"She was Tweedle-dum," one of the twins, the smallest and obviously youngest boys in the cage, said from his perch near the stinking toilet. "And Tweedle-dee," chirped his brother who was lying on the floor, clinging tightly to his brother's legs. When Mark asked them their names, they jumped and clung to each other like frightened chimpanzees in a zoo and refused to answer.
"She was a cartoon," a little voice piped up from the far side of the cage. A little, brown-haired boy stood up, a half smile on his face. Everyone looked at him, but no one laughed at what he had to say. "First she was Red Riding Hood, then she was the Big Bad Wolf like in the cartoons my dad showed me" He paused, a look of fear entered his eyes. "Then the cartoon Big Bad Wolf became the real Big Bad Wolf," he finished, his voice hoarse with terror.
The boys looked at him and each of them knew that sound; knew what it felt like. They all grew very quiet, each caught up in memories of their own personal nightmares.
"What's your name?" Mark asked the boy who said he had seen the Big Bad Wolf.
"My name is Billy Schmidt. I live at 200 Old Deerfield Road. My telephone number is 887-7550," the boy replied like an automaton. Mark couldn't help but smile at him and one of the other boys giggled.
"How about you, Jackie?" Mark asked, gently. "What did you see?"
Jackie looked around at all of them and was afraid to speak. He didn't care what anyone else had seen; he didn't care who they thought the old lady was; she was the witch, like the one from his dream and the story Jennifer had read to him. He had begun to doubt that she was really dead, so if they kept talking, they might wake her up.
"Come on, Jackie, tell me," Mark coaxed.
"She was my mom," Jackie whispered. "Then she became a troll, then a witch. Alright? I don't think we should talk no more. We might wake her up"
The boys looked from Jackie to the old woman and felt the sense of terror that had been wearing off grow bright again. They had all been too ready and willing to believe that the old woman was dead. Jackie's mere mention of the possibility that she wasn't made them all cringe.
"I'm pretty sure she's dead," Mark said, after looking at her body for several minutes. "I saw my grandfather have a heart attack when he died and the old lady looked just like that. I'm telling you she's dead"
Jason and Jeff crept to the bars and looked out at her gray, lifeless face and were ready to believe him again. They all were. Believing she was dead was easier than fearing she would awaken. They were safe now and wanted nothing to intrude on that.
Mark stepped over Jackie and Jerry and crouched in front of Timmy Walsh who sat in a fetal position against the left wall of bars, hugging his knees. He stared at the floor avoiding everyone's eyes.
"What happened to you?" Mark whispered.
Timmy put his hand over his eyes and began to tremble.
"Hey, it's okay. It's alright," Mark said, reaching out for him. Timmy screamed and retreated from Mark's hand.
"His name is Timmy Walsh," Jackie whispered after a fearful look at the witch. "He's in my grade at school. I saw him and Betty Boone get carried away by the Pied Piper."
"What about you?" redheaded Jeff asked Mark.
"I don't know," Mark said, embarrassed. "I thought she was this girl in my class, but she wasn't." He blushed and looked away. "Boy, that toilet stinks. Is it backed up or some thing?" he added with a nervous laugh to cover his embarrassment.
The rest of the afternoon and into the evening, the boys talked softly about school, or family, and what their mothers and fathers were doing and how they would be coming any minute to save them. Twice they heard a dog barking and they all began yelling, except for Jackie who kept his eyes on the witch for any sign of life. Each time it was nothing and they yelled themselves hoarse.
By the time the light in the basement window grew dark, the boys had lapsed into an uneasy silence. By the eerie glow of the many candles still burning, the boys dreamed of rescue, listening intently for any sign of it, while keeping a wary eye on the old woman. The candle flames cast flickering shadows that played easy tricks with their vision. More than once one of them thought they saw the old woman's body move, or worse, they saw the dead guy beneath her move. They drew instinctively closer together in the middle of the cage, all except the dark boy who was still unconscious in the corner.
The night wore on and the candles burned out one by one, until they were left in darkness. The smaller boys tired first and fell asleep. But soon all of them, exhausted from fear and the aftereffects of the drugs they didn't know they had been given, were dozing. They slept fitfully until the early hours of dawn.
Eleanor opened her eyes and mouth at the same time. She vomited soundlessly and blinked. She looked at the body she was lying on top of. It was her father lying dead at the bottom of the stairs where he had ended up after Edmund had pushed him.
Liar! Edmund screamed.
Eleanor raised her eyes just enough to see him standing in shadows under the gray light streaming in the window. She could only see part of his forehead and nose.
Does lying help you forget the truth, Eleanor? Edmund asked, a mocking tone to his words. Why cant you admit the truth?
Edmund, help me, Eleanor thought desperately. He laughed disgustedly and vanished, sucked up by the shadows. Eleanor remained still for a few moments, sucking air into her lungs. Edmund can't help me, she thought. He's gone. Dead.
The pain in her chest was lighter, but not as light as it normally was after an attack. Usually, an attack relieved the pain for a little while, but this time it hovered on the edge of becoming a full force attack again. The Machine was almost silent. She could hear the boys in the cage dreaming fitfully, free of the Machine's influence. She also registered that Diane's drugged sleep was wearing off. The only person the Machine still retained control of was Jennifer, who had returned to her empty home, ready to carry out her grandmother's wishes.
By the light in the room, Eleanor could tell the night was almost gone. It was October 31. Halloween. Samhain and the Harvest of Dead Souls. Ritual day. The day she gained immortality. She just had to keep the Machine running a little longer and she'd be home free.
Despite the pain, despite Edmund, despite everything, she had to make it. With a slow and steady effort, still clutching Steve Nailer's bloody organ in her hand, she raised her head, moved her arms, and pushed off the stiffening body of her former lover, getting to her knees.
CHAPTER 33
And if she's not gone, she lives there still.
Jackie was the first to see her. He was sleeping curled up against Mark's hip. The dirty gray dawn light seeping through the window played across his eyelids and woke him. At first, he didn't remember where he was. He thought he was home in his room. He yawned, blinked, and was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he saw the silhouetted figure rising slowly in the dim light. He thought it was Jennifer until he realized the figure was too tall to be his sister. Suddenly, he became completely aware of his surroundings and the memories of what had happened the day before.
He sat up. The figure was rising over the dead body of his stepfather. His mother was still on the chair in the middle of the room, so there was only one other person that it could be.
"The Witch!" Jason Grakopolous screamed as he woke and saw Eleanor, too. The rest of the boys came awake, some of them screaming with fright, others crying loudly. Only Jackie and Mark remained quiet, never taking their eyes off the old woman who rose unsteadily to her feet.
"Quiet!" the witch hissed in the direction of the cage. The very act of speaking seemed to give her pain and she gri maced. The crying boys behind Jackie immediately ceased their loud wailing but continued sniveling softly.
The witch teetered a moment, one hand grasping at the wall, the other clutching something bloody to her chest. Her eyes closed, and the pained grimace on her face deepened to a scowl. The old woman straightened, her hand fell from her chest, and she tossed the bloody thing she'd held there into the circle at the foot
of the chair holding Jackie's mother.
With a gasp Jackie saw what it was.
The witch shrieked in pain and for one hopeful moment, Jackie thought she was going to collapse again, maybe even die. He wished it, demanded it, shouting it in his mind: Die! Die!
The witch's eyes opened, and she looked directly at Jackie. You d like that, wouldn t you? Jackie wasn't sure if he'd heard her with his ears or his mind but her voice made his bowels clench with fear. She let go of the wall and moved forward, stepping on Steve's corpse, which emitted loud simultaneous burps and farts under the weight of her body. She ignored the foul, pungent odor that rose from the dead man and staggered to the cage.
The boys moved back until they were huddled at the far end of the cage, but none of them took their eyes off her. She stared at Jackie until he looked away in terror, on the edge of pissing in his pants. Slowly, she looked at each of the boys, staring them down in turn.
"Thought I was dead, didn't you?" she croaked in a hoarse whisper. Not yet, my pretties, she giggled in their heads. She turned, went to the chair, and secured the arms and legs of Jackie's mother with the leather straps that hung from the front and from under the arms. When that was done she leaned against the chair resting for several moments before pushing herself up, crossing to the door, and going slowly through it and up the stairs.
"You said she was dead," Jeff, the redhead, whispered fervently to Mark when they could no longer hear her footsteps.
"I thought she was. She looked like she was, for Christ's sake," Mark whispered back.
"Shhhh! She'll hear you," Jackie said fearfully. Those eyes were still with him, looking inside him and turning his guts to Jell-O. He had wanted to yell at the witch, tell her to leave his mother alone, but he couldn't. He was ashamed of his cowardice, but the last thing in the world he wanted was for the witch to look at him again with those monster's eyes, and he didn't want her to return now.
"She can't hear us," Mark said. "She's out of ear shot"
"She can hear everything," Jeff said in a soft voice. They all considered that, and though no one said so, they all knew it to be true. They remained quiet for several minutes before Mark spoke up again.
"What does she want with us?" Mark wondered aloud.
"She's the witch, like in `Hansel and Gretel,"' Jackie said in a frightened voice. "She wants to eat us up ""
They grew very quiet again at that until one of the twins began to whine in a long, painful tone, tears dripping from his face. His brother soon joined him and within seconds so did most of the other boys in the cage. Only Jackie, Mark, and Davy Torrez, unconscious in the corner, didn't cry, though Jackie came very close. He had begun to wonder what had happened to Jen and, when he did that, he felt like crying because he got a real bad feeling about her.
Mark watched their hysteria build and knew he had to do something. "Quiet!" he whispered at them as loud as he dared. He stood up and shushed them with his hands. "She'll come back if you don't stop it," he threatened. That was more effective.
"She's not going to eat us. Someone is going to come and find us. This many people, grown-ups, too, can't disappear without the cops or somebody finding out" He didn't be lieve his own words, but he was doing a pretty good job with the others because they quieted, though they were still visibly frightened.
"If she isn't going to eat us up, what does she want?" Jackie whispered faintly, falling in with the other's wanting to believe Mark rather than his own instincts.
"She's probably holding us for ransom," Mark said. It was possible, but he didn't really believe it, either. The fact that Jackie's stepfather had helped the old lady until she killed him, and that Jackie's mother was there, knocked out on the chair, discounted his being held for ransom. Mark looked around at the boys thoughtfully. Though none of them were dressed nicely enough to appear wealthy, he couldn't be sure.
"Are any of you guys rich?" Mark asked softly.
The boys looked at him uncomprehendingly.
"You know what I mean. Are your parents rich? Anyone?"
No one answered. The boys looked at each other questioningly. Finally, Jason Grakopolous raised his hand as if he was in school. "I'm rich," he said quietly, but with a touch of arrogance.
Mark looked at him suspiciously. There was something about Jason that he didn't believe. "What's your father do?" Mark asked.
"He's a foreman in a big factory."
Mark smiled. He knew the kid had been lying; foremen aren't rich. As far as Mark could see, only he, himself, came from some money. His father was a computer engineer who had started his own software company, and his mother was a psychiatrist, but they weren't superrich like the families of some of the kids at Northwood Academy. If kidnapping for ransom was the motive here, why didn't Mr. Nailer kidnap a wealthier kid, Mark wondered. But even if Mark was to be the object of ransom, why kidnap the other kids? And why bring his wife and stepson here? These questions alone ruled out kidnapping for ransom as a motive.
Mark looked through the bars at Mr. Nailer's corpse. Only the top half of his body was in the growing square of yellowish gray light climbing in the window. Mr. Nailer's face had turned a bad color a mix of purple, blue, and black, making it hard to see the lines painted on his face. Only one, a squiggly line on his cheek that reminded Mark of a spider, could be seen clearly.
Mark looked at the symbol, did a double take, and looked at the floor outside the cage where the star was painted inside the circle. The same symbol that was on Mr. Nailer's face was painted at the upper left point of the star.
That, Mark thought, is the key. Though he wasn't into it himself, he knew several kids at the academy who loved heavy-metal rock. It was on their T-shirt and jacket decals, which were usually reproductions of their favorite group's logo or latest album cover art, that he had seen the same star inside the circle with the corresponding symbols before. He also knew that it was a satanic symbol.
Mark gulped nervously. He had seen the TV talk shows "Geraldo," "Donahue," "Morton Downey A"-do programs on Satan worshippers.
They killed people.
Eleanor staggered up the stairs, into the entrance hall to the stairway, and leaned on the railing for several minutes. Outside, Mephisto was barking rabidly; Jennifer was approaching the house with the thirteenth sacrifice for tonight. Straining, she pushed herself up and started for the kitchen, then stopped.
I've left the ether in the crematorium, she realized. There was no time to get it. Jennifer and the last sacrifice were coming in the back door.
CHAPTER 34
Who caught his blood? I, said the fish ...
Jennifer woke just before 5 A.M. She sat up and immediately got out of bed. She was fully dressed, having slept in her clothes so she'd be ready first thing in the morning to carry out Gram's wishes. She went out of her room, down to the front hall closet where she put on a heavy coat, woolen gloves, and a woolen watch cap pulled over her ears. Slipping out the front door, she ran across the street and into the woods opposite the entrance to the road that led to Grimm Memorials.
On one of the first days of school, Jennifer had overheard Greg Roberts, a boy in her class, tell some other boys that he went fishing every Saturday morning in the Connecticut River behind his house. Since the boy lived a few houses down Route 47, Jennifer knew approximately where his fishing spot was likely to be.
She made her way past birches, and oak trees, stepping over and through the thick laurel and ivy underbrush until she stumbled upon a path. She followed it, hearing the rushing sound of the river getting closer as the path wound constantly to the left. Soon she was walking along the top of the riverbank, ignoring the beautiful river scene and keeping her eyes peeled for Greg Roberts. She found him downriver, sit ting at the tip of a long, flat boulder jutting out of the top of the riverbank like a nut wedged in a piece of candy.
"Hi!" Jennifer called, waving.
The boy glanced in her direction, but didn't return her greeting. He looked around to see to whom she
was waving.
Jennifer ran down the path to the boulder. She walked out to the edge and sat next to Greg. The river rushed directly below them. "Hi, Greg," Jennifer tried again.
"Oh, uh, hi," Greg muttered. He wound his reel a little and looked off upstream.
"You remember me don't you? We're in the same class, Mrs. Reinbold's?" Jen asked.
"Mm," Greg grunted noncomittally.
"What are you fishing for?" Jennifer asked him.
"Trout," Greg replied out of the side of his mouth.
"I know a much better place to catch trout than this crummy spot," Jennifer said as if she had one up on him.
"This is the best place," Greg replied. He wasn't going to let a girl say she had a better spot than his.
"I caught one this big." Jennifer held her hands out nearly two feet apart to show him.
He laughed at her. "I'll bet," he said sarcastically.
"I can prove it," Jen said in defense. "I have the fish at my grandmother's house right near my spot upstream from here. I caught it yesterday."
Greg looked at her doubtfully, but her claim to proof had him intrigued.
"I'll show it to you," Jennifer challenged.
Greg looked at the river, then his fishing line. The fish certainly weren't biting here this morning, that was for sure. He figured it couldn't hurt to see if she was telling the truth. He was wrong.
"Okay. Show me," he said, calling her bluff.
Jennifer led the way back along the path upstream until it wound away from the river and she could see the gingerbread house through the thinning trees. "That's where my grand mother lives," Jen said, pointing proudly to the gingerbread house.
"It looks deserted," Greg Roberts remarked, looking at Grimm Memorials.
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