Black Christmas

by Lee Hays

  “Did you get any deliveries yesterday?” Fuller asked. “Or was there anybody working at the house or anything like that?”

  “I don’t know. Mrs. Mac should know, though,” Jess replied.

  “Is her number on here?”

  He handed Jess the list and after scanning it the girl replied, “Yes. Her sister’s number, that is. Down at the bottom.”

  Passing Graham, who didn’t look up from his work, they went into the living room. “Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “Just one other girl. Barbara Pollard. She had a bit too much to drink today.”

  “Mrs. Mac put her to bed,” Phyl said. “She was pretty bad and Mr. Harrison. He was upset.”

  Jess said, “She’s sleeping it off upstairs.”

  “Is she the one who was with you at the station house today?” Fuller asked Phyl.

  “Yes. She caused a little trouble there, too.”

  “Yeah, I heard about her. Let’s let her sleep.” He glanced around the room and then called into the hall. “You just about finished, Graham?”

  A voice came back, “Uh-huh.” Then the man appeared in the doorway. “What I’ve done,” he said holding the telephone up for all to see, “is tapped this phone so that when it rings, it’ll ring at the station house, too. At the same time I’ll be at the phone company checking the location of the source of the call. That way the station house can listen in and try to get a line on the guy while I try to find out where he’s calling from. Are there any other phones in the house?”

  “Yes,” Jess said, “the house mother has one in her room.”

  “But it’s a different number, Graham. And there haven’t been any calls on it.”

  Graham put the phone down and went back into the hall where he began to gather up his tools. “Whoever answers, if he calls again, you’re going to have to keep this guy on the phone as long as possible. We’ve got a mechanical system, not an electronic one, and it will take a while. We’ll be trying various plugs once we get the exchange. I know it’s not very pleasant, but . . .”

  “We’ll be all right,” Jess said.

  Fuller led the girls to the front door saying, “Come here, I want to show you something.” He opened the door and pointed to a car in the shadows across the street. “We have a man watching the house. So you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  Jess and Phyl looked at one another and Jess said, “Yeah, sure.”

  They stood together in the doorway watching Lieutenant Fuller and Bill Graham get into their car and drive away. Both girls, as the car went out of sight turned their attention to the car across the way where they hoped the officer on duty was keeping a sharp eye on the house. Fuller waved as the police car turned the corner but neither girl was able to see him.

  Finally they went back inside and closed and locked the door unaware that in addition to the police officer resting in his car, Peter Smythe was hiding in a clump of bushes not far from the house and had angrily watched the two men drive away and the two girls go back into the house.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Phyllis Thompson was holding herself in as she took off her coat and hung it in the hall closet. She could hear Jess out in the kitchen and, afraid to be alone, she followed the sound. When she came into the cozy room all of her defences broke down and she found herself sobbing in Jess’s arms.

  Jess held her for a minute before she said, “Did you see the little girl?”

  “No. They had her covered when I got there. I saw her mother, though. That was enough. Oh, God, Jess. I know Clare is dead. I can just feel it. It can’t just be a coincidence. Those calls and that girl. It’s got to be some kind of madman.”

  Soothing the other girl, Jess said, “Come on now, Phyl. We don’t know that for sure.” As she patted Phyl, Jess told herself that she wished she was as sure as her voice sounded. Unfortunately, she was beginning to feel the way Phyl did: that Clare, too, was dead and the phone calls had not ceased.

  “Poor Mr. Harrison,” Phyl said, breaking away and going to the stove, “I feel so sorry for him. Want some tea?”

  “No, thanks. It’ll keep me awake. You shouldn’t, either.”

  “No, I guess you’re right. It was something to do, that’s all.”

  “How’s Chris?”

  “Oh, he’s great. Hanging in there. You know Chris.”

  The two girls moved into the living room as Phyl said, “I’m sorry, Jess. I’m exhausted. I’ve been taking these pills for my cold and they knock me out. Will you be okay if I go up to bed?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Go on up and get some rest. You need it. We all do.”

  “Call me if there’s any news, even if I’m dead asleep. Wake me if they find, if they hear anything about Clare, no matter what.”

  “I will. Sure. Now go get some sleep.”

  “Thanks. Good night.”

  “Good night, Phyl.”

  Jess followed Phyl to the bottom of the stairs and watched her climb slowly up, then she picked up the telephone with the long extension cord and brought it back into the living room where she placed it gently on the table. She looked all around the room and then sat down and stared at the phone.

  Meanwhile, at the telephone company switching station, Bill Graham was peering at a complex panel of flashing lights and plugs. He put a receiver to his ear and pushed several buttons, then waited until he heard a voice in the receiver.

  “That you, Jeff? Is it clear at your end? Yeah. Okay. Sure. Yeah, I’ll need about ten more minutes. Okay? The only way it will work is if they both come through the same switching station. If our boy is calling long distance, forget it. Yeah. Fuller there? Oh, no, don’t bother him. Just give him the message. Right.”

  In Lieutenant Fuller’s office, Jeff put down his telephone, the one that had been tapped into the line at the sorority house and waited patiently for Fuller to finish his conversation on his private line.

  “No, I’m sorry,” the lieutenant was saying, “we haven’t. I assure you we’re doing everything we can.” Finally the party at the other end hung up and Fuller banged down his phone exclaiming, “Jesus! How did they get that number? That’s what I’d like to know.” He looked over at Jeff and asked, “How’s it coming?”

  “Graham’s almost ready at the switching station. About ten minutes. Now when the phone rings in that house this one will ring here. The transmitter has been removed from this receiver so they won’t be able to hear anything from this end. That means I won’t have to hold my breath.”

  Fuller smiled. “Good. And thanks, Jeff. All of you guys. The cooperation has been great.”

  There was a knock at the door and when Ken Fuller called out to come in, Sergeant Nash stuck his head through the doorway.

  “Lieutenant, the men are here from Scarborough.”

  Fuller stood up and said, “Okay. Have them hang on. I’ll brief them out there.”

  At the same time he was giving his briefing Jess was standing by the window of the living room a few feet from the phone watching a police car hurry past the house, its red light flashing. After it passed she closed the curtain and restlessly moved about the room conscious all of the time of the black instrument sitting so innocently on the table.

  Despite her admonition to Phyl she went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. She had just removed a cup and saucer from the cupboard when she heard a low moaning sound coming from upstairs and then someone shouting her name. Dropping the cup and saucer she ran to the front of the house and up the stairs, then down the hall to Barbara’s room where she pushed open the door.

  “Barb!” she called out. “What’s the matter?”

  Hurrying across the room she switched on the small bedside lamp. Barb was writhing violently on the bed, her breathing labored as though in the throes of a bad dream. It was apparent to Jess, however, for she had seen it before, that Barbara was having one of her asthma attacks. Grabbing Barbara and holding
her down as she struggled and gasped for air, Jess shook the girl so that she opened her eyes. When she saw Jess she pointed to the inhaler on the dresser.

  Quickly Jess brought it to her and helped her put it to her nose, stroking Barbara’s forehead until she had relaxed slightly and had taken a few breaths from the inhaler.

  As Barbara started to cough, Jess said, “Take it easy. Don’t talk, Barb. It’ll be okay.”

  Taking several more drags on the inhaler, Barbara slowly relaxed. Her breathing started to return to normal and her body had ceased twitching. Still stroking her Jess repeated, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Still having difficulty with speaking Barb managed to gasp, “Oh, my God!” She lay still for a minute and then said, “I guess I was having a nightmare. I thought someone was coming into my room. The door seemed to open and I heard someone moaning. Probably dreaming about the sex maniac who’s been calling. I guess it was the scare that brought on the asthma attack.”

  “Well, it’s all right now. Just relax.”

  Barbara stared at the ceiling before she said, “I should be so lucky as to have a stranger come into my room.”

  Ignoring the last remark, Jess asked, “Feel better?”

  Nodding, Barbara answered, “How did I get so drunk? I was really bombed. I don’t know what I’m trying to do to myself. Boy, I really wiped out tonight. I can’t remember a thing.” Beginning to cry she added, “God, sometimes I really wonder what I’m doing, what the hell I’m trying to prove.”

  “Don’t, Barb.”

  “I don’t know why I act like that. The girls here are the only family I’ve ever really had and all I do is drive them away. Always some loud-mouth, smart-ass remark, and usually dirty, too.”

  “Barb, don’t do this to yourself.”

  “You think I don’t know why you said you’d go skiing with me? You knew I was going to be alone for most of the holidays. So you said . . . And just because Clare wouldn’t, or couldn’t. Why do I always drive people away? That’s not what I want to do.”

  Not knowing what to say, Jess sat silently for a few minutes while Barbara, although she had stopped crying, closed her eyes tightly. At last just when Jess thought she had gone back to sleep, she asked, “What happened tonight? I thought I heard someone yelling.”

  “Peter was here. We had a fight.”

  “What about?”

  “Oh, it’s not worth going into. Just one of those things. He was screaming by the time he left, but he’ll calm down. He always does.” She smiled at Barbara. “The temperamental, artistic type.”

  Drowsily Barbara replied, “Well, maybe you should call him just so things aren’t left in such an unfriendly state. Remember, it’s Christmas, the time to forgive . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as she fell back to sleep. Because her breathing was still heavy Jess sat with her for a while. And it was the breathing of Barbara that kept Jess from hearing the other, heavier breathing from out in the hall where a man stood, watching the door from the vantage point of the dark shadows of the stairwell.

  In there. Two of them. Oh, God, maybe I should. No, they wouldn’t understand. She’d laugh at me. Say something awful, like she did on the phone. Dirty. I hate dirty. It’s bad. Nasty Billy does dirty things. Wash his mouth out with soap. Take down his pants. You were bad. That’s what you did. No I didn’t. I wasn’t bad. You were! Say you were! Admit it or I’ll keep hitting you! Admit it. Say it. Say ‘Nasty Billy.’ Bad! Bad! Dirty. Dirty.

  A chorus of voices from outside broke into “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen” and Jess, sure that Barbara was asleep started for the door. Down the hall, a figure moved further into the shadows as she came out of Barbara’s room and went down the stairs to greet the carolers.

  The man slowly moved toward Barbara’s door once Jess was out of sight. He paused when he heard the front door open and the voices from outside became louder, then slowly, as though against his will he made his way to Barbara’s room.

  Jess went out without a coat and smiled at the shiny, red-cheeked faces that were ranged across the snow-covered lawn of the sorority house. A child stepped forward with a sign that had the letters UNICEF on it as the children raised their voices joyfully. From the front steps Jess watched and listened, oblivious to what was happening upstairs where the muted sound of the singing came through the closed door of Barbara’s room. In a deep sleep Barbara was unaware of the shadow that passed across her face as it lay peacefully on the pillow, unaware of the raspy breathing, the sickening sound of the demented voice.

  Quietly, as if a child, he began to talk to the sleeping form.

  “Don’t you tell, Agnes. Promise not to tell. You’ll be sorry. Please don’t tell. Agnes? Promise now. I won’t do it again. I just didn’t know. I wanted to. There now, don’t worry. It didn’t hurt. There’s no need to be upset. Don’t tell, Agnes. I won’t do it again. I couldn’t help myself, but it wouldn’t be fair for you to tell.”

  Barbara stirred uncomfortable in her sleep, shifting her position.

  “Stay still, Agnes. Stay still when I tell you to. It won’t hurt. That’s right. Just lay there. I promise it won’t hurt. Only you mustn’t tell anyone. That’s nice, Agnes. Oh, that’s nice. I told you it was nice. Pretty Agnes. Nice Agnes. Don’t tell. Go to sleep. That’s right, go to sleep. It didn’t hurt, did it?”

  On the edge of consciousness, Barbara stirred again. The voice stopped and she awakened hearing a low, gurgling, choking sound, incredibly vile. Her eyes came open and she looked wildly about, sure she was having another dream—until she saw the shadow in front of her, heard the sound raising in intensity and then a voice shrieked out.

  “Nasty Billy!”

  In confusion she tried to focus her eyes on the shadow but could see only its eyes, the eyes of a mindless beast. It moved toward her and she reached her hand out for the lamp on the table, tried to cover her face with her pillow, to sit up, to call out but the scream stuck in her throat as she watched the thing come closer to her, a gleaming knife in its hand, raised in a high arc above her body.

  Suddenly she could see the distorted face as well as the wild eyes and the terror of it forced the scream from her throat as the knife swung down into her chest and outside the children raised their youthful, optimistic voices in the final bars of the song as the frenzied man struck the knife over and over again into Barb’s helpless body.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jess stood there, unaware of the chill, applauding the children as a station wagon pulled up and a woman got out of the driver’s seat and ran across the lawn to the children and the middle-aged woman who was shepherding them.

  “Jean,” she said in an agitated manner while keeping her voice low, “get the children into the cars.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “Please, there’s no time for questions. I don’t want to talk about it here. They might hear. Just get them into the cars.”

  Jess had slipped back into the hall and had gotten a dollar from her coat pocket which she carried out to the lawn as the two women were conversing.

  “Let’s go, children!” the one called Jean was saying. “Pile into the wagons. Either one. We’re going to go now.”

  There was a chorus of disappointment so she added, “We’ll get some hot cocoa and cookies at my place.”

  Jess handed the woman a dollar and she said half-heartedly, “Thank you.”

  The other one, the one who had driven up noticed the quizzical expression on Jess’s face, so she said, “There was a little girl found murdered over in the park tonight.”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “Your phone is ringing.”

  “Oh, yes, excuse me.”

  “Certainly. Good night.”

  Jean called from the door of her station wagon. “And thanks again for the contribution. Sorry we couldn’t stay longer.”

  But Jess was already in the house and had closed the door. She went directly into the living room and then, taking a deep breat
h, lifted the receiver.

  At headquarters the phone was ringing, too and Lieutenant Ken Fuller rushed into his office ready to grab it while down at the switching station Bill Graham stood alertly in front of the flashing light on the panel that told him that the number at the sorority house was being called.

  Jess put her hand on the receiver but felt that it was frozen there. The room seemed suddenly dark and eerie despite the fact that all of the living room lights, including those on the Christmas tree, were on. Telling herself that she was being foolish and a coward she finally lifted the receiver gently from the cradle and put it to her ear.

  As soon as it was up, Fuller lifted his phone and Graham started to scan the large panel, holding a long cable and a jack as he listened through the set of headphones balanced over his ears.

  Hesitantly Jess said, “Hello.” All she could hear was heavy breathing on the line. “Hello? Who’s there?”

  Graham plugged into a socket, listened for a second, then pulled the cable out and tried another opening.

  Upstairs in the sorority house the caller sat on the edge of Mrs. MacHenry’s bed, her telephone receiver held tightly in his hand. There were tears rolling down his face as he tried to speak to Jess but only a soft, whimpering sound, like that of a child, emitted from his lips.

  “Who is it?” Jess pleaded.

  Suddenly a woman’s voice broke harshly into the crying. “Stop this! Nasty Billy! Nasty Billy! Nasty Billy! What an evil child.” The voice seemed to be losing control as it ranted on. “You filthy little beast!” Then there was a scream of pain followed by wheezing.

  The caller covered the receiver and leaned over, vomiting on the floor beside Mrs. MacHenry’s bed.

  Jess stood stock still, expecting the receiver to click while Graham furiously tried another, then another socket.

  There was another scream, as though a child were being beaten, then a man’s voice, rational, mature, almost pompous.

  “Billy,” the man said, “now you must tell us the truth, Billy. Your mother and I have to know. Is this true? Did you?” There was gagging and then more silence followed by a raspy whispering voice that spoke tauntingly, hatefully to her. “You never have had any consideration for me! Never. Always self, self, self.” The woman’s voice hissed out, “It was just like having a wart removed.”