Endless Night

by Richard Laymon

What he said and what he did. What went on that Dad knows about from the tapes.

  Must be pretty bad, or he would’ve told us.

  But everything’s okay now, she told herself. The guy is dead. They’re all dead. They can’t hurt me or anyone else ever again. It doesn’t even matter that Simon was right here in my room and messed with my stuff and took a nap in my bed. We cleaned up really good. I won’t wear anything he might’ve touched until it’s been through the washer. Sharon already changed the sheets ...

  Remembering, Jody began to feel a little squirmy.

  It had been weird about the sheets.

  At the time, she’d been so upset and worried that she hadn’t noticed just how weird. The main thing, then, was that a stranger, a killer, might be lurking somewhere in the house.

  No sooner had Dad unlocked the front door and stepped into the living room than he’d filled his hand with his Browning. “Company,” he’d whispered.

  It isn’t over, Jody had thought.

  She’d felt such relief earlier when she’d thought it was all over.

  On the car radio on their way to breakfast, they’d heard the news report. A mysterious fire at the Hollywood Hills mansion of someone named Thomas Baxter. Six charred bodies discovered in the burned garage. The sole survivor, a nude teenage girl showing indications of a severe beating and sexual assault, found outside the garage with a bullet in her back. Suspicions that this incident might be related to the house fires and disappearances that had occurred Friday night in the Avalon Hills section of Los Angeles.

  After hearing the news report, nobody in the car had cared any longer about trying to find an example of Blythe’s more colorful or picturesque restaurants. They’d stopped at a Burger King, and Dad had rushed to the pay phone.

  And he’d returned to their table with a weary, satisfied look on his face. “Nick says it’s over, folks. He wouldn’t go into details, but he says it looks like the people who died in that garage ... they’re the ones who murdered your family, Andy. We can go home.”

  But home had been visited.

  Somebody had eaten breakfast in the living room, had left a dirty plate and cup and silverware on the coffee table.

  Sharon, crouching, had inspected the breakfast remains. “I think this stuffs a day or two old,” she’d said.

  But she’d spoken in a whisper.

  “If anyone’s here,” Dad had whispered, “we’ll find him.”

  And they’d begun to search. Guns drawn.

  Sharon had been first into Jody’s bedroom. She’d gone in, pistol ready, while Dad had stayed with Jody and Andy in the hallway.

  She’d come out with Jody’s bedsheets bundled in her arms. The look on her face had been grim, maybe a little disgusted. “He was in there, but he’s gone. We might as well get started on the cleanup, huh? I’ll just throw these in the washer. He got some blood on them.”

  “He was in my bed?” Jody had blurted.

  “Do you know where the washing machine is?” Dad had asked Sharon.

  “In the garage, right?”

  “Right.”

  And he’d stood there—they’d all stood there—while Sharon carried the sheets up the hall to the garage.

  After her return, they had continued and finished their search of the house.

  Then Dad had made a phone call to Nick Ryan to report the break-in.

  Then the investigators had arrived. After a few words with them, he’d left for the station to find out what Nick had on the killers.

  Later, after all the investigators had left, Jody and Andy had helped Sharon clean up the messes. Once again, Sharon had been first into Jody’s bedroom. And her first act, there, had been to put a fresh set of sheets on the bed.

  What the hell was it with my sheets?

  Blood is evidence.

  Why would Sharon toss sheets with evidence on them into the washing machine instead of leaving them on the bed for the lab guys?

  Unless she’s some sort of cleaning fanatic.

  But Dad LET her do it.

  Dad knew better for sure.

  He would NEVER allow evidence to be ruined like that.

  Jody suddenly suspected why they’d done it. Moaning, she curled onto her side and hugged her belly.

  The bastard might’ve left blood on the sheets, as Sharon had claimed. But that wasn’t all. That couldn’t be all. He must’ve left other stains, too.

  She squirmed. She felt horribly hot.

  Could I get pregnant from something like that?

  Don’t be an idiot.

  Anyway, these are clean sheets.

  But Sharon didn’t change the mattress pad. What if the stuff had soaked straight through the sheet! Then it’d still be down under me on the pad.

  This is stupid, she told herself. There’s a clean sheet between me and his stuff.

  And then she thought, If they think I’m gonna sleep on this bed after that degenerate butcher shot his wad all over it, they’ve got another damn think coming!

  She rolled over fast, swung her feet to the floor and stood up.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Jody plucked her top sheet off the bed, wadded it into a bundle, and clutched it against her chest. Then she picked up her pillow and crept to her door.

  The hallway was dark.

  She walked slowly, her bare feet silent on the carpet. After a few steps, she could see the door to her father’s bedroom. It was open. Dad had gone to bed just a little while after Jody and Andy, so he was probably asleep by now.

  It doesn’t matter if he’s awake and hears me, she thought. I’ll just tell him I decided to sleep on the sofa, after all. It was his idea in the first place.

  As she neared his open door, she heard the growling noises of his snores.

  Good. She wouldn’t have to explain anything.

  But sneaking past his door, Jody almost hoped he would wake up. Though glad to be spared a questioning, she didn’t care much for the idea that he was asleep. It was as if he had gone away, abandoned her.

  She suddenly felt sure that Andy was asleep, too.

  It’s like they’re not even here.

  It’s like they left me by myself.

  Stupid, she told herself. They’re supposed to be asleep. That’s what night is for. It’s no fault of theirs that I’m screwed up and wide awake.

  Soon, she found her way to the living room. She stopped and studied the area ahead. The dim glow that seeped through the draperies—a faint mixture of milky gray from streetlights and moonlight—revealed shapes of chairs, lamp tables, the sofa and the coffee table in front of it.

  Black shapes.

  Black, or almost black.

  What if I go over to the sofa and somebody’s there!

  Cut it out, she told herself. Nobody’s on the sofa. Nobody’s in the whole house except me and Andy and Dad.

  “And I’m not too sure about them,” she whispered.

  Immediately, she wondered who might have heard her say that.

  Someone stretched out on the sofa, maybe. Or someone sitting right over there in Dad’s easy chair.

  This is stupid, she told herself. I’m too old to be spooking myself with this sort of nonsense. Nobody’s here.

  Just to make sure, she readjusted her bundle, freeing her right arm. Then she stepped over to an end table, reached out and turned on a lamp.

  The sharp light stung her eyes.

  Squinting, she turned around in a complete circle. Twice.

  See? Told you there was no one here.

  She turned off the lamp. As she stepped between the coffee table and sofa, her bare right foot crunched something into the carpet. Something small and brittle like a crumb of toast.

  This is where he ate!

  And I’m gonna sleep here?

  I can’t. No way.

  Nose wrinkled, she stepped away from the sofa.

  This is bad, she thought. What am I gonna do, avoid every place he might’ve been?

  Just the places I’m su
re of.

  Crazy.

  It’s not crazy! He was a filthy degenerate and a butcher! Not to mention he came on my bed. Who knows where else he might’ve ...

  Where do you think you’re gonna sleep? she wondered.

  She halted. Her heart was pounding very hard.

  Just calm down, she told herself.

  It isn’t fair! He wrecked everything! My own bed. The sofa. The whole damn house! It’ll never be the same. It’ll never feel clean or safe or ...

  “Knock it off,” she muttered. She didn’t like hearing her voice in the silence, but decided that she would talk anyway. “Okay? Just calm down. Everything’s fine. Okay. Now, think. Where can you sleep? Where wasn’t he?”

  In the car.

  I’m not gonna sleep in the car, she thought. There has to be someplace else. Come on, where?

  They’d found evidence of his presence here in the living room, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in Dad’s bedroom, in Jody’s, even in the garage.

  Face it, she thought, he was probably everywhere.

  He hadn’t disturbed the guest room, so far as they’d been able to tell. Of course, that proved nothing. It only meant he hadn’t rearranged or taken anything, or made a mess.

  Too bad Andy’s in there.

  Anyway, who’s to say the guest room’s bed is any better than mine? Who knows where the guy ... ?

  The trundle bed!

  Yes!

  Jody headed for the guest room, delighted by her success in discovering the perfect place to sleep. On rollers underneath the main bed and hidden by a draping quilt, the trundle was completely out of sight.

  Not a chance in hell the dirty bastard laid a finger on it.

  Yes!

  She was glad to hear her father snoring as she halted near his open door.

  Might be a trifle difficult to explain why I’m sneaking to Andy’s room in the dead of night.

  Turning away from his door, she looked into the bathroom and considered whether she needed to pee. Not badly.

  Better take care of it, she told herself.

  So she slipped inside and eased the door shut. With the Barney Rubble nightlight glowing beside the sink, she didn’t need to turn on the overhead lights. She set her sheet and pillow on the counter, raised her nightshirt, and sat down on the toilet.

  Good thing I made a pit stop, she decided after a while.

  Must be that Pepsi.

  When it came time to flush, she almost didn’t. The sound might wake up Dad. She could just lower the lid ...

  But she suddenly realized that the sound of a flushing toilet was exactly what she needed.

  If Dad hears that, he’ll know why I’m up roaming around.

  Yo ho ho!

  He’ll think I’m on the way back to my room, and never suspect the awful truth!

  Grinning, Jody flushed the toilet. Then she gathered up her pillow and sheet. She strode boldly out of the bathroom and up the hallway toward her bedroom.

  When she stopped at her bedroom, she realized that she wasn’t sure whether or not her father had been snoring as she’d left the john.

  Doesn’t really matter, she told herself.

  She took one step into her bedroom, found the doorknob, and pulled the door toward her.

  She didn’t shut it all the way; that might arouse suspicion. But she didn’t want to leave it standing wide open, either. Not with Sharon coming over later. Sharon or Dad might happen by and notice that her bed was empty.

  Leaving the door slightly ajar, she headed for the guest room. She walked slowly, rolling her feet from heel to toe even though that made it worse on places that were still sore from Friday night.

  Every few steps, she stopped and listened.

  The house was very quiet.

  Jody’s breathing and the thudding of her heart were the loudest sounds around.

  This end of the hallway seemed awfully dark.

  Jody had seldom walked it in the middle of the night, but she couldn’t recall it being this dark before.

  The guest room door must be shut, she thought.

  Usually, it was left open and light from the room’s windows stretched out into the hallway. With that door shut, and certainly no light coming in from the door to the garage, Jody could see nothing at all in front of her.

  She shut her eyes.

  It made no difference in what she saw.

  Wonderful, she thought, and opened them again.

  Blackness.

  She halted. She sidestepped to the right until her arm bumped softly against the wall.

  I can’t have very far to go, she told herself. Let’s not freak out over a little darkness.

  This is more than a little.

  No big deal, she told herself. Just turn around, and you’ll be able to see again.

  She turned around.

  And there was light. Dim light, but vastly better than nothing. And Barney Rubble in the bathroom seemed to give off a very healthy glow, considering that it had only one tiny little bulb and it was plugged in so far from ...

  ... from the door ...

  ... which was swinging shut, squeezing out the glow from Barney ...

  ... squeezing it down to a slice ...

  ... killing it.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Jody whispered.

  She backed away, arm rubbing the wall until she bumped a jutting edge of wood.

  The door frame.

  One more step, and the guest room door was beside her. She shifted the sheet and pillow to her right arm. With her left hand, she gripped the doorknob.

  She didn’t turn it, though.

  She stood there, struggling to breathe, staring down the hallway.

  It wasn’t my imagination, she told herself. The door did shut.

  Maybe Dad shut it. Maybe he’s in there, right now.

  That has to be it.

  He woke up. I probably woke him up when I flushed the toilet. And he figured since he was awake anyway he might as well go ahead and take a leak.

  That’s gotta be it.

  Far down the hall, a dim yellow slice of light appeared and slowly thickened.

  Jody sucked a quick breath.

  She twisted the doorknob, shoved her shoulder against the door, and lurched into the guest room. She shut the door fast, but took care not to let it bump. Leaning back against it, she panted for air.

  That had to be Dad in the john, she told herself.

  But what if it wasn’t?

  Peering into the darkness, she tried to see Andy. The curtains, usually left open, were shut. Only enough light filtered in to let her see vague, blurred shapes. She could barely make out the bed underneath the window. She couldn’t actually see Andy in it. Holding her own breath for a few moments, she heard his breathing.

  What if this isn’t Andy?

  What if Andy’s dead and this is that dirty—Simon—pretending to be asleep?

  The bastard can’t be here and also down by the john, she told herself. Especially figuring he’s DEAD. This has to be Andy.

  Find out. Turn on the lights.

  But if she turned on the lights, a bright strip at the bottom of the door would show in the hallway.

  Simon’ll see it.

  A coldness seemed to clamp Jody’s insides.

  This is suddenly an awful lot like Friday night, she thought. And Friday night when I came out of the room with Andy, everyone was dead.

  Dad’s down there right across the hall from the john.

  She muttered, “Not this time.”

  She tossed her pillow and sheet to the floor, whirled around, jerked open the door and rushed into the hallway. Nothing. Darkness. Everything looked normal. The light from Barney Rubble was a distant glow as dim as mist. No light came from her father’s room.

  She swept down the hall, moving as quietly as possible but moving fast. So fast that she could feel a breeze against her bare skin, feel the nightshirt drift against her thighs and belly.

  So far, so good, she thought.
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  She rushed into her own bedroom and hit the light switch. As brightness stung her eyes, she half expected to see a hairless, half-naked madman leap at her with a hunting knife.

  It didn’t happen.

  She jerked open the drawer of her nightstand and snatched out her Smith & Wesson.

  On her way to the door, she thumbed the safety off.

  She rushed down the hall to her father’s room. Halting just outside his door, she listened.

  And heard the slow growl of his snoring.

  Thank God!

  She crept through the doorway, slipped sideways, and nudged the switch with her elbow.

  Nobody stood over Dad’s bed, poised to strike him dead.

  Nobody appeared to be in the room, at all, except Jody and her father.

  He lay sprawled on his back, hands folded under his head, wearing his good blue pajamas. He had no sheet on top of him. The shirt of his pajamas was unbuttoned and hung open.

  One of his snores turned into a moan.

  Jody killed the light and slipped out of the room.

  She crossed the hall and was about to check the bathroom when its door began to swing shut.

  The door moved very slowly, blocking out the glow from Barney Rubble.

  Oh my God!

  She felt as if her heart had been dropped from a roof.

  But she didn’t let that stop her.

  She raised her trembling left hand. The door bumped softly against it.

  With her right hand, she aimed at the center of the door.

  She had fired at enough boards, out shooting with her dad, to know that her .22 would punch straight through such a door.

  Don’t shoot till you see who it is, she warned herself.

  She waited, expecting a strong thrust.

  For a few moments, the door pushed gently at her hand. Then it eased away, stopped, and began coming back.

  What’s... ?

  She thumped it with the heel of her hand.

  It swung away.

  Swung away silently without knocking into anyone behind it.

  Jody slapped the light switch, rushed in and whirled around, ready to fire.

  The door had come to a stop against the far wall. Nobody could possibly be hiding behind it.

  From where Jody stood, she could see into the bathtub. Nobody in there, either.

  A sudden movement, off to the side, sent shivers crawling up her skin.