by Ray Garton
"God, Jen, will you just go to bed, or something, and leave me alone. And quit watching television." He rolled away from her.
"But he was there. He talked to me. He wanted to know who our new neighbor was. He said it was important. I think… well, I think maybe he was, you know, looking for her, or something."
“Whatta you want me to do about it?" he mumbled into his pillow.
Jen got off the bed. "I don't know," she sighed. "I just thought I should tell somebody, I guess. Mom's asleep and Dad's… I think he's mad at me for something."
Robby couldn't ignore the sadness in her quavering voice and rolled over again, facing her. Her lips were trembling and her eyes sparkled with growing tears.
"He's probably just had a bad day, or something," Robby said quietly. "Maybe if you waited till tomorrow – “
"But he was out there tonight!"
Robby sat up. "You’re serious, aren’t you?"
"Yes, I’m serious! He talked to me!" She seemed to sense she had his attention now and stepped forward. "And his face, Robby, you should’ve seen his face. He was so ugly.”
He knew she was serious, because Jen hated to cry and was on the verge of tears now.
"Well, there's not much I can do about it, Jen. Is there? I mean, what do you want me to do?"
She bowed her head. "Nothing, I guess. I just… wanted to tell someone."
"I'm glad you did. But he was probably just out for a walk."
"He’s not from around here, that’s for sure. And his face… “
”Did you get a good look at him? A really good look? I mean, it's dark out there, you know. And raining."
She nodded slowly and turned to go.
"You gonna be okay?" Robby asked.
"Yeah. Sorry I woke you."
"That's okay."
She closed the door silently.
Robby curled up in bed again, but couldn't relax. He tossed restlessly beneath the covers for a while, then raised up and pulled the shade aside to look out his window.
It was raining hard now and wind made the tree branches wave. There was no one on the street, not even a car. Robby saw nothing more than a cat scurrying across the street, its head ducked low against the rain.
But it was a while before he got back to sleep.
Chapter 7
Midnight Guest
The dark bedroom seemed stuffy and gave George a vague feeling of claustrophobia. He got out of bed, careful not to disturb Karen, and cracked the window. Cold fresh air blew in and he hunkered down, put his face in the draft and inhaled deeply a few times before going back to bed. He lay naked beneath the covers, warmed by the electric blanket, and tried not to think of Lorelle Dupree.
He failed.
He was still stunned by her proposition. It had come so unexpectedly, in the middle of such an innocent conversation, that it had caught him completely off guard. It was not unpleasant – even very tempting – but still a big surprise.
She'd asked him in for a beer and, when he mentioned that Karen had the flu, she'd said, "Then you haven't eaten?"
"Not yet, but I just went out to get some – “
"Well, let me fix you something. I've got some stew on the stove and I can slip some biscuits into the microwave."
"No, no, thank you, that's nice, but my son and wife are asleep and my daughter's up watching TV and – “
"Then there's no reason for you to hurry back. Kids are very self-sufficient, you know."
He laughed. "No, really. Thanks for the beer, but – “
She moved forward suddenly, pressed herself against him and put her arms around him, her lips close to his, and whispered, "If you stay, we can fuck. They won't even miss you."
He almost dropped the half-finished beer he was holding, then stammered for a moment, unable to form words.
"Anything you want, George," she went on, pressing her breasts hard to his chest. "You want to fuck me in the ass? How about between the tits? Or… how long has it been since you got a reeeaaally good blow job?" In a sing-song voice she added with a grin, "I'll let you come in my moouuth."
His eyes widened and he looked around as if she might be talking to someone else, but when she kissed him, he knew she was serious. It was a long, wet, noisy kiss and when she pulled away, he gasped for breath. If he hadn't forced himself to push her back and walk around the kitchen, scrubbing his face with his palms, he knew he probably would have returned that kiss. But he thought of Karen and Robby and Jen, and he reminded himself that they were across the street. Yes, it would be fun, and yes, it would feel good – but he asked himself if it would be worth the inevitable price.
"I'm sorry," he said, unable to look at her, trying to sound firm but not unpleasant. "I'm very flattered. Really. But… my wife… my family… I just can't. I'm sorry."
She went to him, smiling, and placed her hand to his face. "Okay, okay." Leading him to the door, she said, "I hope this won't affect our relationship as neighbors."
"Oh, no," he laughed, wishing his erection would go away. "No, not at all. You're welcome in our house anytime."
"Really?"
"Really. It's as good as forgotten."
"I don't want you to forget it," she said, opening the door, and -
– there was Jen.
George sighed into his pillow, turning on his side. His erection brushed Karen's thigh. She didn't respond. Her throaty breathing went on without breaking rhythm. He pressed his cock to her again, cautiously, and let the moist head slide over her flesh, watching for some reaction, in which case he would pull away. He remembered Lorelle's offer – You want to fuck me in the ass? – and thought about that, imagined it, as he moved against Karen's leg. He hadn't thought of doing that in years. It was the only thing he and Laura hadn't done, the only thing she wouldn't do, even though he was eager to try it, if only once. Karen did not even twitch as he moved, a little faster now, and -
– a hand came to rest on his shoulder and George spun around, kicking at the covers, ready to shout at whoever had sneaked into the room, but -
– it was Lorelle.
George froze, elbows locked behind him, knees up. "Whuh-whuh-"
She laid a finger over her smiling lips and knelt beside the bed in the soft glow of the small night light plugged into the socket beneath George's night stand. She sat back on the floor, legs spread, arms resting on her knees; she was naked. Silently, her lips formed two words:
"Fuck me."
George's heartbeat was the loudest sound in the room and he looked over his shoulder at Karen. The slow breaths wheezing in and out of her open mouth were all that kept her from appearing dead. He eased himself off the bed, embarrassed by his wet erection, and whispered, "What're you – how did you get in here?"
She leaned forward and began stroking his cock as she whispered in his ear, "You said I was welcome anytime." Then she bent down and sucked him hard into her mouth.
* * * *
Robby was dragged slowly from the quicksand of a bog-like sleep by a thunderous bellow. He fought to sit up in bed, lifting his leaden shoulders from the mattress and rocking himself upright as he wiped at his gluey eyes.
Barking. The sound he heard was a dog barking – two dogs – from across the street.
He muttered the names Sodom and Gomorrah, but they came from his pasty mouth sounding like spitwads hitting a brick wall.
With great effort, still unable to open his eyes more than a sliver, Robby turned and looked out his window, nearly tearing down the shade with his clumsy, sleep-numbed hand. He blinked, rubbed his eyes with a knuckle and tried to pull everything into focus.
There was movement in the street, but this time it was not a cat.
A man wearing a hat and a long coat staggered from Lorelle's yard, leaning heavily on a cane and glancing over his shoulder. He turned left, heading toward Mistletoe, kicking up a spray of water as he moved quickly though a puddle. The dogs barked more frantically from inside Lorelle's house and the man slowed, turne
d, and waddled backwards for a moment as he looked at Robby's house. Then he disappeared into the shadows.
Robby blinked some more, wondering if he was dreaming, and lifted himself up on his knees. The shade dropped from his hand and his arm fell heavily to his side. He felt drunk, drugged, beaten, and when he tried to climb off the bed, he felt as if he were going over a cliff. He hit the floor with a thunk and groaned.
It was the man Jen had seen.
No, Robby thought. Just dreaming… that's all.
But what if it had been the man Jen told him about. Someone besides Jen and himself should know there was a weird guy sneaking around the neighborhood.
Robby decided to wake his dad, except -
– he was falling asleep on his bedroom floor, sinking quickly back into the muddy depths of the sleep from which he had not entirely surfaced. Robby shook his head hard, sat up against the bed and tried to stand, failed once, tried again, then staggered toward the door, leaning first on the night stand, then his desk, then a chair.
The hallway was dark and silent. Robby leaned against the wall for a moment and his head drooped until his chin rested on his chest and his breathing became slow, shallow.
"No," he croaked to himself, jerking his head up. He swayed like a drunk and took a deep breath, focusing his bleary eyes on his parents' bedroom door. He trudged forward, staggering from one wall to another, until -
– his legs gave beneath him, unable to hold his weight, and he fell in a heap on the floor only a few feet from his parents' bedroom.
Through the black smoke of his fatigue, Robby felt the onset of panic. Something was wrong with him. He was sick. Suddenly, the man he'd seen – or thought he'd seen – was unimportant and he could think of nothing else but getting help. He took in a breath and tried to cry out for his parents, but his voice was nothing more than the gurgle of a clogged drain and his eyelids lowered completely, plunging him into darkness.
"Duh… Duh… Daaad." The word was only breathed, barely audible to Robby himself.
He pulled himself over the floor with the distant sound of the dogs barking across the street still in his ears and -
– something else.
Robby heard his dad… grunting. Although it was a sound he'd never heard his dad make before, it was unmistakable.
They're fucking? he thought vaguely. Mom must not be too sick.
There was a moment of pause, a moment of embarrassment, then the panic set in again and Robby realized the interruption couldn't be helped. He dug his fingers into the carpet and crawled toward the bedroom.
* * * *
George lay on top of Lorelle, trying to hold in his cries as he slammed into her again and again, approaching his second orgasm as he looked down at her grinning face. His semen glistened around her mouth and in her hair and she reached up, swept her fingers through it, then licked them like candy.
She pulled away suddenly and George had to gulp back the shout of protest that rose in his throat.
Sitting up, she reached down between her legs and slipped three fingers inside herself. When she removed them, they were dripping wet. Lorelle rolled over onto her knees, ass raised high, and reached back between her cheeks, sliding each wet finger into her asshole slowly, one at a time.
George's breath came faster as he watched her, then stopped completely when she wrapped her fingers around his cock, pulled it toward her and pushed herself back to meet him.
He entered her with an almost painful groan and clawed her back as he pounded into her ass harder and harder and harder until.
* * * *
Robby heard a low, throaty groan, then a loud thump from the bedroom as if something heavy had fallen to the floor. Sprawled on the floor, mouth hanging open, Robby listened and, when he heard nothing more, became even more afraid.
What's happening? he thought, and took another breath, this time managing a feeble, "What's… wrong? What's – “
The very air changed. The darkness seemed to thicken and Robby felt as if his breath were being sucked out through his eye sockets.
The house chilled, became so cold that Robby expected to see his breath puff before him.
Something moved behind the closed door, then -
– silence.
No grunting or groaning. Even the dogs had stopped barking.
Except…
Something gushed outside, like a sudden burst of wind.
Again… and again…
Like the slow flapping of great wings.
Then Robby blinked several times rapidly, feeling slightly confused, and looked around at the dark hallway. He stood easily, the deadly fatigue gone, and went to his parents' bedroom door, listened.
Nothing but his dad's snoring.
Massaging his eyes, Robby returned to his room. As he got back in bed, he tried to imagine his mom and dad making love. He'd tried before, unsuccessfully, but this time the image that came to mind was clear and vivid, as if he were in the room watching them. He relaxed in his bed, strangely warmed by the vision of his parents naked and entwined.
Outside his bedroom window, rain pattered and wind sighed and, once again, Robby sat up and looked out. There was a light on across the street at Lorelle's. A shadow moved behind the newly hung curtains, which suddenly parted, and -
– Robby ducked quickly, pulling the covers up to his chin. He didn't want to see her. He didn't even want to think about her.
And for some reason, he did not want her to see him.
He was still awake a few minutes later when a pulsing red and blue glow seeped in around the edges of his window shade. He pulled it aside to see Lorelle walking out to meet a police officer getting out of his car. Robby slid his window open a few inches and listened.
Above the hiss and crackle of the car's radio, Robby could hear their voices, but could only make out some of the words.
"… prowler a while ago," Lorelle said.
"… good look at him? Or did… "
"… walked with a cane and wore a fedora… dark overcoat… scarred face, horribly scarred… arm with a metal hand… "
Robby closed the window and let the shade drop back into place.
Could she have seen him? There hadn't been any sign of life over there other than the dogs barking. And even if she had, how could she have seen his metal hand if he wore a glove over it, as Jen had said?
Outside, the car door slammed and the policeman drove away.
Robby tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn't relax.
Something wasn't right…
Chapter 8
Something in the Air
It was not a typical weekend for the Pritchards. On Saturday morning, the sun rose behind lead-gray clouds and was nearing its peak before everyone in the house was awake.
Jen crawled out of bed, put on her robe, then shuffled around the house, her eyes closed half the time. After a while she realized she was the only one up. She made herself some toast, turned on the television and stared blearily at some dumb cartoon. As she began to feel more awake, her thoughts kept returning to the hideous man she'd met the night before, and the nightmares through which he'd stalked her in her sleep. She decided that, when he woke up, she would tell Dad about the man. She was afraid if she didn't, he would be chasing her through her sleep for many nights to come, laughing through his twisted grin as his shiny steel hand clutched at her hair.
But when Dad finally walked out into the living room wearing his bathrobe, his hair looking like a clump of barbed wire that had been pressed into his scalp, Jen had second thoughts. He was pale and moved slowly with his eyes half closed.
"Morning, Dad," she said tentatively.
He went to the recliner, where Monroe was sleeping in a curled-up ball. He swatted the cat hard with his knuckles. Monroe hissed as he dove from the chair and shot out of the room.
Jen was startled. He usually lifted Monroe out of the chair. She knew he didn’t like Monroe, but she’d never seen him hit the cat before.
"
You feeling okay, Dad?"
He made a noise in his throat and moved his head, but that was all.
It'll wait, Jen thought, turning back to the television.
* * * *
Every inch of George's body ached. He couldn't remember drinking anything more than a beer last night, but he felt as if he were suffering the hangover of a lifetime. His hands trembled and his legs were weak and he felt as if someone had stabbed a straw into his gut and sucked out his insides.
When he first opened his eyes that morning, he'd thought of a dream he'd had, a vivid sexual dream, no doubt inspired by Lorelle Dupree's proposition the night before. It wasn't until he realized that he was lying on the floor beside his bed – that he’d slept on the floor – that his dream took on a new meaning. He sat up and saw the red circles of irritated flesh just below his thighs, as if his knees had been rubbing vigorously on the carpet. He touched his unusually tender cock and smelled on his fingers the distinct, musky odor of his dream.
How had it happened? How had she gotten into the house? Before going to bed, he’d gone through his nightly routine of checking all the doors to make sure they were locked. It made no sense.
As he sat in the recliner, wincing at the blaring noise from the television, George remembered he'd left the bedroom window cracked all night long. But in the dream -
– It wasn't a dream, he thought, it was real -
– he'd been awake when Lorelle came in. He would have heard that window open – even if he’d been asleep, the sound would have woken him.
As he ran his fingers through his hair, George noticed that the movement made his back sting. When the sensation did not go away, he got up, went to the bathroom, dropped his robe and turned his back to the mirror over the sink, looking over his shoulder.
Thin red scratches striped his back.
He quickly washed his face with cold water and decided he would make a pot of coffee. Then, no matter what it took, George was going to forget all about it.