The Complete Beast House Chronicles

by Richard Laymon

  She felt its hot breath on her face.

  ‘Bastard!’ she shrieked, and drove the knife upward. It punched into the thing’s flesh. She jerked it out and stabbed again as the beast wailed in pain. Then it batted her hand. The knife jumped from her numb fingers.

  From just beyond her head came a scraping sound like wood sliding over dirt.

  The beast clutched her shoulders, its claws digging in. Squirming, she rammed a knee into the thing. It kept its grip and knocked her leg aside. Its penis thrust against her thigh.

  Its face, just above her own, was dead white and shiny like the flesh of a slug. Saliva spilled onto her from its wide mouth. She wondered why she could suddenly see its face and before she could figure it out the face jerked wildly upward.

  The roar that blasted her ears sounded as if the world were exploding.

  One of the creature’s eyes was a shiny hole.

  A side of its snout flew apart.

  Its jaw disintegrated.

  She turned her face away as what was left of the beast’s head dropped onto her.

  In the silence, Janice’s ears rang.

  A man’s voice said, ‘Holy shit.’

  25

  ‘How’re you doing, ladies?’ the barmaid asked.

  ‘I could go for . . .’ Nora started.

  ‘I think we should leave,’ Tyler interrupted.

  ‘They said we should wait here.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ She got up from the table.

  Nora shrugged at the barmaid. ‘Guess that’s all,’ she said. She joined Tyler, and they hurried through the dimly lighted cocktail lounge. ‘What’s the rush, kiddo?’

  ‘I can’t stand waiting any longer. They said they’d be back in an hour.’

  ‘So they’re twenty minutes late. Maybe it took them longer to get in than they planned.’ In spite of the reassuring words, Tyler heard tension in her friend’s voice.

  She pushed through one of the heavy wooden doors and held it wide while Nora followed her out. She took a deep breath of the chilly night air. Stopping by the antique carriage near the entrance, she gazed toward the road. No cars passed.

  Nora wrapped her arm across her breasts, apparently cold in her filmy orange blouse. ‘Why don’t we go back in and have another drink? They’ll be along pretty soon. I’m sure they’re all right.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Sure. Come on, it’s better than standing out here freezing our tails.’

  ‘I’ll go crazy if I sit still any longer.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why don’t they come?’

  ‘They’re probably on the way, right now.’

  Tyler caught her breath as headlights brightened the road. She stared through the trees, and sighed when the vehicle sped past. Just a pickup truck.

  ‘Let’s take the car,’ she said.

  ‘Okay. At least it’ll be warm.’

  They followed the walkway to the courtyard.

  ‘Have you got your keys?’ Nora asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you want to change first?’

  ‘No.’

  She rushed to keep up with Tyler’s quick pace. ‘What’s the big hurry? We’ll probably just pass them on the road, anyway, and have to turn around.’

  ‘At least we’ll know they’re all right.’

  ‘We could miss them, you know. If they parked on a side road . . .’

  ‘We’ll turn around and come back if we don’t spot the car.’ She unlocked her Omni, dropped behind the steering wheel, and reached over to flip up the lock button for Nora. She keyed the ignition as Nora climbed in. When the door thumped, she shot the car backwards.

  ‘For Christsake, calm down.’

  ‘I can’t.’ She sped toward the road.

  ‘There’s no reason to panic.’

  ‘They should’ve been back by now.’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  ‘Goddamn it.’

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ She eased off the accelerator only long enough to glance both ways, then swung onto the road with a whine of skidding tires, and floored it.

  Nora buckled her safety harness. ‘Come on, do you want the cops to stop you?’

  Shaking her head, she let up on the gas pedal. The lights of town appeared as she rounded a bend. She passed the closed service station. On the next block, she slowed almost to a stop as a Volkswagen backed into her lane from a parking space in front of a tavern. Then she had to stop for the town’s blinking red traffic signal. The intersection was clear. She gunned through it.

  ‘Keep an eye out for the Mustang,’ Nora said. ‘I’ll take the right, you take the left.’

  Few cars were parked along this end of the street. Just ahead, the curb in front of Beast House’s long fence was vacant. So was the shoulder across the road. Passing Beach Lane, however, the corner of her eye picked up a bright beam.

  ‘Hold it,’ Nora said.

  She hit the brake. As the car jerked to a stop, she looked past Nora at the single approaching light. ‘That can’t be them,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe they lost a headlight.’

  She waited. The steering wheel was slick under her hands. She rubbed them dry on her skirt. The wool made whispery sounds against her stockings. Then she heard the sputtery grumble of an engine. Twisting around, she peered out the backseat window.

  A motorcycle came scooting up the lane, followed by a plume of exhaust and dust swirling red in its taillight. Hunched over its bars was a hatless Captain Frank, his white hair and beard streaming in the wind. The cycle tipped away as it made a quick turn behind the Omni and sped north.

  ‘Look at that sucker go,’ Nora muttered.

  Tyler stepped on the gas. She drove slowly past Beast House, staring at the grounds behind its fence, at its dark front porch, its windows. It looked bleak and deserted. She could hardly imagine anyone actually entering such a place at night.

  Abe and Jack could be in there right now, she thought. Sneaking through pitch-black rooms and corridors, knowing they’re late and trying to hurry . . .

  Or maybe lying torn and dead, two more victims of . . .

  No!

  They’re okay. They’re all right. They’re fine. They have guns. They’re trained soldiers. Marines. Leather-necks.

  Beast House fell out of sight as she followed the road’s curve up the wooded hillside, but her mind stayed inside the house. She spread open curtains and stared at maimed bodies, wondering which were wax, which flesh, which Abe.

  ‘There it is!’ Nora blurted.

  Tyler’s eyes fixed on the Mustang. It was parked off the road just ahead. Its lights were out. She gazed through its rear window as she swung behind it. Nobody seemed to be inside.

  ‘Shit,’ Nora said. She reached over and patted Tyler’s leg. ‘Just sit back and try to relax. They’ll be along any minute.’

  Tyler killed the headlights and shut off the engine.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ Nora told her. She opened the glove compartment and pulled out the Automobile Club guidebook. ‘This’ll help pass the time. Turn on the overhead light.’

  Tyler twisted the headlight knob. The ceiling light came on. Nora flipped through the pages. ‘Let’s see, now. Shasta. Here we go, Shasta Lake. It’s here! The Pine Cone Lodge. My God, it’s got five diamonds! The place must really be something, huh? Expensive, though. One person, fifty-five to sixty bucks a night. Two people, one bed, sixty-five bucks. Forty-five units. Twelve miles north of Redding, off Interstate-5. One and a half miles south of Bridge Bay Road turnoff. Overlooking Lake Shasta. Open all year. Spacious, beautifully decorated rooms with shower/baths, cable TV, fireplaces. Heated pool, whirlpools, free boats and motors. Fishing, water-skiing. It doesn’t exactly sound like a dump.’

  Tyler shook her head.

  ‘You think you’ll stay on there?’

  ‘If he asks me to,’ she muttered. ‘Damn it, where is he?’

/>   ‘Look, it probably took them ten or fifteen minutes just getting to the house from here.’

  ‘Let’s go over.’

  ‘To the house? Are you nuts?’

  ‘You can wait here if you want.’

  ‘Christ, girl!’

  Tyler turned off the light and opened her door. Before she could shut it, she saw Nora crawling across the bucket seats. She waited beside the car until her friend climbed out, then hurried across the road.

  ‘We’re hardly dressed to go traipsing through the woods.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘You’ll get runs in your stockings.’

  Tyler stepped down the steep bank of a ditch, her sandals sliding on the dewy undergrowth, tendrils clutching at her ankles.

  Nora skidded, landed on her rump, and picked herself up. ‘Shit. Have you flipped or something?’

  Without a word, Tyler leaned into the opposite slope and started to climb.

  ‘If you’ve got it into your head to go inside the house, forget it. For starters, we’d never make it over the fence.’

  Reaching the top of the embankment, Tyler clasped Nora’s hand and pulled her up. She stepped through dark spaces between the trees.

  ‘Besides, we haven’t got guns. They’ve got guns. Not that I’d go in there if we did have . . .’ Nora’s voice faltered.

  From down on the road to their left and far ahead came the quick, slapping sounds of feet racing over the pavement. Tyler’s heart lurched. She stared through the pines at the moon-spotted road.

  ‘It’s them,’ Nora whispered.

  As hard as she listened, Tyler only heard one set of footfalls. Fighting an urge to cry out, she darted back to the edge of the ditch. Poised above the drop-off, she gazed down the road and saw a single runner dashing up the center line. She groaned as she recognized Jack’s blocky figure.

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ Nora muttered.

  Tyler threw herself down the embankment, stumbled through the growth at its bottom, scurried up the other side and lunged onto the road.

  ‘Jack!’

  The man kept running closer with short, choppy steps. He flapped an arm at her. ‘Get in your car,’ he called.

  ‘Where’s Abe?’

  ‘At the house. He’s all right. I’ve gotta meet him in front.’

  ‘What happened?’ Tyler asked.

  ‘Later.’ He hunched over the Mustang’s door, shoved a key into its lock, opened it and climbed in.

  ‘He said Abe’s all right,’ Nora gasped, coming up behind her. ‘Told you . . . there was nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Something happened,’ Tyler said. Her near panic, she realized, had subsided into frustration.

  They stood by the road while Jack swung the Mustang into a U-turn. As it shot off down the slope, Tyler raced to her car. ‘Get in back,’ she ordered. Jerking open her door, she flicked up the lock button for Nora.

  The instant her friend was inside, she spun the steering wheel. The Omni made a tight circle, its headbeams sweeping the edge of the woods.

  ‘Douse the lights,’ Nora said.

  She killed them, remembering that Jack had kept the Mustang dark as he sped down the slope.

  ‘Geez, this is exciting.’

  ‘Something must’ve gone wrong.’

  ‘Stop worrying. Abe’s all right.’

  ‘I’ll stop worrying when I see him.’

  ‘You must really have it for that guy.’

  ‘I do,’ she said.

  Hurtling around the curve at the bottom of the hill, she saw the Mustang’s dark shape glide to the curb. It stopped in front of the ticket shack. She glanced at the grounds behind the fence, but saw no one.

  Where’s Abe? her mind screamed.

  Jack leapt from the car. He left his door open, dashed around the front, and flung the passenger door wide.

  Tyler steered in behind the Mustang. She hit the brakes. Her Omni skidded to a halt inches from the rear bumper. She jumped out, and took two quick steps before she saw, over the hood of her car, Abe come staggering from behind the ticket booth with a body slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

  Without room to step between the cars, Tyler crawled across the hood. She swung her legs down and rushed to Abe’s side.

  The girl he carried, wrapped in a blanket, was a blonde with hair hanging down over her face. Crouching, Abe lowered her feet to the sidewalk. Though she seemed conscious, her legs buckled. Jack grabbed her beneath the armpits, and the two men helped her into the Mustang’s passenger-seat. Jack shut the door as Abe turned to Tyler.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘What happened? Who’s she?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ll go back in your car,’ he said. ‘Quick, let’s get going.’

  The sudden harsh knocking on Gorman’s door sent a jolt through him, reminding him of last night when Marty and Claire had startled him from sleep. His calm returned when he realized it must be Jack and Abe. He checked his wristwatch. Eleven ten. They’d been gone for an hour and forty minutes, so they must’ve spent at least an hour inside Beast House shooting pictures.

  ‘I’m coming,’ he called. He closed Captain Frank’s scrapbook, and slid it into a drawer of the lamp table. Before going to the door, he switched on his cassette recorder and pocketed it.

  The man waiting under the porch light was neither Jack nor Abe.

  ‘Captain Frank!’ Gorman said, and forced a smile. ‘I’m glad you’re here. You must have come about your book.’

  The old man looked angry.

  ‘Come in, come in. I’m sorry I didn’t manage to get it back to you this afternoon, but the copy machine at that shop was out of order. They told me they’d have it repaired before tomorrow morning, so . . .’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Safe and sound,’ Gorman said.

  With a wary look in his eyes, Captain Frank followed him around the foot of the bed and watched as he removed the volume from the drawer. ‘I’ll take it now, Mr Wilcox,’ he said.

  ‘If you wish.’

  ‘The fellow at the front desk, he says your name’s Hardy.’

  ‘It’s true that’s the name I registered under.’

  ‘What’s your real name?’

  ‘Hardy. Wilcox, you see, is my pen name, my nom de plume. I use it for my by-line when I write for People.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He sounded skeptical. ‘I think you aimed to steal my scrapbook off me.’

  ‘Nonsense. I had every intention of returning it to you.’

  ‘Aye. Maybe yes and maybe no.’ Captain Frank pulled a scuffed leather wallet from a rear pocket of his Bermuda shorts, took out the pair of fifties, and held them toward Gorman.

  Gorman stood motionless, the scrapbook in both hands. ‘I take it, then, that you don’t wish me to write the article.’

  ‘Now I didn’t say that, did I?’

  ‘I can’t write your story if you refuse to let me use this.’ He shook the volume. It’s a treasure, and I realize it must be priceless to you. I most certainly had no intention of purloining it. I would have returned it to you, this afternoon, if I’d had any inkling you might suspect me of such treachery. Is it my fault that the copy machine malfunctioned?’

  ‘I don’t ’spect so,’ Captain Frank admitted. He looked almost contrite. ‘All the same, I want you to take your money back and let me have the book. I just don’t feel right, letting it out of my hands. I tell you what, I’ll take it home with me and you come along tomorrow, if you’re still of a mind to write this up. I’ll drift on over with you, and we’ll get us a copy made.’

  Gorman made himself smile. ‘That sounds perfectly reasonable,’ he said. He handed the book to Captain Frank, took the money and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. ‘I do apologize,’ he said, ‘for inconveniencing you in this way. If I’d had any idea . . .’

  ‘No, no. That’s just fine.’

  ‘Would you care to join me for a drink? I’m afraid I h
aven’t any beer on hand, but does a martini sound agreeable?’

  The old man’s eyes gleamed. ‘Why thanks.’

  ‘Have a seat,’ Gorman told him.

  As Captain Frank lowered himself onto one of the twin beds, Gorman turned to the dressing table. He uncapped a fresh bottle of gin, and watched its clear liquid splash into the beaker from his travel bar. His hand trembled.

  The bus is an arsenal, he thought. I could get myself shot, sneaking in there. With enough martini in his system, however, the old bastard ought to sleep like the dead.

  Gorman added a dash of vermouth. He slowly stirred the mixture.

  Like the dead.

  He knows my name. He’ll make trouble if I rob him of his precious scrapbook. Assuming, of course, he doesn’t wake up and shoot me.

  A pillow over his face while he’s sleeping in a drunken stupor . . .

  It seemed too risky.

  Gorman wanted the scrapbook. Photocopies, however, would serve almost as well.

  If he goes into the store with me, he might find out I lied about the machine breaking down. He might rebel, at that point, and refuse to cooperate.

  He’s an old man. The authorities in this podunk town might simply assume he died of natural causes. A pillow over the face in the wee hours . . .

  Or he might commit suicide.

  Gorman saw himself in the dark bus, taking the revolver from under the driver’s seat, pressing it against the sleeping man’s temple and firing.

  No, no, no. Neighbors might hear the gunshot.

  It was worth considering, though. If he could get away unobserved . . .

  He filled two of the motel tumblers nearly to their brims, and turned to Captain Frank. ‘Here you go,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, matey.’

  Gorman sat on the edge of the other bed. He sipped his martini. The old man took a hefty swallow, and sighed. ‘Ah, that does hit the spot.’

  ‘Drink up. There’s plenty more where that came from.’

  ‘Did I tell you of the time I took the tour?’

  ‘The Beast House tour? No. When was this?’

  ‘The very day Maggie Kutch opened it up for folks. I was just a lad. I shined shoes over at Hub’s barber shop for better than two weeks, saving every penny and just waiting for Maggie to start the tours. Nobody in town talked about anything else, once it got out what she was up to – with the dummies and all. My mother, she said it was an abomination against God.’ He took another long drink. ‘I knew she’d throw a fit if she found out I aimed to visit the place, so I kept it to myself and went over to go in with the first bunch. You’ve never seen such a crowd. Half the folks in town was there, lined up to buy tickets. I knew right then word’d get back to her. I just about gave up on the idea, but I just had to go in. The thing of it was, you see, I half expected to find my father inside.’