Paul scrambled for the bucket. How he knew where it was did not enter his mind. He suddenly knew lots of things. Slobber leaked from his mouth as hot memories flooded over him. He was not worried about destroying the shapes Mantine had molded from the sand. He knew he could call them back whenever he wished.
And he would.
Soon.
Like . . . that night.
Paul laughed, a strange and evil, deep and hollow laugh. His blood ran hot within him.
It was good to be back home.
When he returned to the man and woman, they were both walking around and around the pile of sand figures.
Paul began to fill the bucket with the searing hot sand.
He found a small piece of shell, and made a tiny cut in his arm, letting the blood trickle onto the sand.
Nicole started to hum and chant and dance.
Mantine sang: “Dance a little step. Mak’ a little sound. Turn de eart’ into a partner, and de sand into a mon.”
Paul stood up and then whirled around and around, the mark on his arm burning and throbbing. Around and around, faster and faster, he whirled.
Mantine and Nicole began to fade.
Paul stopped.
Looked around him.
He was alone.
Sort of.
The bucket of sand was at his feet.
Paul knelt down. Dug his fingers into the searingly hot sand. Words poured from his mouth, words spoken in a language that had been dead and forgotten for thousands of years.
The words were filth. The man-boy cursed God. Spoke of unspeakable things he would do to his sister, his mother, his father.
The blue sky darkened; the wind picked up. And the waves were no longer gentle; they crashed angrily against the shore.
Paul stood up, clenched his hands into fists, and shook them at the sky. He screamed, a high-pitched dark-tinged cry of defiance.
Then he brought his fists down to his sides. The sky was blue once more. The waves gentled.
The boy looked around him. All appeared normal. He had not been observed.
He picked up the bucket of sand and walked back up the beach. When the cottage came into view, Paul changed direction, and came up behind it. His mother and father were on the porch. He looked into Janis’s room. She was lying on the bed, listening to the radio. She wore only panties.
Paul licked his lips.
Silently, he slipped into his room and carefully filled up several socks with the sand. He packed them at the bottom of his suitcase. Then he filled a bottle with sand, packing it carefully so it would not break. He scraped the bucket free of every last grain of sand. He had a thumb-size pile left on a piece of paper.
He thought of the newlyweds next door, and laughed. He had slipped over to their cottage at night and listened to them make love. He’d do that again this night. With some friends.
Smiling, he walked into the kitchen and began to make a sandwich.
He heard his sister say, “He came back.”
There was a definite note of disappointment in her voice.
You’ll get yours soon, Paul thought.
He continued preparing his sandwich.
“Paul!” Mark called. “Come out to the porch, please, son.”
Janis came into the kitchen, to stand and stare at him.
“What do you want, bitch?”
What’s the matter with his voice? she thought. It sounds . . . weird. “Daddy is calling you, Paul.”
“I’m not deaf. Just hungry.”
Janis turned to leave. But she stopped and looked at her brother.
Paul stared at her through eyes that shone with centuries of evil and hate and savagery . . . although Janis could not know that.
Yet.
She dropped her gaze and walked from the kitchen. Paul made her nervous. She didn’t trust him, and never had. She knew something was wrong with her brother, but she didn’t know what. He had never been a little boy. Never. He had always seemed so old.
And he was a sneak and a thief. There was one thing Janis and her friends agreed on: Paul Kelly was a turd, a nerd. And they were afraid of Paul.
She walked out to her parents on the porch. “He’s fixing a sandwich.”
“How does he look?” Connie asked.
“Like he always does.” Hateful, mean, weird, she silently added.
Mark picked up Janis’s thoughts by watching her face. “He is your brother.”
The girl looked at her father. “He is?”
“Now, Janis, don’t be silly!” Connie spoke sharply. “Of course, he’s your brother.”
“Then how come he has that stupid-looking mark on his arm and I don’t?” She knew why; she just liked, in her own way, to agitate.
“It’s only a birthmark, honey,” Mark told her. “We’ve been through all this before.”
“Yes, but you never told me how he got it.” They didn’t know she had overheard them talking about it one time, about how Paul always refused to let anyone, even his parents, look at the mark. Really pitched a big fit about it.
“It’s just a skin blemish, honey. No one knows how they happen; they just do.”
They all heard the shower running.
“When your brother finishes his bath, Janis,” Mark told her, “your mother and I wish to see him. Please tell him that.”
“I will not go into his room until he is out of the shower and fully dressed.” Janis stood her ground.
“Why, honey?” her mother asked.
“Because he’s a nasty little creep, that’s why!”
Connie knew what her daughter was talking about, and with her eyes, she cautioned Mark not to pursue it.
He complied, with a sigh.
They all heard the shower stop. The cottage by the sea pulsed with silence.
“Go knock on his door and ask him if he is fully dressed,” Mark said.
Janis shook her head. “That won’t do any good, Daddy.” She met his eyes. “He’d just lie about it, and hope I’d come in and see him naked.”
Her father stared at her. “Let’s just try him and see, baby. ”
They walked through the house. At Paul’s door, Mark nodded at Janis, motioning for her to knock and ask.
“Paul, are you dressed?” Janis called. “Can I come in?”
“Sure, sister! Come right in.”
Mark flung open the door.
Paul was standing naked in the center of the room, holding his penis in his hand. His face paled when he realized he’d been tricked.
“Get out of here, Janis,” Mark told her. To Paul, he snapped, “Put some clothes on, boy!”
Paul slipped into shorts.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” he asked.
Mark stared at him, aware that his son’s voice had changed. It was much deeper, kind of hollow sounding. And the birthmark on his arm seemed to be bigger.
Would it grow as the boy grew?
Mark didn’t know. It didn’t seem likely.
He shook his head. “Paul, I would like an apology from you. For the things you said this morning.”
Paul laughed. “That’ll be the day! ”He had started to say When Hell freezes over, but that would have been too disrespectful.
Blind fury seized his father. He jerked off his leather belt and advanced toward the boy. But Paul stood in the center of the floor, not one bit afraid. “You arrogant brat! I’ll beat your butt until—”
“Mark!” Connie shouted from the doorway. “You said you wouldn’t!”
Mark yelled his reply, his voice shaking with anger. “Stay out of this, Connie. He’s not going to talk to me like that.”
Mark swung the belt, the leather popping against Paul’s backside.
Paul reached out on the second swing. With a savage cry and amazing strength, he tore the belt from his father’s hand. The buckle ripped the flesh of Mark’s palm as he jerked it free.
“Oh, my God, Mark!” Connie cried, as blood dripped from his hand.
/> “If you ever try to hit me again, I’ll kill you!” Paul hissed.
Connie drew back, disturbed by the strange voice coming from the boy.
But Mark stepped forward and backhanded Paul with his good hand. Paul’s feet flew out from under him and he landed on the bed, one side of his face swelling and reddening from the blow.
As he lay on the bed, he screamed filth at his father.
The fury suddenly left Mark. He looked at Connie. Opened his hand. His palm was badly ripped, blood leaking out with each heartbeat.
Paul continued to scream, gutter-profanity rolling from him in waves.
Mark ignored him. “It’s going to need stitches, honey. Come on. Drive me to that clinic up the road.” He looked at Paul and roared: “Shut up!”
The filth stopped abruptly.
Mark wrapped a handkerchief around his hand. “You and Janis will stay here, Paul. In the house. If I find you’ve left, I guarantee you a world of hurt. And that is a promise, boy.”
Paul spat at him.
“But the ocean . . . !” Connie protested.
“I have no intention of entering that filth-ridden sea of sharks and tourists,” Paul declared haughtily. “I shall stay in the house and pray that you bleed to death before you reach the clinic.”
Mark looked at Connie and grinned. “Are you sure you picked up the right baby at the hospital?”
“Mark!” She looked at Janis. “Stay with your brother. I’ll tell that young couple next door to keep an eye out for you.”
Despite the throbbing in his hand, Mark joked, “From their bedroom, honey? They’re on their honeymoon, gal!”
“Oh, Mark—come on!”
“Your attempts at humor are pathetic,” Paul told his father.
Mark sighed and tried to ignore the boy.
“Do I have to stay alone with creepo?” Janis asked.
“Yes,” Mark told her, “you do. If he tries anything cute, pick up a lamp and bop him on the head with it. Maybe that will bring him to his senses.”
“I hope you’re joking.” Connie looked at her husband.
“I assure you, I am not.”
“Don’t worry, Daddy-bear,” Paul’s words were infuriatingly mocking. “I shall stay in my room like a good little boy.”
“That would be a welcome relief.” Mark walked out of the room.
“Get a cloth and clean up the mess, Janis,” Connie said.
“I’ll clean it up myself!” Paul told her. “I would rather not have to look at her ugly face.” He glared at his sister.
“Whatever,” their mother said wearily.
She left the room and walked to the car, catching up with Mark.
“God! What’s happened to his voice?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s caught a cold. But when we get back to the mainland, Paul is going to see a shrink.”
“I think it’s time.”
Paul hissed at his sister, like a snake. “Get out of my room, you pig!”
“With pleasure, creep! You’re lucky Daddy didn’t stomp you.”
Paul merely smiled at her and rubbed his crotch.
“God, Paul, you’re sick!”
She slammed the door hard.
Turn de eart’ into a partner and de sand into a mon; the words returned to Paul.
Smiling, humming the chant Nicole had hummed, he poured some sand onto the bloody floor.
As the boy began swaying back and forth, the birthmark on his arm glowed and throbbed, almost painfully. But Paul didn’t notice.
The sand came together in a sticky glob, then coiled like a nest of snakes. The coiling ceased as figures appeared on the floor. Stretching their stubby arms and legs and soaking up the blood, they rolled in the gore, blindly seeking out every drop of blood.
“My friends,” Paul whispered, “go. Become as one and seek them out. Then return to me.”
Paul opened the window and the sand figures, like snakes, slithered from the bedroom and slipped onto the sand by the house.
On the way to the kitchen for the cleaning supplies, Paul ran into Janis in the hall. He wondered how long she’d been there, and if she had been spying on him.
“Get out of my way,” he snarled at her.
“God, Paul, you are such an ass! You’re so smart, but you’re so icky!”
“Shove it, sister.”
Her face crimson with anger, Janis ran outside, to the porch.
Paul’s eyes followed her. “You’ll die, bitch,” he whispered. “After I’ve had some fun with you.”
The birthmark on his arm throbbed.
Paul had always known what the birthmark looked like; but he had to look real close to see it. The lines were fine, as if they’d been painted by a master.
They had, of course.
The circle was almost perfect. Inside the circle, there was a five-pointed star. Behind that, almost hidden, was an upside-down cross. Paul hadn’t been real sure what it all meant.
Until today.
He smiled.
Because of the birthmark, Paul almost never, even inside the house, wore tank tops or sleeveless T-shirts. And he never swam.
He had been taunted by others all his life because of the strange-looking birthmark. His gym teacher, high on the list of people Paul hated, made him undress in the locker room and expose the mark so people could laugh at him. But he’d soon get his.
Paul had a long list. But he was careful not to write it down. He kept it in his mind, feeding on his hate.
And the hate-fires never burned very low.
On the porch, Janis waved at the young couple in the next cottage. They waved back.
“Your mom told us about the accident!” the young woman called to her. “We’ll be on the porch until they get back.”
“OK!” Janis responded. “Thank you.”
Her father had told her that was the way love was, what it looked like at first, when he was talking about the newlyweds.
To Janis, it looked kinda nerdy.
All that kissing and sitting real close all the time. She thought she’d get tired of that pretty quick. But they hadn’t, not in the two weeks Janis had been watching them. And if they’d come down here for the sun, how come they spent so much time in their cottage with the blinds down?
But of course she knew. She just thought it was stupid. She had long ago learned that adults sometimes acted like they weren’t playing with a full deck of cards.
Dean and Donna Mansfield. Dean and Donna. The names fit them.
Janis wondered if she should tell her parents about what she’d seen when she’d peeked into Paul’s bedroom.
She decided not. She wasn’t at all sure she’d really seen it.
Things like that just didn’t happen.
She sat for a long time on the porch, trying to convince herself of that.
TWO
“They were a real cute couple,” Janis heard her father say.
The girl yawned, stretched, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and threw back the thin covers. Getting out of bed, she peeked through the blinds and saw several police cars parked around the newlyweds’ cottage. She quickly dressed in shirt and shorts, and walked onto the front porch.
Glancing at her brother’s bedroom door, she noticed it was, as usual, closed.
Her mother pulled her back before she could reach her father, who was talking with a tall, older man. Several policemen, black and white, all dressed in crisp white uniforms, were standing about the tall man who looked like he was in charge.
Janis wondered what in the world was going on.
“I do hate to ask this of you, sir,” the tall man said to Mark. “It’s going to be quite distasteful. But since you were neighbors, so to speak, I must ask if you would help us with the identification?”
“Sure,” Mark said.
“That’s good of you,” the gray-haired policeman said. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
Distinguished looking, Janis thought.
“Yes. About a
n hour ago,” her father answered.
“Umm. Pity.”
Janis found that a very odd thing for the older man to say.
She sat on the porch with her mother, and watched the men leave. “What’s going on, Mom?”
“The young couple next door, Janis. They were murdered last night. Dean and Donna. Murdered! Right next door to us.”
“Murdered!”
“Yes. Quite horribly, one of the officers said.”
“I’m hungry.”
Connie looked at her daughter. Children just don’t understand, she thought. They watch brutality on TV every day while they munch on chips or eat a pizza. They just don’t understand.
“Go fix some cereal, Janis. And don’t—do not!—leave the house. Tell your brother to stay inside.”
“He’s still asleep.”
“Must be the sea air.”
No, Janis thought, he prowls all night. But she kept that to herself. It wasn’t anything new. Paul had been doing that for several years. “Yes, ma’am. The sea air.”
Before she could take the first mouthful of cornflakes, from the kitchen window, she saw her father rush out of the cottage next door and vomit onto the sand.
She dumped the cereal, and went back out on the porch, to sit beside her mother.
“Must be really gross in that house,” she said.
“I’m sure it’s horrible.”
“Maybe Freddie left Elm Street and came to the islands,” Janis suggested.
Connie looked at her daughter. “You may go inside now, and take your suggestions with you. That is not a request. Take your bath. We have to start thinking about packing.”
“Yes, ma’am. What do I do if Norman Bates is in the shower?”
“Janis!”
“Just asking. I’m gone!”
Connie watched as Mark walked slowly back to their cottage. His face was very pale. She rose, and fixed him a glass of ice water. Lots of ice.
Mark sat down, took the ice water, and drank deeply. “Horrible. I can truthfully say I have never seen anything like it. And I sincerely hope I never see anything like it again.”
He shuddered.
“Were they shot, Mark?”
“No. That would have been easier to take, I think. They were hacked to pieces, I guess. Looked to me like they were literally torn to bits. The bedroom is like a slaughter pen.” His stomach rumbled. “Their . . . intestines were hanging everywhere.” He belched. “Their heads were ripped off, or cut off, and stuck up on the bedposts. The walls were splattered with blood. Bits of sand were sticking to the walls and the sheets. Very bloody sand.”
Sandman Page 2