The Complete Beast House Chronicles

by Richard Laymon

  Though conceited, condescending, stiff and humorless and generally annoying, Monica was almost beautiful. She looked very similar to the way Elizabeth Taylor had looked in her early twenties. Similar, but different.

  The differences were not to Monica’s advantage.

  But nobody ever mentioned them to her.

  What they pointed out were the similarities.

  It had probably been going on since Monica’s early childhood – friends and relatives and teachers and kids in school and strangers stopping her on the street to tell her, ‘Do you know, you’re the spitting image of Elizabeth Taylor? It’s absolutely uncanny. I can’t believe my eyes.’

  It must’ve been constant.

  And, of course, she’d bought it.

  In spite of the evidence of mirrors.

  Owen figured it was little wonder that she’d grown up thinking she was the queen of the universe.

  Henry had said, ‘To know her is to loathe her.’

  And Owen had agreed.

  During the entire fall semester, he’d done his best to stay out of Monica’s way. He’d wanted nothing to do with her. But they’d often been thrown together by circumstances. Since both were first-year English teachers at the same school, it was inevitable.

  And Owen just had to be nice to her.

  Whenever an encounter couldn’t be avoided, he smiled and spoke to her in a friendly way as if he liked her. He was that way with everyone.

  She seemed to react with her usual cold disdain.

  Until that December morning when she asked him for a ride to the Christmas party. Cornering him in the teacher’s lounge, she said, ‘Could I ask you a big favor, Owen?’

  ‘Sure, I guess so.’

  ‘Are you planning to go to the faculty Christmas party?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

  ‘Will you be driving?’

  Oh, no.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you taking a date?’

  If only.

  ‘No, probably not.’

  ‘The reason I’m asking, Owen – I simply can’t drive myself to the party. It’s so dangerous for a woman to be out by herself, especially late at night.’

  ‘It sure is. Dangerous for anybody.’

  ‘But it’s worse for a woman.’

  ‘Sure. I’m sure it is. Worse.’

  ‘And the party probably won’t get over till sometime after midnight. I can’t possibly drive home all by myself at an hour like that. So would you mind terribly taking me to the party? I don’t think I’ll be able to go, otherwise.’

  Owen didn’t want to do it. He didn’t like her. But he’d already confessed his intention of going to the party without a date – blowing his best possible excuse. On the spur of the moment, he could think of no halfway decent reason to turn her down. So he smiled and said, ‘Sure, I’d be glad to give you a ride.’

  It turned out to be more than a ride: it turned out to be a date. After their arrival at the party, she wouldn’t go away. She stayed by Owen’s side. She held on to his arm. She led him here and there, keeping him while she chatted with an assortment of faculty members and their spouses – usually the very teachers Owen liked least and would’ve avoided, given the chance.

  Finally, Owen managed to sneak away from her. He got himself a cupful of red, potent punch, then spent a few minutes with his friends, Henry and Jill and Maureen.

  Three minutes, maybe four.

  Then Henry, keeping lookout, said, ‘Oops, here comes trouble. You’re up Shit Creek now, buddy.’

  Owen said, ‘Delightful,’ and gulped down his punch.

  ‘If you can’t stand her,’ Maureen said, ‘why not tell her to take a leap?’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  Monica, arriving, greeted everyone with a rigid smile. Then she grabbed Owen’s arm and said to the others, ‘Will you excuse us, please?’

  ‘Can’t,’ Henry said. ‘You’re inexcusable.’

  ‘Oh, ho ho. Very amusing.’ With that, she led Owen away from his friends. As she hurried him along, she said with a pout, ‘I thought you’d deserted me. You can’t just bring a girl somewhere and leave her stranded, Owie.’

  He hated to be called Owie.

  He hated the tone of her voice, as if she were talking to a three-year-old.

  He also hated to dance. But she squeezed his arm and said, ‘How about tripping the light fantastic for a while?’

  ‘I’m not much of a dancer,’ he said.

  ‘That’s all right. I’m a wonderful dancer. And a wonderful teacher. I’ll have you cutting the rug like Fred Astaire.’

  ‘Fred Astaire’s dead.’

  She smiled, shook her head, and said, ‘Don’t be morbid, darling.’

  Darling? Oh, my God.

  ‘I’d really rather not dance,’ he said.

  He despised dancing in general, but was appalled by the idea of dancing with Monica – especially at the faculty Christmas party, surrounded by teachers, counselors, secretaries, vice principals . . . the principal himself. People he had to see every working day. People who knew him.

  ‘You can’t just bring me here and not dance with me. How would that look?’

  You’re not my date! he wanted to shout. I gave you a ride! Say ‘Thanks for the lift,’ and leave me alone!

  He thought it, but didn’t say it. Her feelings wouldn’t just be hurt, they’d be trampled.

  He finally said, ‘I guess I can give it a try.’

  She led him downstairs to the recreation room. It was decorated with red and green streamers, and dark except for the glow of Christmas tree lights strung across the ceiling. Owen noticed that there were no clear bulbs, no white bulbs. They were all deep, rich colors: blue and red and green and orange. They looked gawdy and wonderful, but didn’t illuminate much.

  Just as well, Owen thought.

  The floor was crowded with dancing couples. Half of nearly every pair was somebody Owen knew from school. Many nodded, smiled, or spoke brief greetings as they made their way to the middle of the floor.

  Stopping, Monica turned to him and gazed into his eyes.

  She is pretty, Owen thought.

  But he suspected that anyone would look good in the glow of all those Christmas tree lights. He could see the shine of them in Monica’s hair, their sparkle in her eyes. They softened her face, blurring its harshness, hiding the arrogance and suspicion that could usually be seen in her eyes and lips.

  She really did resemble Elizabeth Taylor. For the first time, the similarities seemed to surpass the differences.

  And she looked great in her angora sweater. It hugged her body in such a way that each breast swelled out separately – they were twin, fuzzy white mounds with a glen between them.

  She might’ve looked great in her pleated plaid skirt, too. It was very short and drifted softly against her thighs. But she’d ruined the skirt’s appeal by wearing tights. The black tights encased her legs, showing off their slender curves but hiding every inch of skin.

  ‘Just do what I do, darling,’ she said.

  With that, she stepped forward until their bodies met. She took hold of Owen’s left hand, placed her own left hand on his shoulder, and said, ‘Put your other hand in the middle of my back.’

  He followed her instructions.

  ‘That’s right,’ she whispered.

  A new tune began to flow from the speakers. ‘White Christmas,’ sung by Bing Crosby.

  They started to dance.

  It was a slow dance, and they held each other close. Owen followed Monica’s lead. It was easy; she hardly moved at all, just swayed back and forth and took small steps this way and that.

  She smelled awfully good – some sort of perfume that filled Owen’s mind with images of balmy nights and soft breezes in the tropics. He’d been smelling it all evening. But now it seemed to radiate off her skin in warm, rich waves.

  A wonderful, exotic aroma.

  But not nearly as wonderful or exotic as the feel of Monica
as they danced: her face resting on his shoulder; her hair tickling the side of his face; her left hand caressing his back while her right clasped his hand; her breasts pushing firmly but softly against his chest; her belly pressed to his belly; her crotch rubbing him in a subtle way that seemed almost accidental; her thighs brushing against his with every step she took.

  Before Bing was halfway through the song, Owen started getting hard.

  Oh, terrific.

  Just what I need.

  Hoping Monica hadn’t noticed it yet, he bent forward slightly to break contact down there.

  ‘Don’t be a silly,’ she said.

  Her left hand went down and pulled at his rump until he was tight against her again.

  ‘Ooooh, Owen,’ she said. Then she tilted back her head, looked him in the eyes, and let forth with her wanton growl.

  Immediately, he hated it. Though it seemed to express approval and lust, its blatant phoniness made it seem like mockery.

  She probably thinks it’s a cute thing to do, he told himself. Maybe she even thinks it’s sexy.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ Monica said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘What’re you daydreaming about?’

  ‘I’m not daydreaming.’

  ‘You’re always off in your own little world.’

  ‘I’m here,’ he told her, and tried to smile.

  ‘Now you are.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You’re such a silly.’ She gave his thigh a squeeze. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

  ‘Whatever you please,’ he said. Then he leaned forward and looked past Monica to see out her window. Just a few feet beyond the edge of the road, there seemed to be a drop-off. He could see nothing down there except the ocean. ‘Yikes,’ he said.

  ‘A thrill, isn’t it?’ She didn’t sound thrilled, but she was smiling as if she were the only person in on a joke. ‘If we die, guess whose fault it will be?’

  ‘The bus driver’s?’

  ‘Think again.’

  ‘Mine.’

  ‘Ding! You win. You insisted on coming.’

  ‘I didn’t exactly insist. It was more like a suggestion.’

  ‘We could be riding on a cable car right now.’

  ‘We can ride on cable cars tomorrow.’

  ‘If we’re still alive.’

  Chapter Three

  Tuck and Dana

  Lynn Tucker, sitting at the kitchen table, set down her cup of coffee and smiled when Dana came in. ‘Hey, hey, look at you.’

  Dana grinned and raised her arms. ‘Just call me Ranger Rick.’

  ‘You look great.’

  ‘Thanks, Tuck. You, too.’ Frowning, she said, ‘I wish my uniform looked like that.’ While Dana’s tan shirt and shorts were stiff and creased and dark, Tuck’s looked soft and faded. ‘Want to trade?’

  ‘Think mine’d fit you?’ Tuck asked.

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Probably.’ She laughed. ‘What are you, now, about six-nine, seven feet?’

  ‘Just six. But I’m dainty.’

  Tuck pushed back her chair and said, ‘Sit down, Miss Dainty. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.’

  ‘I can get it.’

  ‘You’re my guest.’ Tuck stood up and headed for a cupboard. ‘Besides, it’s your first day. Tomorrow, I’ll let you get your own coffee.’

  ‘Okay,’ Dana said. ‘Thanks.’ She pulled out a chair and sat at the table.

  ‘As for your uniform,’ Tuck said, ‘it’ll be a lot better after a few washings. What you need to do is wash both your uniforms every night whether they need it or not. That’ll get the stiffness out. Before you know it, you’ll look like an old hand.’ She took down a cup and turned around. ‘So, how did you sleep last night?’

  ‘I zonked. I tell you, Tuck . . . I still can’t believe I’m here. This is such a great place!’

  ‘I thought you might like it.’ She picked up the coffee pot and brought the clean cup over to the table. As she filled the cup for Dana, she said, ‘One thing, okay? Try not to call me Tuck when we’re over at the house. You know, in front of the others.’

  ‘I’ll try. Might be tough, though. I’ve been calling you Tuck since we were kids.’

  ‘For which I’ve never properly repaid you.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ Dana said.

  ‘Anyway, try to avoid it, okay? The thing is, I’m the boss of things over there. It’s bad enough that I look like I’m only about fifteen years old.’

  ‘A mature fifteen.’

  ‘I’m also only twenty damn years old and have to go around giving orders to all these older people. All I’d need is to have them hear you calling me Tuck.’

  ‘Don’t they know your name’s Tucker?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. Nobody uses my last name over there, but they all know Janice is my stepmother. Maybe they think my name’s Crogan.’

  ‘She should’ve changed her name when she married your dad.’

  ‘Would you change your name to Tucker?’

  ‘If I married a guy named Tucker.’

  ‘Anyway, she didn’t. Just don’t call me Tuck in front of the employees, okay?’

  ‘You don’t call me Moose, I won’t call you Tuck.’

  ‘I never called you Moose.’

  ‘Right. You preferred Bullwinkle.’

  ‘Okay, I won’t call you Bullwinkle. I promise. Nothing but Dana. Or Miss Lake, if I have to berate you for doing something stupid.’

  ‘Would I do something stupid?’

  ‘Oh, not you.’

  ‘So,’ Dana said, ‘what should I call you?’

  ‘Boss lady.’

  Dana cracked up, and Tuck grinned. She waited for Dana’s laughter to subside, then said, ‘Lynn would be fine.’

  Nodding, Dana lifted her cup. Steam drifted off the dark surface of the coffee. She blew it gently away, then took a sip. ‘Mm, good.’

  ‘Do you want something to eat?’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘Good. We don’t have much time. We can grab a bite at the snack shop after we get there. Or we can stop for doughnuts on the way. Are you still a doughnut hound?’

  ‘You bet,’ Dana said. ‘But I’m not that hungry right now. I don’t usually eat much in the morning.’

  ‘About ready to go?’

  ‘Yep. You said to be ready by nine. I’ve been ready since I walked in.’ She took another sip of coffee, then another.

  ‘Take your time. We don’t have to rush off right away. I’m the boss, after all.’

  ‘Yeah, but you shouldn’t be late.’

  ‘Even if we don’t get there till nine-thirty, I’ll still be the first one to arrive. Nobody’s all that gung-ho. It’s just a job to them, you know?’

  ‘What is it to you?’

  ‘A passion!’

  Dana laughed. ‘Right.’

  ‘Do you want the truth?’

  ‘If you’re up to it.’

  ‘I love it all. I really do. I love being the boss . . .’

  ‘You’ve always been great at giving orders.’

  ‘It isn’t just that, either. There’s something about Beast House. It’s got history, you know? An awful history, but . . . There’s something sort of old and romantic and mysterious about the place. I just love it there. It’s like a strange little piece of the past is still alive . . . I mean, you can feel it.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Did you feel it yesterday?’

  ‘Mostly, I just felt a little spooked.’

  Tuck grinned. ‘Good. You’re supposed to. But after you get used to the place, it probably won’t seem so creepy anymore.’

  ‘Probably?’

  ‘Well, it actually seems to get worse instead of better for some people. That’s pretty rare, though.’

  ‘I hope that doesn’t happen to me.’

  ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Me, I like the place more all the time.’

  ‘Someday, maybe it’ll be yo
urs.’

  ‘I ain’t gonna hold my breath,’ Tuck said.

  ‘You’re Janice’s only heir, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, shit, I guess so. She doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, and you know what happened to her parents.’ Tuck frowned as if thinking about it for a few moments, then said, ‘Other than Dad and me, she’s got nobody else except an uncle and cousin. But Janice is just in her thirties, for godsake. I doubt if she’ll be pitching forward on her nose in the near future. Besides which, she might even have a kid of her own someday.’

  ‘She hasn’t so far.’

  ‘Yeah, but she’s only been married for a couple of years.’

  ‘She’s how old?’

  Tuck frowned for a moment, then said, ‘Thirty-six.’

  ‘Well, that’s not terribly old to be starting a family.’

  ‘For all I know, she might already be knocked up. And if she’s not, she probably will be by the time they get back from the cruise. I mean, two months together in the South Pacific? I damn near get pregnant just thinking about it.’

  ‘Have they been trying to have a baby?’ Dana asked.

  ‘Jeez! How would I know? She’s a great gal and everything and we really like each other, but it’s not like being with you. She my dad’s wife. I mean, I can’t just ask her about stuff like that.’ Tuck raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you want any more coffee?’

  ‘Nope, I’m fine.’

  ‘Maybe we’d better get going.’ She reached across the table for Dana’s cup. ‘I’ll rinse these out and batten down the hatches. You might want to grab your windbreaker. You never know when the fog’ll come rolling in. It can get pretty nippy.’

  Five minutes later, Dana followed Tuck into the three-car garage. They walked past the eighteen-foot cabin cruiser, then past a Mercedes, before climbing into the red Jeep Wrangler.

  ‘I don’t know how you can stand living in such squalor,’ Dana said.

  ‘It’s tough.’ As the automatic door rolled upward, Tuck started the Jeep’s engine. ‘I’ll probably have to move out if I ever get married.’

  ‘Don’t get married. No guy would be worth it.’