Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection)

by McCray, Carolyn

  As the not-so-sexy vampire sauntered away, Cecilia turned to the group. “That’s it. I am going to look for Helen.”

  “No, Cecilia. Stay here and dance,” Francesca implored. “You know Helen. She can take care of herself.”

  Cecilia raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking. She almost got arrested at a petting zoo.”

  “It wasn’t her fault that goat liked cheese so much.”

  Michael looked quizzical, but Cecilia brushed it off. “There was a golf cart involved. The bottom line is … if there is trouble to get into, Helen will find it.” After the look of disappointment on Francesca’s face, Cecilia hurried on. “But you guys stay here and have fun. I’ll poke around.”

  Frannie rushed forward and gave Cecilia a big hug. “Thank you!” Then her friend’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “This is the best night ever!”

  Cecilia hugged her back. So far, it wasn’t quite as terrible as she had imagined. “Okay. How about we meet back here in an hour?”

  “Sounds great,” Frannie said, as she took Connor’s hand again and headed back out to the buffet. “I hear they’ve got hot wings!”

  Michael fist-bumped his friend. “See ya, man.”

  Cecilia turned to Michael. “You don’t have to go with me.”

  “Please, after the goat, golf cart, and cheese story, I have got to see what Helen is up to.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. My friend is missing too, remember?”

  Maybe she could have fought harder, but strangely, she didn’t want to. Was she worried that she might run into John again, or for another reason? Coyly, she glanced over at Michael. If you ignored the eyeliner, he did have a nice nose, and those lips…

  Wow. Helen must be rubbing off on her. Cecilia certainly hoped that her friend was having as nice a time as she was.

  * * *

  Helen raked at the usher’s hand with her fingernails, but it was covered in a thick leather glove. The bastard had her by the hair, forcing her to watch as he took a torch to Quentin’s side.

  “No!” she screamed, but the flame burned deeper and deeper into Quentin’s flesh.

  Her date howled in pain. How could no one hear his pain? Then, abruptly, Quentin went silent. The usher put the brand to Quentin’s side again, laying the fire against his skin until the tissue itself glowed red. But still no sound, not a movement, from Quentin. The usher slapped the teen, but there was no response.

  “No!” she sobbed. Quentin was clearly dead.

  “Damn it!” the mechanized voice yelled, then became bitter. “Youth these days. No stamina. Saint Quentin survived seven more tortures.”

  Helen kicked the usher’s leg, knocking him back as his hair slid through her fingers. She ran for the door, only to find it locked. She pounded at the thick wood.

  “Help!”

  * * *

  “Did you hear that?” Cecilia asked as they walked along down the dark hallway.

  Michael turned his head, trying to get a better angle. “I think it was from that room on the right.”

  They rushed up, and sure enough, a girl’s scream rang out.

  “Oh, my God!” Cecilia said as she turned the knob, but it was locked.

  “Get out of the way,” Michael said as he backed away from the door. He slammed into it with all of his might, but bounced off the thick wood. ‘Ow!”

  There were no more screams from inside, but Cecilia could hear a muffled whimpering. Quickly she pulled a bobby pin from her hair and worked the lock.

  “And you call me a juvenile delinquent,” Michael noted.

  “So sue me,” Cecilia said as she caught the locking mechanism. “My brother’s one.”

  She pulled up on the bobby pin and the lock clunked open. Jerking open the door, they ran in. Torture devices surrounded them, and a girl was in shackles against the far wall.

  “Helen!”

  The redhead was half naked, stripped down to her panties and bra.

  “Get back!” Michael shouted, as several guys pawed at her.

  But then the girl looked up, a smirk upon her face. This was definitely not Helen.

  “Yummy. More playmates.” She winked at Michael. “I wouldn’t mind another torturer.”

  Cecilia stepped back, revolted, but Michael stood there nearly mesmerized.

  Guys.

  “You are disgusting,” Cecilia spat out as she ran from the room.

  She slammed the door behind her and stormed down the hallway. Cecilia had braced for a lot going through that door, but finding an orgy was definitely not what she expected. Nearly against her will, Cecilia looked back. But Michael still wasn’t following her. But who was she, compared to that buxom redhead back there? She ran so quickly that she lost track of the turns. How easy it was to get lost in the huge mansion.

  “Cecilia!” Michael shouted, but she ignored him. Too little, too late.

  She kept going, but ran into a dead end. Cecilia had no choice but to double back where she found Michael at the junction of the hallways. She blew right past him.

  “Wait up,” Michael said catching up. “What’s the matter?”

  Cecilia gritted her teeth. What did he think was the matter? “You might as well go back in there. It’s the best offer you are going to get tonight.”

  “What?” Michael asked, and then blushed. “No, I didn’t follow you right away because I was asking them if they had seen Helen and Quentin.”

  “That’s why there’s drool at the corner of your mouth?”

  Michael grabbed her by the arm and stopped her headlong flight. She was so embarrassed, ashamed, and just a little jealous of how incredible that girl’s figure was that she felt her cheeks heat up, and tears burned.

  “I admit it. I was … I was shocked, in a good way.”

  Cecilia tore from his grip.

  “Come on. Even you’ve got to admit she was hot,” Michael said.

  Internally, yes, Cecilia could admit that. Out loud? Never.

  Still, Michael persisted. “What is up with you? Haven’t I made it clear that you are the only one I want to be with tonight?”

  Cecilia felt tears rise. “Why? Why me?”

  “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  Typical guy. All about the looks and the stature that came with it. It was John all over again. Wanting her because she would look good on his arm. She was done with that. Cecilia went to turn away when Michael more softly touched her arm.

  “Did you know that you twirl your hair when you can’t figure out a math problem?”

  Cecilia frowned. That could have been a lucky guess.

  “Or that your eyelashes glisten in the morning sunlight during PE?” She couldn’t help but soften just a little. Michael took a step closer. “Or that you are the single most unpretentious girl I’ve ever met? Now what do I need to do to convince you of that?”

  Michael sounded so sincere. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to think that he would be with her rather than doing whatever they planned to do with that redhead.

  Cecilia nodded toward a “bloody” strand of cobweb that had fallen between them. “To be honest, it’s going to be hard to convince me of much here… With all of this.”

  “Then let’s go,” Michael said grabbing her hand.

  “No, I meant the whole concert thing.”

  “I know,” Michael answered. “And I meant let’s go.”

  “Michael, we can’t. The yacht isn’t leaving until after the concert.”

  Michael, though, shrugged. “There were several boathouses by the dock. We’ll grab some drinks, a few more breadsticks, and head out there.”

  “But the concert … I can’t ask you to give up—”

  Michael stopped and turned to her. “What have I been trying to tell you? Yes, you can. You can ask anything of me.”

  Cecilia looked into his eyes. They seemed sincere. But so did her mother’s eyes when she swore off vodka, until the next time that she passed a liquor store. Would Michael
be the same? Would they arrive at the boathouse, only to have him pine for the concert and resent her? Would that be her fault, too?

  “But you are the biggest Diana Dahmer fan,” she said halfheartedly.

  Michael put a finger to her lips. “I’ll buy a bootleg copy. No big deal. Getting you comfortable is the priority.”

  Gently he removed his finger, and instantly she missed the connection. He leaned in. Would she really let him kiss her? Had he not proven himself far more a gentleman than any guy she had ever dated?

  The air between them stirred. She could smell the apricot in his hair gel. Surprisingly, she liked it. Their lips closed in. Cecilia tilted her head, wondering what his lips would taste like.

  “Hey! You kids aren’t supposed to be back here!” an usher dressed as a mummy yelled, his gauze strips flapping in the air.

  The moment shattered by the agitated Egyptian, Cecilia quickly stepped back. What had she been thinking? But Michael put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

  “No prob. We were just leaving, anyway.”

  * * *

  Helen strained to scream, but the killer had his gloved hand over her mouth. She fought and kicked and bit as she watched the shadows pass by under the door. Helen had heard Cecilia. And Michael. And an usher. A real usher.

  Couldn’t they smell the burnt flesh?

  Hear her strangled cries for help?

  “Cecilia!” she screamed in her mind, but it didn’t matter. The figures left and did not come back.

  Sagging, she felt all hope drain from her. “Please,” she begged. “Please don’t kill me.”

  The mechanized voice sounded amused. “Oh, I am not going to kill you, Helen.” Then he put his hand around her throat, choking her. “At least not until after midnight.”

  Helen didn’t even struggle as her world went black.

  * * *

  Paxton paced behind Ruth as she argued with the Coast Guard commander. Rain beat at the office windows. The wind whipped the water into a torrent, only accentuating the commander’s concerns.

  “I am sorry, ma’am, but I simply cannot authorize any craft leaving until the storm breaks.”

  He could tell that Ruth was attempting to keep her anger in check, but her jaw was clenched. “But you allowed the High Jinx to cross earlier this evening.”

  “That was before the storm broke, ma’am. They are going to have to hole up on the island until it blows over.”

  “Then at the least rouse them so we can warn them of the danger.”

  It was the commander’s turn to take a deep breath before answering. “As I explained, there is no cell phone coverage, and all radio communications are sporadic at best. You are just going to have to sit this storm out like the rest of us.”

  Ruth’s concern rose to the surface as her words bit. “Do I have to remind you of Oslo, Commander? That maniac gained an extra hour, a full sixty minutes of slaughter, because the police couldn’t figure out how to cross a lake. Are you prepared to make the same mistake?”

  But this wasn’t some lowlife perp Ruth was trying to convince. It was a commander in the Coast Guard who kept his tone level. “I know how to cross, ma’am. I am just telling you that there is no safe way to do so. I am sincerely sorry if any come to injury on the island. Our mission is to save lives. However, I cannot put any at undue risk.”

  He pointed out the window as lightning made the sky as bright as day, revealing a roiling sea with at least ten-foot swells. The commander truly wasn’t exaggerating. That didn’t mean they didn’t need to cross, though.

  “I am telling you, only a desperate pirate would attempt a crossing tonight.”

  Ruth opened her mouth to argue, but Paxton urged her to the door.

  “Thank you so much, Commander,” Paxton said, as Ruth fought him. “You have been very helpful.”

  The man did not seem to know what to make of Paxton’s sudden change of heart, but he inclined his head. “I will call the department as soon as we lift the severe storm warning.”

  “Great. Fantastic. Can’t wait,” Paxton answered, as he got Ruth out of the office. Once out into the hallway, Ruth threw off his hand.

  “What do you think you are doing? Your nephew and my son are over there with a mad—”

  “Which is why we need to haul ass over there.”

  Ruth pointed to the door. “What do you think I was doing in there?”

  But Paxton just smiled. He liked being ahead of the curve.

  “You heard the man. We need a pirate. A desperate pirate.”

  At first, Ruth’s forehead furrowed in anger, and then confusion. Suddenly, though, it smoothed out as she nodded. “Gimpy Gomer.”

  “Yep. Gimpy Gomer.”

  They both took off down the hallway at a run.

  CHAPTER 7

  Jeremy watched Evan sneak down the dark hallway. The lights flickered, casting shadows across his friend’s face.

  So he finally grew a pair.

  He waited until Evan almost passed him, then he jumped out, catching him from behind and covering his mouth. For such a scrawny guy, Evan put up a fuss, but Jeremy held tight.

  “You are such a wuss!” Jeremy whispered into Evan’s ear. “Keep it down.”

  Evan’s eyes, so wide that the whites glistened in the low light, looked back at Jeremy. Finally, he stopped struggling. Jeremy released his hand.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Getting more done in a few hours than most people get done in a lifetime.”

  Evan looked at him suspiciously. If only he knew the full truth. He wanted his friend to share in everything, but could he trust Evan not to freak out? Most couldn’t follow the path he was headed.

  “Are you in?” he asked Evan.

  The boy shrank back, clinging to his backpack. “I don’t know. What are you going to do?”

  There was no way Jeremy could let Evan in on his whole plan. That would simply blow his friend’s mind… and possibly get him arrested. But maybe he could share just a sliver of his goal for the night.

  “I’ve found a secret passage to Dahmer’s dressing room. Want to crash a party?”

  “Are you insane? They are about to go onstage!”

  “Which makes it perfect. What does Dahmer say about the witching hour?”

  Evan shuffled his feet, looking downward. “I just … I don’t know.”

  Anger flared. Did no one understand the genius of all this? “You said you wanted to be something, Evan. That you wanted to make your mark. When else are you going to do it but now?”

  His friend’s nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth. “Let’s do it.”

  “That’s more like it!” Jeremy patted his friend on the back.

  Rapidly, he led Evan up a staircase, down a hall, and through a small room. After all that he had done this evening, he knew this mansion like the back of his hand. They came to a door clearly labeled: “Restricted. Do Not Enter.”

  “Jeremy…”

  “Buck up, dude. Life isn’t about following the rules.”

  With time running out, Jeremy couldn’t wait any longer, so he opened the door, which led to a series of catwalks. They were high above the stage.

  “We just need to cross here, drop down beneath the stage, and hang two lefts.”

  Evan put his pack on, and then buckled the straps.

  Jeremy made his way across the metal walkway as thunder rumbled in the distance. This high up, they could hear the rain beating down upon the roof. It sounded as if the storm cast sheets of water against the island. It was all the better for what he had planned.

  Lightning struck, illuminating them through the windows. Then thunder boomed right on top of them, shaking the railing. Evan lost his footing.

  Nearly in slow motion Jeremy watched his friend flail, then tip, over the side. Jeremy rushed forward, but missed his friend. Luckily, Evan fell onto the catwalk ten feet beneath them. The metal clanged loudly, but no one below seemed to notice as thunder cracked again and
again.

  Jeremy leaned over the railing. “I’ll come down.”

  But Evan shook his head as he nursed his ankle. “No, my ankle’s blown. Go on.”

  Jeremy hesitated. He really wanted his friend to see the spectacle he had planned. Unfortunately, it required precise execution. He simply couldn’t have Evan slow him down.

  “All right. But head down to the ballroom so you get a great view.”

  Evan waved him off. “Go, then!” His friend then mumbled, “At least I’ll stay out of trouble this way …”

  “I heard that!” Jeremy whispered, as he rushed across the catwalk to meet his destiny.

  * * *

  Cecilia walked hand in hand with Michael as they approached the front door to the mansion. This was kind of nice. She could get used it. Well, used to the Michael part, not the sick-mansion-in-the-middle-of-nowhere part.

  An usher, dressed as a werewolf, guarded the door. Absentmindedly, he groomed the fur on his face. “Where do you think you two are going?”

  “She needs some fresh air,” Michael stated.

  “No one leaves until the concert is over.”

  Cecilia gulped as if trying to hold back vomiting. Unfortunately, it wasn’t all an act. Even just thinking about the yacht ride home made her queasy.

  She thought the usher was going to give them more hassle, but the wolfman just shrugged. “Have fun, then.”

  Michael opened the mansion door to find a wall of water outside. Wind-driven rain pelted their cheeks, and they weren’t even outside yet. Michael quickly shut the door.

  “Like I said,” the usher said, picking a bit of food from the hair on his chin. “no one leaves.”

  Michael looked at Cecilia, but she sighed. “I guess we did find one thing worse than Diana Dahmer music.” He cocked an eyebrow as she answered, “Pneumonia.”

  “Let’s get you something to eat, then we will find a quiet place, and maybe watch the storm from an upstairs landing?” Michael suggested.

  Cecilia gave his hand a squeeze. If KMNY gave out awards for best date ever, Michael would be hard to beat. “That sounds great.”