked at me. I figured the best way to discourage him was to simply ignore him. Maybe, like a headache, he’d go away.
“Mom, he’s a neat guy.” Jeremy was next to me. “He said he’d give me a ride on his motorcycle next time he came over. Wow!” A minute later he was climbing up into the back of the truck and dragging things out. “Over my dead body he’ll take you off on that two-wheeled death trap,” I vowed wordlessly.
Evil Stalks the Night Page 10