"Sorry, honey," Vanessa purred at the window. "Your little baby bathtub buddy is going bye-bye real soon."
Almost as if the girl could hear her, Rachel turned and looked right up at the window at Vanessa. Vanessa stepped back, a little unnerved by the knowledge that she had been caught. But of course Rachel hadn't heard her. That was impossible. In the dark, the other girl probably hadn't even see her.
Still, it was a creepy little scene.
Vanessa sat back on her bed now, keeping the candle burning, because that was all she could do. Her heart gave a little flutter of delight when she heard a car drive off. No doubt Rachel was finally gone, and now they were alone. Just her, Ron, and Jack.
But where exactly were they? she wondered. Ron had said he'd come up to her room as soon as everyone was gone, so they could go over their plans.
I hope he hurries, Vanessa thought. All this time alone, sitting with a candle in the dark — when you're used to being out beneath the neon of Hollywood — was boring. And more than a little scary.
Not long ago, she had heard someone shouting for help. At first, she'd thought it must be some dim-witted party guest frightened by Jack's playrooms. But the sound had come from another direction. Then came several solid thumps, like someone banging a rock against a wall. That too had stopped.
It reminded Vanessa that the mansion was actually supposed to be haunted.
That was nonsense, she told herself.
Nonetheless, she wanted Ron to hurry. Her willingness to keep the candle burning for him was waning. Unfortunately, sleep wasn't an option at the moment, either. To her jet-lagged system, it was still only early evening in Los Angeles.
So she had no choice, but to keep the candle…
The candle.
Its light had been growing brighter. Not neon-bright, of course, but Vanessa could see more details in her room. And behind the scent of the candle — thoughtful Ron had brought her a cinnamon votive — was another, less pleasant odor.
Rotten eggs.
Without thinking, Vanessa leaped at the candle and brought her flattened palm down on the flame, snuffing it.
Yelping in pain, she brought her burned hand to her mouth. Cursing herself, she sucked on her palm. Wax broke off into Vanessa's mouth and she spit it out. The air was now scented with a potpourri of cinnamon, smoke, rotten eggs, and burned flesh.
She studied the candle to make sure the wick was out completely. If not for the scent of the candle, she would have recognized the smell of leaking gas sooner. And if she hadn't noticed… It had been a stroke of providence that the candle had started burning brighter — as it burned off the gas that was seeping into the air. There was no staying put any longer now. She had to find Ron — and Jack, she loathed to admit, for it was too soon to dispose of him. She had to get all of them out of the mansion.
Before Vanessa reached her door, a light appeared underneath it.
"Ron?" she called and threw open the door. No one was there. Stepping out, she saw the light disappearing around a corner. "Jack?" she called out more uncertainly. Whoever had the flashlight was moving away. She ran toward it. Rounding the corner, she saw it in the distance, but could not see who was holding it.
"Who's there?" Vanessa called out. The flashlight stopped and turned, shining toward her. Vanessa couldn't even make out a figure.
"There's a gas leak," she yelled, not caring who it was. "It's happened before in this house. We have to get out of here. She started forward again. To Vanessa's relief, the light remained in one place. But just as she got close enough to almost catch a glimpse of who she was shouting at, the figure turned and ran off.
"Hey come back, you moron!" she yelled. She was never in the mood for games, but this was the worst.
Rounding yet another corner, Vanessa saw the light down the hall. This time, it was shining on the floor, out of a doorway ahead.
"Don't run off, whoever you are," Vanessa called out. "I'm trying to be nice to you." Vanessa stopped running and approached the light carefully. "Can't you smell it?" She tried to sound calm, conversational, but she suddenly realized how scared she was.
The jury has reached a verdict, your honor. They say I am scared out of my wits.
Vanessa reached the doorway, beyond which was not a room but a small landing. And this time, the flashlight did not move. Because this time, no one was holding it. It lay on the top step of what appeared to be a back staircase. Frustrated by the disappearance of the mystery person, Vanessa picked up the flashlight.
"Well, looks like I'm on my own," she said aloud. "I'm going to save myself."
Pointing the flashlight down the stairs, she thought this seemed to be as good a way to get out as any. Have to go down before I can get out, anyway, she concluded. And Ron wasn't kidding when he said that the place filled up with gas quickly. I wonder what moron accidentally turned it on.
Vanessa started down the stairs. On the first step, her foot slipped on the carpeting that covered the stairs, and she had to grab the railing to keep herself from falling. As a result, the flashlight dropped out of her hand and bounced down the stairs. The bulb broke, and the stairway became pitch-black. Vanessa stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
That's when she heard the voice.
"Someone's got a see-cret" came a sinister singsong from the landing behind Vanessa. She turned, but could not see who was there.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice heavy with annoyance. But she couldn't disguise the fear that was now consuming her. She knew exactly what the voice was referring to.
"You shouldn't try to pull the rug out from under someone's life," the voice whispered sinisterly. "You never know when someone might just do it to you, first."
"What do you want from me?" Vanessa demanded. She was rooted in place, afraid to move. There was murder in that voice.
"All I want is this," hissed the voice. "When we meet again, you'll have to tell me how it felt."
Vanessa was confused. "What are — aaaaaaahhh!" The floor moved beneath her feet suddenly, and Vanessa was thrown into the air. This time, her hand never even got close to the railing. In the eternal moment before Vanessa's head struck the first wooden step, she realized what had happened. The steps weren't carpeted at all, but someone — the possessor of that sinister voice — had draped a rug over the top steps…
And pulled the rug out from under Vanessa Chimera.
Then the infinite moment ended, and Vanessa's head struck the fifth step from the bottom. A light brighter than all the neon in Hollywood blazed for an instant.
Then it winked out, as did her life.
Rachel stopped and listened. The mansion now seemed alive with sounds. Thumps, things sliding across floors, all of it coming from above.
All coming from the Haunted Mansion.
Despite the threat of being overwhelmed by gas, she headed toward the source of the sounds. For all she knew, it was Jack, wandering around. With a blow on the head, and lungs filled with gas, he might not even know who or where he was.
But where was everyone else? Rachel wondered. She had fully expected to run into Vanessa or Ron or the other guests whose cars were still outside. But no one had appeared. No one had answered her calls. What if whoever was left had succumbed to the gas?
Dread thicker than the gas permeating the mansion began to envelope her. If I'm the only one conscious, she thought, how can I possibly save all the others?
You can't, answered a voice inside of her. There's only one person you can save, guaranteed, and that's yourself. And that's if you get out of the house now.
"I'm not leaving without trying to find Jack," she said out loud. "Besides, somebody's upstairs, moving around. I can hear it now."
Rachel climbed the stairs that lead to the Haunted Mansion rooms. Gingerly, she pushed open the first door, shining the flashlight ahead of her.
"Jack?" she called out, poking her head in. "Is anyone in here?" There was no answer. She entered the room.
> With the flashlight, she checked the platform where the guillotine was set up. No one was there, except the fake executioner and the fake, headless victim.
Only the victim wasn't the same one she had seen earlier. This one was female — she noted the painted fingernails — and by the looks of it, someone had gone overboard with the blood effects. Gallons appeared to have poured from that stump. It almost made Rachel sick, but she willed her stomach to stop flopping about and turned away.
As she headed for the next room, something like wet hair brushed against her face. Recoiling, she wiped the liquid off her cheek and shined the flashlight to her side. There stood the second executioner, holding out a decapitated head as before.
Only this too had changed. And somehow, it looked familiar. Rachel shined the flashlight right into the face, it's mouth open, silently screaming, the sightless eyes staring forward.
This time, Rachel did gag as she shined the flashlight at the body near the guillotine and then back into the face. They belonged together, a matched set. The head and the body had once been known to Rachel collectively as Vanessa Chimera.
* * *
Rachel screamed — and the world started to spin around her. The combination of shock and a lack of oxygen due to the gas leak nearly did her in. But she forced herself to stumble into the next room. There, she flopped down on the platform.
It was getting hard to breathe. But she hadn't found Jack yet. My God, Vanessa! she thought. Who could have done that? And why? Where were those ambulances?
I'm delirious, Rachel realized. But I have to find Jack. Forcing herself to her feet, she swept the room with the flashlight, as she had before. The beam caught the zombies, frozen in their feeding frenzy. It also illuminated their unfortunate victim.
Todd Winkle.
I have to get out of here, Rachel thought, stifling another scream. She fought to keep her breathing shallow. Another outburst and she'd collapse. But she couldn't go back. She couldn't bear seeing Vanessa's savagely decapitated head. So she kept moving forward.
Now she was just trying to escape. But in her trembling hands, the flashlight no longer shined simply straight ahead. Instead, the beam scoured the room as if of its own accord. Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel glimpsed something amiss near Dracula's crypt. She knew she shouldn't look, but something inside compelled her.
She thought she heard a tiny "I told you so" float from the depths of her mind.
Crumpled against the crypt was the body of Van McBride. Blood ran out of two holes in his neck. More blood ran down from a bruise on his forehead. His tongue, black and swollen, protruded from his mouth. Dark bruises ringed his forearms like tattoos.
Tearing her gaze away, she reached for the door to the next room. But what would she find there? she asked herself. Another body? Jack's body? She had to know. To give up now would be like swimming halfway across the English Channel and turning back. Her own laughter was tinged with insanity. Somehow, she found herself enjoying this real-life house of horrors.
Maybe I'll find the next room empty, she thought. Maybe I'll be the next person to permanently inhabit this gruesome menagerie.
"Let's do it!" she shouted and burst into the next room.
Her flashlight found Elvis immediately. And he was smiling broadly and wetly. Only, it wasn't the Elvis robot, and he wasn't smiling. Ron Marchant sat in the King's place, his «smile» the grotesque curve of a razor cut circumscribing his throat. The blood dripping onto his feet gave him one purple suede shoe.
"I guess Elvis has left the building," she commented drunkenly.
Her attention was riveted on the horrible scene — until a clicking sound to her right distracted her. Turning, she shined the flashlight.
Against the far door, alive, sat Jack. At her head, he pointed a rifle.
Chapter 11
At the sight of Jack — and the gun barrel — Rachel's mind immediately became sharp.
"Jack!" she yelled, but made no move toward him. "It's me, Rachel!"
A large, purple bruise decorated Jack's forehead. Looking confused, he kept holding the gun up. The barrel weaved slightly. Rachel realized that he was probably even groggier than she was.
She edged toward him. "It's Rachel, Jack. There's a gas leak. We have to leave."
He lowered the barrel and stared at her, as if still unsure of her identity. He started to cry. Wrapping her arms around him, Rachel carefully pushed the gun away from him.
"He was my last, best friend," Jack sobbed.
Rachel looked back up at Ron. "I'm sorry, John," she said, soothingly. "Do you know what happened? There are… others." While she spoke, Rachel tried to help him to his feet.
"Vanessa… Todd Winkle… Van McBride…" Stumbling to his feet, Jack spoke their names as if in eulogy. "And Ron." He started to break down again, then stopped abruptly. Wide-eyed, he turned to Rachel as if about to tell her an important secret.
"I think I might have done it," he confided to her seriously. "I'm really not that well, y'know, in the head. I was institutionalized for a while. Ron knew that. That's why he was such a big help to me."
"You didn't kill anyone," Rachel told him as she directed him back the way she had come. They would both have to keep from looking at any of the bodies.
"I remember falling," Jack babbled as they staggered through the room. "But when I woke up, I was upstairs in a closed section of the mansion. And when I came to the ballroom, everyone was gone."
"The power went out," Rachel reminded him. They had passed Van's body without looking and were now entering the zombie room. "Now there's a gas leak."
"Did I do all this?" he asked, gesturing to where Todd's body lay, a feast for zombies. "I found the gun here." He suddenly became frantic. "I almost killed you with it."
"It's okay," Rachel told him. "You didn't know who I was."
"But for the last few hours, I didn't even know who I was. So maybe…" Jack's voice trailed off as they entered the executioner room. Avoiding Vanessa's head would be difficult.
"Keep looking at the floor," she warned Jack. "And keep moving… And you didn't kill anyone," she added. But now, she wasn't sure. Maybe Jack was a lot less stable than he had let on earlier. He didn't seem dangerous now, but…
Rachel mentally slapped herself. It was the gas. The gas was making Jack confess to crimes he had not committed, and it was making her paranoid.
Despite her efforts, her mind looped back. Was the gas deluding Jack — or making him tell the truth?
All internal discussion stopped when the mummy entered the room, brandishing an axe.
"He's mine," the mummy called out, and attacked.
The axe split the air between Jack and Rachel. It would have divested them of the arms they had linked together, but at the last minute, Rachel pushed Jack away from her. He flew to one side, she fell the opposite way. The axe whooshed through the space they had occupied only moments before.
By the way the mummy overcompensated on the follow-through, Rachel could tell that it too wasn't immune to the effects of the gas. The fallen flashlight cast an eerie twilight throughout the room. Rachel watched the mummy recover its balance, then pull to its full height and stare down at Jack. Jack looked up, stunned, helpless. The mummy's right hand gripped the axe tightly. Jack was a goner — unless she acted fast.
"Leave him alone!" Rachel shouted. Big mistake. The mummy whirled around.
"Tonight's a dream come true," said the mummy. It was purposely distorting its speaking voice so Rachel could not tell if it was male or female. Still, the voice sounded familiar. Savoring the terror it was causing, the mummy approached Rachel, who shrank back behind the executioner. The mummy quickly swept Vanessa's head aside. "You don't think I'm going to let you ruin it for me, do you?"
Rachel was trying to push the robot at the mummy, but the thing wouldn't budge. Her only hope was that the space was too cramped for the mummy to have a good shot with the axe.
"I've been dreaming and planning… planni
ng and dreaming," the mummy continued. "He was even helping me, until he betrayed me. Even then, my dreams and plans were coming true."
"Who was trying to help you?" Rachel asked. She needed to buy time.
"I have said my piece," the mummy announced demurely, not taking the bait. Its speech pattern was maddeningly familiar. The mummy raised the axe. Despite Rachel's efforts, she was still an easy target.
Suddenly, there came a dull, wet thump, and the mummy's head lunged forward. Without thinking, Rachel kicked out, hoping to knock the axe from the mummy's hand, but instead, she kicked the mummy in the stomach. As the mummy flew backward, the axe came down, barely missing Rachel's leg. Jack grabbed the mummy by the wrist then, and threw the costumed murderer toward the entrance.
"Come on," said a suddenly revitalized Jack, grabbing Rachel's hand and yanking her out from behind the executioner.
"You… would hurt… me?" the mummy yelled as it stood, its voice trembling with rage. One hand still held the axe. The other rubbed the back of its head where Jack had struck.
Without answering the mummy, Jack dragged Rachel through the door, back into the Haunted Mansion.
"What did you hit him with?" Rachel asked.
"You don't want to know," Jack told her gravely.
Rachel knew the answer instantly. And in fact, had known the answer before she asked the question.
Because as they left, she had noticed that Vanessa's head was missing from the executioner's grasp.
Before they reached the other side of the zombie room, the first door flew open, and the mummy appeared.
"If I can't have you, no one will," it shouted in rage — and hurled the axe at them.
Jack pushed Rachel into the next room and dove in himself, just as the axe struck the door. Its blade cut through the door, nearly splitting it in two.
"Keep going!" Jack shouted at Rachel, who was transfixed by the blade of the axe that had nearly killed them twice. "We have to get the gun."
This time, the mummy was not as quick to follow them, and they made it safely to the Elvis room.
Freddy Krueger's Tales of Terror #6: Deadly Disguise Page 7