by Ray Garton
"Mr. Prosky told me she could move around as a mist," Robby said quietly.
"You mean Lorelle?"
Robby nodded. "He said he'd seen her do it."
George took a moment to digest that bit of information, then pressed both hands over his face and rubbed them up and down, sighing. "Boy oh boy oh boy."
Pastor Quiller man's pickup appeared again, heading south on Deerfield, but it was going quite a bit faster than before until -
– it pulled over to the curb and screeched to a halt and Pastor Quillerman got out, hobbled around the pickup and stopped to look about him frantically at the mist because -
– it was swirling rapidly over the ground pulling away from houses and tree trunks and shrubbery and fences, pulling away quickly as if it were being sucked away, and -
– Pastor Quillerman staggered in a tight circle as he watched the mist rushing away around him, his eyes and mouth open wide with surprise and confusion as his head jerked around in a frightened, bird-like manner because – - the mist was rushing into Lorelle Dupree's house as if the house were a giant vacuum cleaner, and -
– Pastor Quiller man spun around and looked at their window, then hurried up the walk toward the front door, his limp making him zigzag all the way to the porch steps.
George rushed to the front door and opened it just as Pastor Quiller man stumbled through the doorway saying breathlessly, "It was her… the mist… she was in it… she-she was the mist!" He leaned against the wall and pressed a hand to his chest as he tried to catch his breath.
"You okay?" George asked.
"Can I get you something?" Robby asked.
Jen appeared with three heavy-duty Maglite flashlights and handed one to George, one to Robby, and kept one for herself. With all three lights shining, George took Pastor Quillerman's elbow and led him into the living room. Once the pastor was on the sofa, Jen sat beside him, George across from him in the recliner, and Robby remained standing.
"I should have known," Pastor Quiller man said, his voice dry and hoarse. He shook his head with frustration. "I knew there was something wrong with that mist. Why didn't it occur to me?"
"No, Pastor Quiller man, I should have known," Robby said. "Ronald Prosky told me. I just… forgot, I guess, with everything else on my mind I -"
"Don't worry about it, son," Quiller man said. "It's too late now."
"But she's been out there all this time, probably going from house to house. She came to me at the glass door in the dining room. She came out of that damned mist, I should've known."
"She came to my bedroom window," Jen said softly.
George nodded, saying, "She came to me while I was trying to fix the hole in the bedroom wall."
Quiller man said, "She might have gotten into some of the other houses, but she couldn't get in here because of the names on the front door." He looked around at the three of them quickly. "The first thing we have to do is make sure she doesn't get into any more houses. We have to keep her from swaying these people. We need to…trap her somehow. With her out of the way, maybe we can talk some sense into everyone else on this street."
"How?" George asked.
Quiller man closed his eyes and sighed hopelessly.
"What about the three names?" Robby asked. They all turned to him. "I mean the three angels' names on the door. If they'll keep her out of here, maybe they'll keep her in over there."
“But you said she burst out of here while Prosky was writing the names on the door," George said. "What would keep her from doing the same thing over there?"
Robby chewed on his lower lip a moment, then said, "She rushed out of here before Prosky finished writing the names. He hadn’t completed the circle around them yet. Maybe if he had, she wouldn’t have been able to get out. I think I can do it fast enough – as long as it doesn't have to be done in charcoal. " He gave Quiller man a questioning look.
“I'm not sure if it makes any difference," the pastor said with a shrug. "I was not familiar with that particular method.”
"I could use, um… well, a Magic Marker, maybe," Robby said. "We've got some around here somewhere."
"Tool drawer in the kitchen," Jen said, as she stood and headed into the kitchen, following the beam of her flashlight.
"Can you write that fast, Robby?" George asked.
"I can try."
"You'll have to do more than try."
"He will," Pastor Quiller man said with calm certainty.
* * * *
The neighborhood was tomb silent. With the streetlights out of working order and all the windows dark, Deerfield was blacker than Robby had ever seen it before.
He had practiced writing the three angels' names and circling them with a Magic Marker several times on a yellow legal pad until the movements of his hand and wrist became automatic and fluid. Pastor Quiller man had said a prayer, and at his dad's insistence, Robby had gone out the back door and rounded the house cautiously, just in case someone had been watching the front door.
With a flashlight tucked beneath his arm and a Magic Marker in a pocket of his black jacket, Robby walked along the tall wooden fences that separated their yard from the next. When he reached the sidewalk, he walked a few yards north before crossing the street, then moved south toward Lorelle's house.
The reporter's car was still parked at the curb several yards past Lorelle's house but he couldn't see the woman or her cameraman. He hoped they wouldn’t see him.
His heart pounded in his throat and, in spite of the cold, he felt sweaty, as if he'd run a great distance. He rounded a corner of sharply trimmed shrubs and stepped onto Lorelle's lawn, stopping for a moment to stare at the front door. He couldn't see the door itself, only a vaguely rectangular opening that was darker than black. The door could be open for all he knew. Lorelle could be standing in that blackness watching… waiting for him… Lorelle or her dogs.
He realized he'd been holding his breath and let it out suddenly in a swirling vapor, then started across the lawn as -
* * * *
– Pastor Quillerman knelt on one knee by the sofa, praying, while George and Jen stood at the front window. The flashlights were out and the house was dark.
"I can't see him," Jen said.
George pointed. "There he is, on her lawn."
Pastor Quillerman prayed quietly at the sofa, then stopped abruptly and remained silent for a long moment, until George and Jen turned toward his vague shape in the darkness.
"Where is Karen?" the pastor asked.
"She's in the guest bedr -" George froze. "Oh, God," he breathed, flicking the flashlight on and rushing out of the room and down the hall. Jen and Pastor Quillerman followed him. He pounded on the door several times and shouted, "Karen! Karen, what're you doing? Are you awake?"
They listened silently, but there was no response.
George tried the doorknob, but it was locked. They pounded the door and called her again.
Nothing.
Swearing under his breath, George spun around and rushed into the master bedroom, leaving Jen and Pastor Quillerman in the dark hall.
* * * *
Robby walked carefully on the balls of his feet up the front steps of Lorelle Dupree's house, taking the Magic Marker from his jacket pocket. He took the cap off, put it in his pocket and stood before the door in complete darkness.
He listened closely for any sounds and when he heard nothing, he took the flashlight in hand, turned it on and lifted the pen. He paused, took a deep breath which he let out slowly, then began to write as fast as he could.
* * * *
Jen and Pastor Quillerman watched the darting flashlight beam in the master bedroom as George pulled out a dresser drawer, shuffled through its contents, slammed it, then opened another. He finally returned with a key, which he slipped into the guest room lock and turned. He pushed the door open, calling, "Karen? Hon?" and shined the flashlight into the room.
The window was open and the room was empty.
Karen was go
ne.
"Oh, god," Quillerman whispered.
* * * *
Robby's hand raced through the letters of the last angel's name as his heart beat faster and his throat grew tight. The instant he finished the last name, his hand swept quickly around all three, enclosing them in a circle as -
– a sound erupted from inside the house that was worse than anything Robby had ever heard, a screaming sound more monstrous and inhuman than he thought possible, and it grew louder and louder, impossibly loud, until -
– every window in Lorelle's house exploded outward and shards of broken glass cascaded over the lawn and sidewalk.
* * * *
George and Jen and Pastor Quillerman stood frozen in the doorway of the guest room, their eyes wide as they listened to the horrible sound from across the street. George broke away from them muttering, "Karen, oh my god, Karen," and ran down the hall.
* * * *
Robby staggered backward down the porch steps and the flashlight beam swept over Lorelle's marked door as it bulged outward until it splintered in the middle, and -
– the sound only grew louder, until Robby could feel it slicing through his bones as he ran across the lawn, glass crunching under his feet, until a familiar voice shouted -
– "Robby!"
The voice caught him so completely by surprise that his legs failed him and he tumbled to the ground, rolling over jagged pieces of glass that cut through his clothes and skin. He rolled over, sat up, faced the house and aimed the flashlight in the direction of the voice, hoping it was not the voice he thought he’d heard.
The beam fell on his mother. She stood on the other side of a broken rectangular window a few feet to the left of the front door. She was naked and her skin was an unhealthy white in the flashlight's beam. Shadow figures moved behind her in the dark.
“Robby!" she shouted. "What have you done, Robby?"
"M-Muh-Mom?"
The mind-numbing scream continued.
"Damn you, Robby, damn you!" she shouted, her arms stiff at her sides, fists clenched, her whole body trembling. Her breasts swayed as she shouted at him.
Robby scrambled to his feet, ignoring his cuts, and began to walk backward as he screamed at her, "What are you doing in there!"
"You'll pay for this, you little bastard, you'll pay!" The hatred in her face was so intense that it sickened Robby.
The horrible sound stopped.
The shadowy figures behind his mom moved away, then even she disappeared into the darkness as Lorelle Dupree's thick, distorted voice said, "That wasn't very nice, Raaww-beeee."
He lowered the flashlight because he didn't want to see it, not again, but even without light, he could see those eyes shimmering in the darkness and he turned and ran across the sidewalk and into the street, dropping the flashlight along the way, but moving ahead blindly, anyway. Getting away from that house and what he knew was inside was more important than the flashlight.
“Eat you, Raaaww-beeee!" the Lorelle-creature roared. "I'm going to eat you alive!"
He tried to listen only to his breathing and his dangerously rapid heartbeat as he ran across the street, trying to ignore the creature's voice, but -
– there was another figure moving toward him in the dark and Robby felt panic closing his throat and he was about to scream when -
– his dad turned on his flashlight and said, "Robby, you okay?"
"Yuh-yeah." He took a moment to catch his breath as his dad put an arm around him to hold him up. "Mom's over there, Dad, sh-she's in the house… with that thuh-thing."
George looked at Lorelle's house and said with almost childlike helplessness, "What're we gonna do, Robby? What're we gonna do to get her back?"
"I, uh… I don't think she wants to come back, Dad."
"Oh, god. What… what have we done?"
They embraced and stood there at the edge of the street until Pastor Quillerman came out and let them back into the house.
* * * *
Alana Carson said "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know," Will replied softly, “but it didn’t sound fun.”
They'd been sitting in the car debating whether or not to get a bite to eat and find a restroom when it happened. Now their hunger and bladders were forgotten.
"Look," Will said, "if you wanna stay here and do some kind of report on this – whatever this is – that's fine, but I want out, okay? I'm just gonna quietly back out of this one. You can keep the car if you want and I'll walk into town from here."
'"I need you Will."
"No you don't. Keep the camera, too. It's easy to use."
"You'll lose your job."
"Fine. Let 'em fire me. There's some really weird shit going on here and I don't want to look into it any more than we have. Whatever made that sound is not friendly, and it's in that house right over there."
“I don't understand why no one is calling the police," Alana said, looking around at the other houses.
"Because there's something wrong with this whole fucking neighborhood. Something's not right about this place, about these people. Can’t you feel it?”
Alana turned toward him in the seat. "In that case, this story could really do something for us.”
"Like what? Get us killed?"
"No, I mean for our reputations, our careers. Look around. You see any other reporters here? Nope. We’re it. We could be sitting on a gold mine here. Now grab that camera and let's go get some -"
"No."
She sighed. "Tell you what, Will, if you stick with me, I might just break my own rule."
"What rule?"
"My rule about not fooling around with co-workers."
"Oh that one. That was weeks ago. I expected you to say that. Just thought I'd give it a shot."
"C'mon, Will." She took his hand. "Please."
He thought about it a while, then growled, "Shit," and opened the car door.
* * * *
Pastor Quillerman stayed on the front porch while George and Robby went inside and closed the door behind them.
Quillerman stared across the street at Lorelle's house, reached into his pocket and jingled his keys as he murmured, "Now we can get something done."
He went down the porch steps and headed for his pickup.
Chapter 23
In the Street
Inside, Jen followed George and Robby to the living room where they fell heavily onto the sofa. They sat there silently for a long while with Jen staring at them, frightened.
"What wrong?" she whispered finally. When they didn't reply, she moved toward them and, with panic in her voice, asked, "What's happened? Where's Mom? Dad? Where is she?"
George stared at her with empty, frightened eyes.
The pickup started outside.
George turned toward the window slowly, stood and looked outside.
The pickup's headlights cut through the neighborhood's blackness like swords. It pulled away from the curb slowly, easing all the way up the street and then turning around before Pastor Quillerman finally spoke into the loudspeaker.
"I know that the creature of which I spoke earlier has visited you today," he said. "I know that she has tried to warn you about me, probably instructed you to get rid of me. But I am still here. I hope you will listen to me and I hope you will think carefully about what I have to say."
The pickup reached the end of the street and turned around again.
* * * *
Alana said, "I'm gonna go stand in front of the damned thing."
"Didn't do any good before," Will said.
"I won't move. I'll jump on the hood if I have to."
"I suppose you want it on tape."
"Of course. What good is it if we don’t get it on tape?" She stepped off the sidewalk and into the street.
* * * *
Pastor Quillerman lifted his foot off the accelerator and the pickup slowed to a stop. He stared at the woman standing before the pickup as he continued to talk into the microphone.
>
"Come out, please. Come out and talk with me. Let's all talk together. I think if you listened to one another, if you simply looked at one another, you would realize what's been happening around you. You would realize what this woman – this creature – has done to your neighbors, and to you. So please come out here and let's talk together."
The reporter shouted, "I’d like to talk to you, Pastor.”
"You have my word that I am not here to proselytize or preach," he went on, ignoring her. "I am not here to recruit members for my church. I am only here to help people who I know are in trouble. You are all in trouble here, and I beg you to make it stop. Please come out here, all of you, and talk. Please."
The reporter waved her cameraman over and he stood before the pickup while she went to Pastor Quillerman's window. She rapped her knuckles on the glass and said. "What woman are you talking about? What has she done?"
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't talk right now."
Her shoulders sagged with frustration and she stared at him.
Pastor Quillerman lifted the microphone again, opened his mouth, but said nothing because -
– there was an odd rumbling sound coming from the darkness to the left. The woman heard it, too, and turned, as Quillerman did, in the direction of the sound.
Quillerman could see nothing yet, but the sound grew louder. He started to roll down the window so he could hear better, but -
– the man standing in front of the pickup shouted, “Oh, fuck!” and ran to Quillerman's right, into the darkness, hugging his camera to his chest, as -
– an enormous malamute ran into the glow of the headlights and faced the pickup, black lips pulled back over long glistening fangs, crouched low and ready to pounce. But the sound the creature made was not the sound of a mere dog. It was a much bigger, deeper sound than that of any dog Quillerman had ever encountered, and -