The Complete Short Fiction of Charles L. Grant Volume 2: The Orchard (Necon Classic Horror)

by Charles L. Grant

  Her voice was barely under control, and when he put a hand to her shoulder, he could see a throbbing at her temple before she brushed at her hair and covered it.

  “Maybe we ought to leave her alone,” he said.

  “She’ll be back when she can’t find him.”

  “She could get hurt, El,” she said. “That’s steep up there. God, suppose she gets to the bottom and falls.”

  “Scotty didn’t come out,” he said, hoping it was a question and taking a breath when Katherine shook her head. “Then maybe he climbed up somehow. He could be trying the doors to the fire escape.” Then, suddenly, he looked to the stairs and frowned, looked around the lobby and snapped his fingers. “Tom,” he said, “Damn, I forgot all about Toni.”

  When she looked puzzled he reminded her of the girl he had mentioned before this all started “Sorry. I don’t remember.”

  He described her.

  “Nope. No bells, sorry. She must have left already.”

  “But how?” he said, struggling with frustration. “The doors, remember?”

  “Davidson left. So did that usher. She must have gone out the same way.”

  He wanted to ask, to demand to know why they couldn’t do the same and get the hell home. Instead, he wondered aloud if the young woman wasn’t in the ladies’ room, until Katherine told him she had been in there alone.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he said wearily “Damn, don’t tell me she’s lying someplace, hurt like Scotty must be. Christ.”

  Paula was still on the floor, staring into her lap. “The exits are all locked, aren’t they.”

  He wanted to lie, but there was nothing to gain and she would know itanyway. “As far as I can tell, yes. They must be blocked somehow from the outside.”

  “Great.” Richards said bitterly “Just . . . shit.”

  “El,” Katherine said then. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “It’s my money,” Richards said. “That’s probably what it is, you know. Any minute now, some asshole is going to pop up through the floor and demand all my money and a fast plane to Cuba.” He wrestled off his tie and tossed it aside. “Dumb shit. Who the hell does he think he is?”

  Ellery didn’t say a word, not surprised the man had come to the same conclusion he had, though he knew it wasn’t right, not right at all.

  The night was too dark, and . . . he shuddered, exhaled, and exhaled again when he thought he saw the ghost of his breath. A third time proved him wrong, but the cold didn’t leave him.

  “El?” Katherine said. “El, please, what’s going on? Is he right? Is that what it is?”

  “I don’t know.” And he wished they would stop looking to him for answers. He didn’t know anything, and he didn’t know how to find out, but for the time being, to keep himself from thinking too much, he could get Ginny back here with the rest, and maybe find Toni in the bargain.

  Taking one of the candles then, and hissing when a drop of wax landed on his wrist, he cupped his hand around the flame and started up. Katherine moved to go with him, paused halfway to the landing, and changed her mind with a nervous smile. When he reached the turn and looked down, she had already gone back to Paula and was helping her to the couch. He couldn’t see Gary at all, only heard him kicking at the pieces of the chair he had broken.

  Insane. he thought as he rounded the corner and started up the second flight; it’s crazy.

  “Ginny!”

  At the top of the stairs was a narrow passageway. It ran the width of the building and, like the floor below, had a low wall on the left, broken in the center and both ends for the step-aisles down. The righthand wall was blank save for a pair of large-framed wildlife prints that needed a good dusting.

  “Toni?”

  There was thunder.

  “Toni Keane, where are you? Are you okay?” He looked down the side aisle, lifting his shoulders against the wintery cold, lifting the candle high and away from his eyes.

  “Ginny, c’mon, answer me! He’s not up here. C’mon!”

  To the center aisle, a draught snaking about his ankles, and he stepped through the gap, took the first step down, and felt his temper begin to flare.

  “Toni! Ginny! What the hell’s going on?” Shifting his fingers to escape a run of hot wax.

  Keeping his face slightly averted so not to be blinded by the white of the flame and the halo around it.

  “Damnit, Ginny, will you show yourself for god’s sake?”

  Another step, and a third.

  Candlelight shimmered shadows across the empty seats, shifting them back and forth, raising the far end of the row and roiling the backs toward him like gelid waves in a black sea. It was a dizzying effect, and he closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, and saw the girl pressed against the far wall. Her hands were out to the sides, her eye, so wide he could see nothing but white, and her shirt was pulled out of the waistband of her jeans

  “Jesus, Ginny,” he said, not bothering to disguise his relief. He made his way along a row toward her, holding the candle higher. “Jesus, why the hell didn’t you answer me, huh? You’ve got me scared half to death.” He tried a laugh and gave it up, shifted the candle into his left hand, and ignored a sudden sharp burning at the base of his thumb. “You haven’t seen Toni, have you? No, of course not. You don’t even know her. Look, why don’t you just — ”

  Her head began rocking slowly side to side, her outstretched arms were trembling, but she didn’tmove, didn’t speak, and it hit him that she might have found Scotty after all; from the terror she showed him, it wasn’t going to be nice.

  His attention snapped then to the floor. between the rows, but he couldn’t see anything down there but a few crushed cigarette butts, burnt matches, an empty box of popcorn, a half-filled paper cup of soda, another one on its side.

  And his own shadow darting into the gaps, darting away, disappearing.

  He could hear her breathing when he was halfway along — harsh, quick, prelude to a scream.

  “Take it easy,” he said quietly. “Take it easy, Ginny, it’s only me.”

  He moved again, watching her head rock faster and taster while her legs began to palsy, one heel thumping hollow against the baseboard. Softly, then loudly, and softly again. Her gaze shifting into puzzled focus on his face, her lips quivering for a moment before closing. He smiled at her and checked the rows above and below him, seeing nothing at all until he saw her feet. They were bare, and he realized she had stopped drumming on the wall.

  “Okay, Ginny,” he said. And stopped.

  She had relaxed, and somehow the ribbon from her ponytail had come undone and was draped now over one shoulder, almost lost in the spray of her dark blonde hair. The shirt was open three buttons down, exposing pale breasts against a tanned chest and a small while rose in the center of her bra.

  He heard a soft click, looked down, and saw a button bounce on the floor and loll out of sight.

  “Ginny, what’s — ”

  The shirt was completely open, and she hadn’t moved her hands. The snap of her jeans was undone, the plane of her stomach gold in the candlelight, pushing slowly out, sighing slowly in.

  “Ginny,” he said harshly, damning his shadow now growing on the wall, covering her, shading her bronze. “Ginny, where is Scotty? Can you tell me where Scotty is? Is he hurt?”

  She smiled at him, innocence and seduction.

  Her Jeans were crumpled at her feet, and the shirt slipped over her shoulder while he watched, hissing when it caught at her waist, hissing again when it slid to the floor. He turned away as if looking for someone to witness what was happening here, turned back to see her reach her arms out toward him. Reluctantly, he stepped closer, shaking his head at her, trying by his expression to tell her she didn’t know what she was doing.

  Wax poured onto his hand, and he cursed, dropped the candle, and the flame died on the wick.

  “Goddamn,” he muttered, raising an angry fist toward the girl, lowering it slowly when he realized he could still
see her. The candle was out. The light hadn’t gone. It still lay his hovering shadow over her face, still coated her with colors the flame never had.

  Hallelujah, he thought; someone’s finally fixed the electricity.

  “Okay, kiddo,” he said sternly. “Let’s stop the nonsense, all right? They’ll be coming up to see how you are, and I don’t want them to find you like this. So look, do us both a big favor and pick up — ”

  He had turned to hurry back along the row to the center aisle, and said no more when he saw the exit signs over the fire doors still unlit, the bulbs recessed in the ceiling still dark. A hand grabbed for a seat back. The balcony was black except where he stood.

  “Ellery,” Ginny whispered, not the voice of a girl.

  He ordered himself not to look.

  “Ellery.”

  He didn’t understand the light, but he knew full well what the girl wanted, what she was trying to do. Her mind had snapped, no question about it, probably from something she had stumbled on up here, something he hadn’t yet seen himself. And if he looked now, he would only encourage her, if he turned, he wouldn’t know how to get her dressed again without using force, and he knew what that would look like should anyone come up to see what was taking him so long in his search.

  “Ellery”

  “Ginny, for Christ’s sake, would you knock it off and — ”

  Her hand gripped his shoulder and twisted viciously, until he either had to turn or sprawl over the chairs. His jacket tore at the seam as if it were paper, his shirt tore as well, and there was a fire along his skin that made him hiss and yank free, stumbling back until he grabbed an armrest and steadied.

  “Ellery.”

  Her eyes were dull orange, her teeth lengthened to fangs, her hair was a nest of spitting black serpents.

  He screamed and his left arm lashed out, catching her on the temple and tumbling her into the next row, where she regained her feet before he could turn and run, snakes gone, eyes normal, teeth covered by lips that were shining with the blood streaming from her nose.

  She smiled. “Ellery.”

  And she was naked.

  “Ellery.”

  She climbed agilely over the seat after him, grinning as he backed away while holding his aching shoulder, giggling when he held out a palm to stop her as if he were staving off a vampire with a large silver cross. Then she shuddered, straightened, and ran her hands up her sides until they were cupping her breasts, kneading them, flattening them, slipping one hand down over her stomach, up again. Slowly, smearing her blood in pale patterns across her amber skin. Holding out a hand, stretching out a finger, reaching for him, to touch him, before he spun around and tried to run, tripped into the aisle and fell. His head struck a riser, and he grunted in pain; he blinked rapidly to clear his eyes and rolled onto his back.

  She was standing over him. Straddling him.

  Bending down in the moonlight until he saw the flesh peeling patches from her cheeks, her forehead, the sides of her nose.

  He screamed when she reached for him, her hands nothing but bone that cracked at the joints; screamed again when she took hold of his belt and lifted his hips effortlessly off the floor.

  Screamed a third time when she smiled, and the light snapped out.

  He assumed he had fainted, blacked out for a second, maybe two, when the thing that was Ginny Amerton hauled his groin toward her teeth. And when consciousness returned, he flailed hysterically at the air, twisting onto a hip, kicking out, grunting, feeling tears in his eyes until, at last, he calmed and lay cheek-down on the steps, gulping for a breath and telling himself over and over and over again that he was all right, he was all right, he was alone up here and he was all right. Something had somehow triggered an hallucination, but he was all right now, and he could stand if he tried.

  “All right,” he said to hear the sound of his voice “You’re all right, pal. No sweat. Get up and get moving before they think you’re dead.”

  His legs weren’t listening. They refused to hold him, the muscles jumping in spasms until he had to grab for an armrest and hauled himself to his knees. Lowered his head. Panted again for air. Ignoring the dark while he listened for footsteps, for the rub of fleshless hand over cloth, over wood, for someone other than himself in the balcony’s night.

  What he heard was thunder; what he felt was the floor vibrating until the thunder was gone.

  He stood at last, not knowing how long it had taken for him to do it. Without falling down again; he used the seats to pull himself painfully up the aisle, not knowing how he managed to findthe strength even to hold on; he used the wall to keep from falling and eventually made it to the top of the staircase, checking behind him twice every step of the way while he talked himself into believing he had imagined the whole thing. And talked again, commanded, when his hands began to shake, so badly his wrists and knuckles began to ache. And a third time when he knew that unless someone talked to him, and talked to him soon, he was going to cry,

  If only, he thought, it wasn’t so damned dark!

  Five minutes while he leaned against the wall and felt the blood on his shoulder and the sweat on his face; and five again while he stared at the faint light on the landing below him. He didn’t bother to wonder why he couldn’t hear the others, only drinking in the sight like heady gulps of fresh spring an. Calming. Real. No threat or nightmare there.

  God, he thought; Jesus God.

  He swallowed dryly and coughed, then gripped the banister white-knuckled until he reached the turn. There was silence below, but he forced himself to wait, to claw fingers through his hair, to pull off the jacket and brush a palm over hisshirt. Then he stepped around the corner, smiling grimly, eyes narrowed.

  The lobby was empty

  Katherine and Paula weren’t on the couch, and when he staggered down to the carpet, he couldn’t find Gary.

  No, he thought; no. They couldn’t have gotten out and forgot me. They couldn’t!

  “Hey, Katherine!” he called as he turned to the exit. “Mrs. Richards?”

  The doors still wouldn’t open, the remains of the battered chair still scattered by the ticket booth.

  “Katherine?”

  The rain washing the glass, the wind bringing in the cold.

  “Paula? Gary?”

  The office door was open, and he started toward it in a rush, slowed, and moved cautiously though he wasn’t sure why. And every step he took, he expected Ginny to leap out at him, shrieking with laughter, the flesh still falling from her skeleton and the blood still running from her nose.

  The chandelier trembled; the crystals rang like tiny bells that had never been tuned.

  “Look, guys,” he said as he stepped over the threshold.

  The office was empty, except for the injured man still sleeping on the couch. The candle burning on the desk was much lower, and he could see the bruise on the man’s temple darkening, spreading, as if there was hemorrhaging. He hurried over and shook his shoulder, shook it harder when there was nothing but a waggling of the man’s head. Holy shit, he thought, and knelt beside him, put a finger to his neck, to his wrist, to find evidence of a heartbeat. It was there, but it was weak, and he licked at his lips as he returned to the lobby.

  “I don’t get it,” he said aloud, hands on his hips. “Hey, Katherine! Mrs. Richards? Paula?” He pushed the auditorium door in and braced it open with one foot. “Gary! Hey, Richards, where the hell are you guys, huh?”

  Nothing in there but the dark; even the huge screen had stopped its glowing.

  It’s all right, he told himself. It’s cool, it’s all right, they’ll be back.

  He backed into the lobby and watched the door swing silently shut. A nightmare, he decided; Ginny, the rain — it’s a goddamned nightmare, that’s all.

  Ellery

  He whirled to stare at the staircase he’d taken, whirled again to peer at the one on his right. No one was there; no shadows, no nightmare.

  But he noticed the men’s room d
oor and rushed in, propped it open with a trash can to give him feeble light, and called again for Richards, shutting up instantly when the name echoed flatly off the dull white tiles. The three stall doors were open; water dripped from one of the faucets; a shred of brown paper towel dangled from its dispenser and waved at him in a draught. The stench of stale disinfectant gagged him; the smell of his own sweat was sour and strong.

  Without thinking, not daring to think, he crossed to the sink and turned the faucet off with an angry twist, yanked away the strip of toweling and used it to dry his hands, tore off another length and soaked it in warm water. He rinsed his face, dried it, dried his hands twice, all the while avoiding a look at his reflection in the mirror above the basin. He was not a brave man, and was not ashamed to admit it; and he knew that as soon as he saw the look on his face, the look in his eyes, something inside was going to shatter.

  He sighed explosively, and moved on his toes to the door so not to have to hear his footsteps.

  A look at his watch; it was well past midnight. A look to the outside; it was still raining hard. It wasn’t until he found himself staring at the candles on the table that he realized he would have to do something soon or they were all going to go out at about the same time; and when they did, he would be alone. In the dark.

  Quickly, he pinched out the flames of all but one, sagged into a chair, and stared blindly at the front doors. A single candle wasn’t much, but four of them would last a hell of a lot longer one at a time. By then, if he were lucky, it would be daylight and he’d be able to signal someone out on the street to get help, to let him out.

  But Davidson had left, and so had Seth and Toni, and in all the time they’d been gone, not one had returned.

  Ellery

  He ignored it. It was only his nerves playing stupid games.

  “I will wake up now,” he said loudly, pleased his voice didn’t crack or waver. “I will wake up now, and I will go home.”

  It had been a boring film.

  “Now! I am waking up right now!”

  He couldn’t even remember the title, and he had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle, drained because of the problems at the store, weary because he couldn’t seem to get his personal life in line, disgusted because he had no one to blame but himself. Every morning without exception, he woke up determined to take charge; and most evenings he returned home, thinking that perhaps his brother during their last meeting two years ago had been right, that he was a loser. Not because he wasn’t smart, but because he allowed too many people to have too great a say in what should be his destiny, his own fate.