by Robert Bloch
“You really live quite aways out here, don’t you?” Helen glanced down. “Your parents must be getting worried about you.”
“Not really.”
“No?”
Anthony shook his head. “They don’t care when I come home. I could come home at midnight and they wouldn’t care.”
Helen smiled at him indulgently. “Midnight, Anthony?”
“Yes.” The boy paused for a moment, then continued. “It’s my birthday today and they don’t even care about that!”
Helen stared at him, startled. “You’re kidding! Really?”
He nodded forlornly and her heart went out to him. “What a crummy birthday!”
“I’m okay.” Anthony glanced up with a cheerful grin. “I made a friend.”
Helen brightened. “Me too,” she said.
Quite suddenly, the car emerged from the woods.
Peering through the windshield, Helen was surprised to see that the road ahead ran in a straight line between fields covered by parched grass. This was obviously farmland, but it lay fallow and unplanted, weeds its only crop. Under the dark and moonless sky, the horizon receded into deeper shadows without any evidence of lighted dwellings. It looked like the middle of nowhere.
Then, quite abruptly, the car’s headlights focused on a white two-story house looming up directly ahead at the far end of the road.
As they approached, Helen noted that the architecture was Victorian, like something out of an old picture-book, rising from a complementary setting of green lawn surrounded by a white picket fence. It seemed as out of place here as if it had been dropped from the sky.
Helen parked before the gateway, noting as she did so that there were lights faintly visible behind the closed shutters.
“Here we are,” said Anthony.
They got out of the car and Helen moved around the side to join the boy as he started forward and opened the fence gate.
Together they moved up the walk bisecting the neat, well-trimmed lawn.
“What a lovely house!” Helen murmured.
Anthony seemed pleased by her reaction. “You like it?”
Helen nodded. “It’s so peaceful. Way out here by itself.”
Nearing the front door, Helen was surprised to see three cars standing in the shadows before the left-hand side of the structure. She couldn’t make out details too clearly, but in the dim light she got a curious impression that they were coated with a fine layer of dust.
Anthony followed her gaze and she nodded toward him. “Three-car family, right?”
He smiled but made no reply. Stepping forward, he opened the front door. Chimes jangled faintly against a tinny background of music issuing from somewhere within.
Anthony gestured toward the open doorway. “C’mon in,” he said.
Helen moved across the threshold and the boy followed her, closing the door behind him. They stood in a hallway lighted by old-fashioned wall lamps. A staircase rose directly ahead, leading to the floor above.
Now that the front door had closed, the music’s fast jerky tempo was louder; it seemed to be coming from the doorway of the room down the hall at their left.
Anthony took Helen’s hand and started toward it, then halted at the entrance just long enough for Helen to get a fleeting glimpse of the room beyond.
It was here that she discovered the source of the music: its ricky-ticky rhythm emanated from the television set against the far wall as cartoon figures leaped and bounded across the flickering screen.
Both the images on the tube and the television itself seemed oddly incongruous in this setting. The darkened parlor looked almost like a reproduction of a Currier and Ives print; the red plush carpet was heavy, the overstuffed furniture massive, the fireplace against the right wall surmounted by a huge marble mantel.
Now, rising from behind high-backed chairs placed directly before the television screen, an elderly man and a young girl turned toward the doorway with startled stares. For a moment Helen had the curious impression that both of them were less than pleased at this sudden invasion, but almost instantly their faces broke into bright, toothy smiles as they hurried forward, nodding at the boy beside her.
“Hi, Anthony!” They spoke simultaneously, then fell silent, turning their attention to Helen.
Again she sensed a momentary reaction of uneasiness in their glances, but it was quickly dispelled as their smiles returned.
Beside her, the small, dark-haired boy nodded, his brown eyes fixed upon their faces. “This is Helen,” he said.
The elderly man’s features creased into a genial grin. “Helen! Delighted to meet you! Any friend of Anthony’s—”
“Hello there!” The girl’s voice rose over his as she nodded at their visitor.
“This is Uncle Walt and my sister, Ethel,” Anthony said.
Helen smiled. “How do you do?”
In the moment that followed, she had an opportunity to sort out her impressions, noting that Uncle Walt must be in his early sixties. Although he wore a checkered sport shirt and casual blue jeans, his trendy attire could not conceal the stooped shoulders and the thinness of his limbs. In contrast, Ethel was quite plump; she appeared to be about sixteen, and the bulging body beneath her blouse and skirt betokened the results of overindulgence in junk food. Her face, framed by long strands of lusterless blond hair, wore a bovine look.
Helen’s quick appraisal was interrupted by the sound of voices from the hallway behind.
“Did I hear Anthony come in?”
The high-pitched query was met by a booming, deeper-toned response. “Yes, indeedy! There he is!”
Helen turned, stepping aside as another couple entered the room. Both were in their forties; the woman wearing a blouse and slacks, her companion’s garments similar to those of Uncle Walt.
Anthony nodded up at them. “This is my mother and father.”
Helen concealed her surprise with a hasty smile; somehow they seemed a trifle too old to have a son of Anthony’s age. “Pleased to meet you,” she said.
Anthony gestured toward her. “This is Helen.”
His mother beamed. “Helen! Delighted!”
The man grinned, reaching out to take her hand and pump it in warm welcome. “Pleased to meet you, young lady!”
“She gave me a ride home,” Anthony announced.
The response was overwhelming, rising from all sides.
“Did she now?”
“How nice!”
“Wonderful!”
“Very sweet of her to go to all that trouble!”
Helen glanced up awkwardly at the circle of jolly faces surrounding her.
“I’m afraid we had a little accident,” she murmured.
“Accident?” Anthony’s mother was still smiling, but her voice held a hint of uncertainty.
Now they were all staring at Helen, and she sensed a curious concern behind their genial smiles. Rendered self-conscious by their scrutiny, she hurried on, her voice faltering. “I—I knocked Anthony down while he was riding his bicycle.”
“Oh?” Anthony’s mother continued to smile, but her voice again betrayed her.
Ethel’s agitation was even more evident. “Knocked him down?”
Her father glanced at her, then spoke quickly. “Well! It doesn’t look like any harm was done!”
“No, sir!” Uncle Walt nodded heartily. “Anthony looks fine!”
“I hope so,” Helen murmured.
Father nodded at the boy, his eyes twinkling. “Oh yes! Anthony looks fine to me!”
The boy turned toward his mother. “Can Helen stay for supper?”
“Oh, no!” Helen shook her head quickly. “I wouldn’t dream of imposing—”
“Imposing?” Anthony’s mother was speaking again. “Not at all—I think it’s a wonderful idea!”
“Marvelous!” Her husband chuckled his approval. “Of course she can!”
Helen smiled politely. For a moment she was still tempted to refuse, but the anxious expectancy in
Anthony’s eyes won her over; she didn’t have the heart to turn him down.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Good!” His father looked relieved. “Then, it’s all settled.”
Anthony looked up at his mother. “Can we eat right now?”
“Why, yes—of course.”
Helen turned to her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wash up first.”
Anthony said, “Sure,” and nodded eagerly toward the doorway. “I’ll show you where.”
“Thank you.” Helen turned and followed him from the room.
His mother’s voice sped them on their way. “See you in a little while!”
Anthony led Helen down the hall, then started up the stairs. “This way, Helen.”
From below, the squawk and squeak of meaningless musical merriment echoed forth. With a start Helen realized that the televised cartoons were continuing; they’d been running constantly while she’d been in the parlor. But now, as she and Anthony reached the upper landing, the sounds gave way to silence.
The boy started along the hall to the right. Helen moved up beside him. “I like your folks, Anthony,” she said.
“Do you?” His voice was flat, noncommittal.
“Of course.” Helen smiled down into his sober face. “And how could you possibly say they don’t care about you? Come on!”
Anthony glanced up, frowning. “They don’t!”
Helen shrugged. “Well, my family was never this happy to see me in my whole life!”
“They aren’t like that, Helen. Not really.”
Reaching the end of the hallway, he turned right and into another corridor. Somewhat to her surprise, Helen noted the absence of any doorway here; come to think of it, she hadn’t seen any in the other passageway.
She frowned, puzzled. “Anthony—where are we going?”
A low rumbling, something like an animal growl, sounded from behind the wall at their left and Helen halted quickly.
So did the sound.
She glanced around, confused. “What in the world was that?”
“What?” Anthony seemed undisturbed.
“Didn’t you hear the noise?”
Anthony cocked his head, listening for a moment. “I don’t hear anything.” He reached out and took her hand. “Come on.”
As they started forward, Helen noticed an opening at her right; there were rooms up here after all. Passing the open doorway, Helen glanced inside.
The bedroom beyond was dark, save for the illumination from the tube of a TV console in one corner. Sitting in a wheelchair, facing away from the door, Helen caught a fleeting glimpse of a teenage girl. Motionless, oblivious of their presence, she stared intently at the cartoon on the screen. Now, as barks and growls arose, Helen realized the origin of the sound that had startled her.
Then Anthony’s hand tugged her forward past the doorway. “That’s Sarah,” he said. “She’s my other sister.”
“I noticed she’s in a wheelchair,” Helen said.
“Yeah.” Anthony nodded shortly. “She was in an accident.” Then he gestured to indicate a door at the end of the hall ahead. “Here’s the bathroom.”
Almost five minutes elapsed before Helen finished what she judged to be the absolute minimum of necessary repairs to her makeup and coiffure. Anthony was awaiting her outside the bathroom door. As they passed along the hall, she noticed that the door to his sister’s room was closed now; he must have visited the girl during the time she was fixing her face.
Helen was about to inquire concerning the nature of Sarah’s accident but Anthony, gripping her hand firmly, seemed anxious to get downstairs again as quickly as possible.
To her surprise the family was still gathered in the parlor, grouped around the television set as it spewed forth yet another in a series of seemingly endless cartoons.
A giant cat wearing an old-fashioned burglar’s mask tiptoed stealthily across a rooftop and crawled into a chimney to invade the dwelling below. Inside the house two mice, wearing the clothing of human youngsters, were busily kindling a gigantic blaze in the fireplace. The cat came sailing down the chimney shaft, landing butt-first in the fire. A burst of mocking music indicated just how hilarious it was to see an animal in danger of incineration; a loud yeow! heightened the mirthful aspect of the scene as the cat shot up the chimney shaft on the rebound. To cap the jest, he emerged from the chimney with such speed that there was no way of checking his momentum. Soaring high above the rooftop to the screeching accompaniment of off-key violins, he bounced against an overhead power line to the sound of the inevitable boing! Jagged streaks of electricity shooting out from his furry form, he burst into flame, then plummeted to earth, landing on a concrete driveway with an obligatory thump, followed by the cracking of the stone and, presumably, his skull.
Helen diverted her attention from the screen to survey its audience. Despite the high comedy afforded by the cat burglar’s sufferings, Anthony’s family didn’t seem amused. In the dim light from the picture tube, their faces loomed drawn and haggard.
But it was only a trick of the light. As Anthony entered the room, they turned toward him instantly, wearing smiles of welcome.
“We’re ready to eat now,” he announced.
Over the sound of the cartoon, a chorus of enthusiastic agreement arose.
“Good!”
“Wonderful!”
“Great!”
“You bet!”
Listening to the varying voices, Helen was reminded of a childhood fairy tale. “The Three Bears,” that was it; Papa and Mama and Baby Bear, inquiring “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?”
Stupid, of course; there were four here and they weren’t bears, nor had she been sleeping in any of their beds.
Maybe it was the cartoons that made her think of fairy tales. In any case, her attention was diverted now as the family gathered around Anthony like a squad of soldiers awaiting the command of their leader.
They do love him! she told herself. Helen had never seen such devotion, such anxiety to please a youngster; even his sister deferred. Obviously there was no sibling rivalry here. But catering to him could lead to unpleasant consequences; Anthony might easily end up a spoiled brat.
Helen hoped she was wrong. Glancing down at the child, she felt the stirrings of emotional response, an unaccountable desire to protect him. But from what? He seemed totally at ease, and as he turned to her, the sober little face broke into a warm smile in which all her apprehension melted.
“Let’s eat here,” he said. “Then we won’t have to miss the cartoons.”
Uncle Walt nodded. “Hey! That’s a great idea! Why didn’t we think of that ourselves?”
“Sounds good to me.” Father nodded. “I’ll go get us the card table. We can set it up right over here.”
“Better hurry,” Uncle Walt chuckled. “I bet Anthony’s mighty hungry!”
He left the room and it seemed scarcely moments before he returned, lugging the table.
Anthony’s mother beamed at Helen. “We’re very happy you can eat with us. Anthony’s so thoughtful that way.”
As she spoke, Helen realized that the sound-track of the cartoon had faded. Now Anthony’s voice was clearly audible.
“Would you like to sit next to me, Helen?”
She turned, noting with surprise that the boy was seated on a small sofa directly facing the TV screen. Funny she hadn’t noticed the sofa before. Now, meeting Anthony’s expectant gaze, she hesitated. “Well, maybe your mother will want to sit there . . .”
“No—no, you go ahead.” Anthony’s mother nodded. “I have to get supper.”
His father had finished unfolding the legs of the card table and now he set it up at one side, arranging the chairs around it. “This will be fine,” he said. “The rest of us can eat here—you just sit right next to Anthony!”
Helen settled down beside the boy. He smiled at her quickly, then turned his attention to the screen before him.
Poised on the edge of a preci
pice, a rabbit pushed a huge boulder over the edge and watched with a grin as it landed directly on the head of an unsuspecting bear below. A loud crash indicated that the volume on the sound-track had risen again. Helen frowned, puzzled; maybe something was wrong with the controls. Then she glanced up as Anthony’s mother appeared beside him, bending forward as she spoke.
“Darling—”
He glanced up, annoyed by this distraction, to meet her nervous smile.
“I don’t mean to interrupt you, dear, but—”
“But what?”
The nervous smile wavered before his irritated gaze. “It’s just, well—do you happen to remember where supper is?”
Helen stared at her blankly. What kind of a question was that? But Anthony was frowning. “You know where it is.”
His mother’s smile had disappeared completely now. “I do?”
Anthony nodded. “It’s in the oven, isn’t it, Mother?”
“Oh! Of course!” Mother’s smile returned, accompanied by a laugh that conveyed both relief and embarrassment. “How silly of me!”
Behind her, Anthony’s father chuckled.
So did Uncle Walt.
“She never knows.” He gave Helen a wink, shaking his head.
Mother moved toward the doorway and Anthony’s father fell into step beside her. “I’ll help you get things ready,” he told her.
Sister Ethel started after them. “Me too! I can’t wait to see what we have tonight!”
Helen watched them exit, then turned to Anthony, her glance questioning. He shrugged, then smiled hesitantly.
“It’s a game,” he said.
Conscious of the skepticism in her stare, he swallowed hard, then continued. “It’s all pretend! She knows where supper is. She just wants to see if I can guess.”
Uncle Walt moved beside him, nodding cheerily. “That’s right, just a little game!”
Helen framed another question, but before she could speak, her attention was distracted by a sudden burst of sound from the television.
On-screen a worried wolf seated in the open cockpit of a small plane watched in panic as the wings fell off and the propeller dropped away. The plane spun into a nose dive, spiraling through the clouds and crashed in flames. Now the wolf reeled forth from an inferno of smoke, his frazzled fur singed and smoking.