Freddy Krueger's Tales of Terror #6: Deadly Disguise
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During his first few years away, John called and visited frequently. When the show was on hiatus — show business lingo for "summer vacation" — John came back to Springwood to see his friends.
He always made special time for his former girlfriend — as much as a girl could be a friend at age seven — Rachel.
As Nutt House entered its fourth, juggernaut year, however, and Jack Spyder's face regularly adorned the teen magazines, his calls to Springwood became less frequent. The visits slowed as well. One time John had paid Rachel's airfare out to Los Angeles so she could see the show from behind the scenes. But during the visit, John made little time for her, and seemed far more interested in showing off than in sharing his "great adventure." Rachel told him off just before his driver took her back to the airport a day early. She had heard from him only twice since then.
Shortly after Rachel fled Los Angeles, Nutt House was canceled. The show had been on for eight years and just wore itself out. Jack seemed to be the only one from the cast with any hope for the future. His star had eclipsed that of the program long ago. He was now sixteen and convinced he was still in ascension.
It was then that the rubber band of fame and fortune, stretched thin and taut, snapped back, propelling Jack into disaster. His feature-film debut was a critical and commercial flop. Several stalking incidents involving a crazed female fan were widely reported.
But it didn't end there.
A year after Nutt House was canceled, Jack's parents were killed in an automobile accident. It was simply one of those freakish, fatal incidents dispassionately reported on radio traffic reports:
"Fatal, two-car collision on the 405. Slow going through the Wilshire corridor. Use side streets to avoid the snarl caused by rubberneckers at the scene."
And then the tabloids rubbernecked as Jack Spyder experienced an emotional collapse. He dropped out of sight.
Six months later, Jack emerged, «miraculously» recovered. But film and television deals never materialized. When push came to shove, the studios felt uneasy investing in a star they felt might become a liability. Newer, younger, fresher — simply other — teen actors were around to fill his shoes anyway.
So Jack was shoved out once more.
Then came the fire. It leveled his modest (by Beverly Hills standards) estate. Jack had nearly perished in the blaze, or so went the story. According to the rumor mill, he no longer possessed his teen heartthrob looks. They said he had been burned beyond all recognition.
They said he had become a monster.
Months went by. Jack dropped from sight so completely and effectively that finally even the tabloids moved on to more current targets.
Only Rachel never stopped thinking of her childhood friend.
Then came news that Appleby Mansion was being reopened. Rumors surfaced that Jack Spyder was returning to his hometown. Ron Marchant, a former teen actor himself, now Jack's manager, had the house refurbished over the summer. According to Doug, who had worked on the mansion over the summer, Marchant was remaining silent on the whole matter. He did, however, produce a power-of-attorney letter, proving himself to be authorized to handle Jack's affairs.
So work went on and on, well into the fall. Heavy machinery was unloaded into the mansion, its purpose a mystery. Even more mysterious were the invitations that showed up in the mailboxes of all local teenagers. They simply read:
Halloween Party
October 31 beginning at 8:00 pm
Appleby Mansion
Your Host: Jack Spyder
Handwritten on Rachel's invitation were the words, "Rachel — Please come."
* * *
Now Rachel was here at the mansion. She had the answer to one question: Jack Spyder was no monster. But the other question remained: Was there anything left of John Appleby, the boy she had once loved?
Chapter 3
"I'm sorry. I haven't even said a proper hello yet." Jack Spyder looked to the floor. And for a moment, he was eight again. John Appleby had returned to her.
But Rachel wouldn't let herself give in that quickly.
"You've been out of touch the last few years," Rachel told him, a little more coldly than she intended.
Jack studied her, obviously not sure what to say next.
"You may not believe me," he began, "but I've missed you."
Rachel could see he was torn up inside. But he had a lot of explaining to do before things would be all right. She gave him a skeptical look and waited for him to go on.
"I know you're mad. I was… I wasn't myself that time in L. A."
"Who were you then?" Rachel asked. "And who are you now?"
The question brought a painful smile to Jack's face.
"Jack Spyder? John Appleby? Heck, I could change my name to Godzilla, but that wouldn't change anything. You know, a rose by any other name?" He cocked his head to one side. "Only, I haven't been smelling so sweet for a long time."
Warily, Rachel began to lower her defenses. "There have been lots of stories…"
Jack rolled his eyes, then shook his head sadly. "Well, can you guess at least one that isn't true?"
"The fire," Rachel ventured.
"Oh, my house burned to the ground, all right." Jack sighed. "Luckily, I wasn't in it at the time."
"And the other…?"
"Losing my parents was hard, y'know?" he said suddenly. "No matter what you think of me, I would have been much worse off if they hadn't been there for me. They always brought me back to earth when I was flying too high. Without them…" His voice trailed off, trembling.
Rachel put a hand on his shoulder. "I never told you how sorry I was about your parents," she said softly. He looked into her eyes and smiled.
"That's because I shut out everything that meant the most to me. But that's not going to happen again." Life seemed to flow back into him. He gestured to the throng surrounding him. "That's what this is all about. I'm back!"
"Who's back?" Rachel asked cautiously. "John Appleby or Jack Spyder?"
At this, Jack laughed. "Weren't you listening? It doesn't matter. Call me John if you want. But I'm back." To emphasize his point, he lightly pounded his fists on his chest. He seemed invigorated. "I've moved back to Springwood."
"Are you finished with acting for good?" Rachel asked, seeing he was serious.
Jack shrugged. "Never say never, y'know. But it's not like I'm hurting for money. I might as well make me, and maybe some people around me, happy for once." Rachel allowed Jack to take her hands in his. "And I especially want to make you happy, if I haven't permanently blown it."
"An hour ago I would have said you had," Rachel told him flatly. The words obviously stung, but Jack seemed ready to take what he had coming. "But that was an hour ago." She smiled. "I'm glad you're back, be you John or Jack."
Jack grinned, delighted by her rhyme — and his second chance. He lightly kissed her fingertips, then pulled her into another hug. This time, Rachel welcomed his embrace.
"I'm so happy!" he whispered in her ear. "Coming back was the right thing to do."
"I hope you're right," Rachel said, suddenly serious. "You're not the only one who has changed. This whole town is different from when you were eight."
"What are you trying to do, rain on my parade?" Jack teased.
"No, it's just that you seem so completely optimistic," Rachel explained. "I just don't want to see you be disappointed — or worse."
"Oh come on! What could be worse than what I've been going through?"
He seemed to be daring Rachel to answer his question. She considered telling him the mortality rate for teenagers in Springwood. But that was too heavy, even for Halloween. Instead, she decided to give him one concrete example. She pointed through the crowd. Near the D. J.'s table stood two people, one in green tights, the other sporting a coonskin cap.
"See them?" she asked. Jack nodded. "Daniel Boone there is Todd Winkle and Robin Hood is Van McBride."
"Todd and Van!" Jack exclaimed. "I remember them as pretty
wild kids. I'll have to talk to them."
"Actually, you'll want to frisk them first. They've become major hoodlums."
Jack shook off her comment. "Well, I'll figure it all out eventually. For tonight, I'm worried about only one thing."
"Which is?"
"Tabloids," he said, his eyes darting left and right furtively. "At least one of them has probably got someone working the party tonight."
"I haven't seen anyone who looks even remotely like a reporter." Rachel looked around at all the costumed guests and realized how ridiculous her comment had sounded.
"They may have paid someone you know to get the scoop on me." He peered deep into her eyes. "For all I know, the mole could be you."
"Not a chance!" Rachel said, laughing. "Anyway, what are you worried about? Don't they say that there's no such thing as bad publicity?"
"Ask Exxon about that one," Jack replied wryly. "It's not so much what the tabloids say that bothers me. It's the invasion of privacy. Especially tonight. This isn't about show business or publicity. I just wanna be a regular teenager throwing a party."
"Throwing a party in a huge mansion owned by a teenager of vast wealth," Rachel pointed out.
"Okay, so maybe I can't ever go back to being a normal teenager," Jack agreed. "But it's Halloween, and I can pretend to be whoever I want!"
Rachel giggled at his fake insolence. "Okay, enough with the serious talk."
Jack took her by the hand and started dragging her toward the staircase. "I have to introduce you to my best friend, Ron Marchant."
"I've heard his name."
"Yeah, he's been taking care of things for me. He's also my manager. It was his idea to come back and rebuild. I couldn't have made it without him. I think you two will be great friends, too. I've told him all about you." They stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stood before the split-Elvis. "Ron, this is Rachel."
Ron lit up at the mention of Rachel's name.
"It's not just excellent to meet you, Rachel," he said, offering his hand, "it's way excellent."
"Glad to meet you, too," Rachel said, shaking hands. His touch felt clammy. "Jack tells me he depends on you a lot."
Ron shrugged humbly. His eyes seemed lifeless, contradicting the spirit of his voice. Something felt wrong.
"Your costume's wonderful!" Ron told her.
"I'm glad you like it," Rachel said. "I thought people would think it was lame."
"Not at all," Ron assured her.
She glanced at Jack, who was smiling, happy that his two friends were hitting it off so well.
"How do you like Springwood?" Rachel asked, trying to be friendly. She really wanted to like John's friend.
"Oh, I love it," Ron answered with strained enthusiasm. "I'm a small-town boy myself."
Rachel saw her opportunity. "Where from?"
"Wisconsin," Ron answered. "But not as nice a place as this. And no one I grew up with lived in a mansion." He scanned the place with what was supposed to pass as a look of wonder. He was performing, Rachel was certain. But for whose benefit? "I love old houses, and this one is practically ancient." He pointed up at the hurricane lamp fixtures on the ballroom walls. "See those? Original from the time of gas lamps. The house is full of 'em!" A flicker of sincerity sparkled in his eyes. "In fact, the original gas lines are still in place behind the walls."
"Yeah," groaned Jack.
"Get over it," Ron scolded, as if for the umpteenth time.
"What?" Rachel asked when it appeared no explanation was forthcoming. Ron turned to Jack for permission to speak, and Jack nodded solemnly.
"Jack… overreacts sometimes," Ron told her. "Late this summer when the house was being worked on, some idiot opened a valve in the basement. He thought it was for water. Instead, it was the old gas-line valve. This whole place was flooded with fumes in less than an hour." He spoke as if he were telling a joke.
Rachel gasped. "Did anybody get hurt?" Despite Ron's attitude, the situation sounded serious.
"No, and that's what I keep telling Jack here."
"Several people were overcome by the fumes," corrected Jack. "And you could have been killed."
"But I wasn't!" Ron shot back. "Neither was anyone else. We all got over it. So should you." Ron turned to Rachel, and with a bright smile, spoke as if Jack wasn't there. "You see what I'm dealing with here?"
Jack narrowed his eyes and growled at Ron, who just smiled placidly in return.
Just then, a piercing shriek broke through the wall of music. All heads turned toward the ballroom entrance. There, a girl dressed in a large hoop skirt struggled with two large men. A swift kick in the groin felled one of her attackers.
"Jack! Help…"
Her cry was cut short as the remaining attacker clamped one huge hand over her mouth, wrapped a gargantuan arm around her, and dragged her roughly from the doorway and out of sight.
Chapter 4
"Oh no!" Jack muttered. Then to Ron, he barked, "C'mon!" The two ran toward the ballroom entrance. Rachel followed as quickly as she could.
In the outer entrance, the fallen giant sat on the floor against a wall, his knees drawn to his chest. His breath came in pained gasps.
"You okay, Larry?" Jack asked, kneeling down beside him as Ron kept running.
"Just dandy," he groaned.
Jack frowned and rose. He barely spared Rachel a glance as he sped down the hall.
The enormous man, each arm the diameter of Rachel's waist, began to stretch out his legs. That's when she noticed the word written on his blue T-shirt: security. Seeing that, Rachel ran to join Jack and Ron.
Around the corner, the girl in the hoop dress sat awkwardly in a chair. Her arms and legs were crossed insolently. She seemed to be ignoring Jack, who was speaking to her angrily. Ron stood by, ready to mediate. The second giant — also part of security — stood nearby, waiting for trouble.
"Answer me!" Jack yelled at the girl in the chair.
"What's going on?" Rachel asked, gently touching Jack's shoulder to get his attention. At the sound of her voice, the girl in the chair leapt to her feet. The security giant flinched, but stopped short of tackling the girl when she remained where she stood. The girl gave him a withering look, then turned back to Rachel.
"And who are you?" she asked with a wicked smile.
"I'm Rachel," she answered hesitantly, glancing at Jack.
"Vanessa…" Jack warned the girl.
"Oh yes, Jack," the girl gushed. "Please introduce us." Without giving him the opportunity, she stepped forward and held out her hand. "Oh, I'll do it. I'm Vanessa Chimera, happy to meet you."
Rachel shook hands with Vanessa reluctantly. Obviously, Jack knew who she was and didn't like her. Her manner was so forceful, it threw Rachel off balance. Only Ron seemed unshaken by her.
"You're not supposed to be here, Vanessa." Jack's voice was filled with pent-up rage.
Vanessa laughed it off. Then she fixed him with a steely gaze.
"Well I am here, Jack," she purred. "So get me some punch." To Rachel she flashed a bright and utterly fake smile. "Let's chat later, all right, hon?" After flashing a self-satisfied look at Jack and Ron, Vanessa sauntered toward the ballroom. The security behemoth started forward, but Jack held up a hand to stop him.
"Come on, Ron," Jack told him tiredly. Ron's eyes twinkled with further amusement.
"I better get her some punch," Ron said, addressing Rachel. "If I don't, she may just kill me," he said, mocking the way Vanessa spoke. The remark didn't sit well with Jack, who simply scowled.
"Who is she?" Rachel asked. Ron deferred the answer to Jack.
"Ex from hell," he sighed. "I'll tell you about it later. I promise. Will you excuse me for now, though?"
Rachel didn't see that she had a choice. "Of course."
"Thanks," he said, brightening momentarily. Then his face darkened again. "Let's go grab the tiger by the tail," he said to Ron, and they started off.
As he passed, Ron gave Rachel a sly wink.
As he and Ron approached, Vanessa took time out from her flirting to greet them.
"You weren't quick enough," she scolded, "So this nice boy helped me." The caterer failed to realize how condescending Vanessa was being toward him. Instead, he seemed awestruck by her presence. And Vanessa's reference to him gave him an exciting opportunity to introduce himself to his host.
"Hi, I'm Peter," he said introducing himself. "Very glad to meet you."
"Hi," Jack said simply, hardly paying attention.
"Wow!" Peter gushed. "Meeting two big stars. I mean, obviously, since this is your house, you might be here, you know? But Vanessa Chimera, too."
Ron cleared his throat. "I've done some television work as well," he interjected stiffly.
"Oh, cool," Peter said, suddenly uncomfortable. He recovered with, "But Vanessa Chimera, man! Look at her!" Vanessa was eating up the adoration. "Meeting her is a bigger bonus than the sneaker-phone that comes with a magazine subscription! Totally!"
The guy's running at the mouth, Jack thought to himself. People like that really got to Jack. And Vanessa knew it. She had a knack for picking those people out. And the habit of throwing them at Jack. Well, he wasn't going to let her get to him tonight. It was his night, and he wouldn't let her ruin it.
"Well, after you're off work, I hope you'll stay," Jack told him cheerfully, parrying Vanessa's thrust. She smiled, knowing the game was on. And that her «pawn» would make the next move for her.
"Listen, Jack…" Peter paused a second, panic in his eyes. "I hope I can call you that." Jack nodded slightly. Peter relaxed and pulled over an olive-skinned female co-worker.
"RePete!" the co-worker screeched as she spilled the punch she had been serving to someone.
RePete. The name struck a chord somewhere in Jack's brain. It was a sinister, minor chord, but he couldn't identify it. Maybe later, he thought, when I have some room to think, it'll come to me.