“No. I think not, Bob. It’s almost over for you.”
“No!” Bob cried, lurching forward at a faster pace. “I can do better, you watch.”
Behind him, Herlequin laughed. “Hear that, my daughters? He can do better.” The dog-things howled and pawed at the ground.
24
“See now?” said Thorndike. “We’re on our way and don’t you feel better? Don’t you just?”
Shannon nodded, but with significant weariness.
“And how ‘bout you, boy?” Thorndike squeezed the boy in his arms. When Thorndike had first picked him up, the boy’s muscles had quivered with stress, but with each step, he’d relaxed a bit more until he lay in Thorndike’s arms like a limp rag. He didn’t respond to the question or the squeeze.
Thorndike figured they were about half-way back to the trail. “We’ll have you home soon enough—both of you. I’m sure Chief Greshin knows who you are, boy.” The boy stirred but lapsed back into his stupor.
Shannon squeezed Thorndike’s elbow. “Do you hear them?”
“Who, dear?”
She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “The dog-things.”
“What are they doing?”
“Howling. Snarling.”
Thorndike peered into the trees. “Are they close?” A small sound escaped the boy in his arms. It was a pitiful sound.
“They are always close,” cried Shannon. “He’ll be mad.”
“Don’t you worry,” said Thorndike. “This Herlequin fella comes upon us, I will have words for him, you better trust in that.” Thorndike’s mind went to the pistol in his pocket, and he grinned a vengeful, angry grin.
25
The dog things snapped and snarled right behind him. Bob could feel their hot breath on the backs of his legs. Their slobber splashed him as they snapped their jaws and barked. He tried to run faster yet.
But he couldn’t do it. He had nothing left. Too much junk food, too many stories on the TV after school, not enough activity. Doc Hauser had been right. His habits had killed him.
He stumbled, and the dog-things snarled. Pain exploded across his left calf, and Bob fell, face-first, into a tree trunk. The bark scraped his face, but the pain of it felt distant, unimportant. The pain in his calf was excruciating. He peeled his eyes open and shrieked. One of the dog-things had clamped onto his calf, blood streaming out of the corners of its mouth and steaming in the cool fall air. His blood. The thing worried at his calf, tearing its head from side to side and with each savage tug, the pain doubled. He kicked the dog-thing with his other leg, but it only growled at him.
Another dog-thing lunged forward and grabbed his right foot, biting down hard. More blood dripped on the carpet of decaying leaves. More pain coursed through him.
Bob screamed, long and loud, and bent to punch at the two dog-things. His pudgy fists glanced off their hard skulls, and the growling increased.
The other dog things sat in a semi-circle around him, looking on, tongues lolling out of their smiling faces. They had no eyes, but he was sure they were watching and enjoying the show.
“Now you fight,” said Herlequin in droll tones. “When it’s too late.”
“Shut up!” Bob yelled. He grabbed the dog-thing that had him by the calf and tried to pry its jaws apart.
“That bully was right about you, wasn’t he, Big Bob? You’re just a pussy. Aren’t you, Fatty?”
The tears streamed down Bob’s cheeks, and his blood pattered the ground as another dog-thing lunged forward to grab him by the arm. Pain blossomed in his bicep.
“Now, Fatty, you pay the price for boring me.” Herlequin snapped his fingers, and the rest of the dog-things lunged, all at once, each sinking their fangs into his plump flesh and bearing down with all their might. Herlequin stepped from the gloom. “Now, it’s my turn to bite,” he said with an evil laugh.
He opened his wide mouth, his tusk-like fangs gleaming in the low light. His mouth kept opening wider and wider, past the point when Bob thought Herlequin’s jaw would have to break to open any more. Tilting his head to the side, Herlequin leaned in like he was about to kiss Bob’s forehead.
The large fangs rested against the skin of Bob’s temples and at the back of his head. Herlequin’s tongue slathered through his hair.
“At least you finally shut up,” whispered Bob, and the big jaws snapped. The pain was brief, and then everything was black, and Bob was no more.
26
Thorndike set the boy down long enough to make sure his snub-nose .38 caliber pistol was still accessible in the baggy front pocket of his pants, keeping it out of Shannon’s view. As he picked the boy up again, a horrible scream of raw fury split the quiet air of the forest. It made his blood run cold.
“It’s him,” said the boy in a flat and lifeless voice.
“Huh-huh-herlequin,” whispered Shannon.
“We have to run now, Shannon. Can you keep up with me?”
She looked up at him with mournful eyes. A single tear tracked through the dirt on her cheek. She shook her head, moving in slow motion. “I can’t run no more, mister.”
Reg’s nod was curt. “Then I’ll just have to carry you, too.” He adjusted the boy so he leaned against Thorndike’s shoulder and bent to pick up the girl. “I need you to help me, Shannon. It’s your job to keep you and your friend here in my arms. I can hold you, but I can’t keep you stable like this.”
“Okay. I can do it.”
Thorndike moved out at a brisk jog. They ran like that, falling into a rhythm, for what seemed like a long time. The forest grew darker like the sun had set, but his watch said it was 8:35 am. “What’s this happy crappy dappy?” he muttered. He didn’t need the light to navigate, but it creeped him out.
He trotted around a wide tree trunk and stopped cold. There was a pale lump at the base of the next tree. Gore splattered the ground. As soon as he realized it was the body of a kid, he spun around so the kids wouldn’t catch a glimpse of it. “I’m going to set you down on the other side of this tree trunk.”
Shannon clutched at his neck. “No, don’t leave us alone. They’ll come for us!”
“It’ll just be a few moments. And I’ll be right here.” He walked around the tree and set Shannon down, leaning her against the tree. “You see anything, you sing out. You hear?” He set the boy down next to her and gave Shannon a stern look. “No peeking—I mean it.”
Shannon nodded and shrugged, both movements enervated and spiritless.
“It will be okay, Shannon,” Thorndike said and ducked around the tree.
The pale lump was the body of a rotund boy, ten or eleven years old. His flesh was torn, ripped apart by a fanged animal—dogs, maybe. Dog-things. The boy’s head was mangled, too. Deep puncture wounds pierced his temples, and the top of his head looked chewed. Thorndike slid out of his jacket and used the garment to cover the corpse. “Sorry I didn’t get you, too,” he whispered.
The enraged cry came again, and Thorndike thought it was closer. Much closer. He dashed back and scooped up the kids. “Both of you squeeze your eyes shut. Keep ‘em closed until I tell you different.”
They were close to the path, and if he made it there, he could run faster. Gotta get these kids to the car and get the fuck out of here, he thought. He ran in earnest, jouncing and jostling the two kids.
When he caught a glimpse of the first of the dogs running parallel to his course, his breath caught. By the time he gained the path, half a dozen dogs ran through the woods on both sides. They were a distance away, just close enough so he would know they were there.
He ran a few steps toward the parking lot, and the big Rottweiler stepped out of the woods and walked to the middle of the path. Thorndike slowed to a stop. “Back for more, puppy?”
The dog stood and snarled, taking an aggressive step toward them. The dog showed its savage, murderous teeth.
“Okay,” said Thorndike. “You want us to stop, okay, we’re stopping.”
“No,” whimpered Shannon.
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“Shush, girl.” He set the boy down at his feet but kept Shannon where she sat on his forearm. Pretending at a calm he did not feel, Thorndike moved his free hand toward his pocket.
The dog sank back on its haunches.
“See, puppy? No need for all those theatrics.” Thorndike tried to keep his voice calm, but at the slight warble in his voice, the dog sprang up and focused its sightless head on him. “Now, now,” he said. “Everything’s okay.” He pulled the snub-nose revolver out of his pocket and snapped off a shot. The round took the dog-thing in its wide chest, spinning it around in a half circle. When it fell to the ground, it made a sound like a human scream. In the surrounding woods, the dog-things raised holy hell and turned toward him.
Thorndike grabbed the boy and hitched him over his shoulder. He sprinted down the path toward the parking lot with dread circling in his guts. No way I can out run a dog, he lamented.
At that precise moment, the path in front of him disappeared, and the dark forest surrounded them again. “What the…” he breathed.
“Huh-huh,” murmured the boy. “He makes you believe things. Not real.”
Dammit, have to get these kids out! Grimacing, Thorndike lowered his head and ran straight toward the large oak tree in front of him. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut right before he should have smashed into its trunk.
Nothing happened. He was still running in his original direction. A sigh gusted out of him, and he poured on the speed, ignoring the tightness spreading across his chest.
His steps fell on the path he could no longer see. The dog-things looped in from the sides, and when they did, he pointed the .38 at them until they veered away. He only had four more rounds. Maybe the dog-things knew that, maybe they didn’t. He didn’t care as long as they stayed away.
A nude woman stepped out of the woods ahead of them, blonde-haired with high, angular cheekbones. She flashed him a smile that would have stopped his heart on any other day.
Not real. The boy’s voice echoed in his thoughts. Not real. He raised the gun and pointed it at her, moving as fast as his old muscles could. An expression of pure rage washed across her face, and for a second, just one second, Thorndike thought he perceived the thing behind the illusion. She was hideous, sagging, blackened skin, talons for fingers. Goop dripped from her maw, and pus ran from her eyes. Without further thought, Thorndike pulled the trigger. The blonde threw her arm up in front of her face and screeched. In the woods, the dog-things squealed and snarled their rage.
Thorndike sprinted past the woman or the corpse or whatever it was. She swiped at him as he passed, but she was too far away to hit him. The telltale tightness in his chest blossomed into a dull, aching cancer.
When he broke into the parking lot, the illusion of being deep in the woods faded. Thorndike raced to his car, ignoring the light-headedness that assaulted him. He shoved the pistol into his pocket when he was three steps from the door and ripped the driver’s door open. He shoved the kids in without ceremony and slid in behind them. As he reached for the door, the dull ache in his chest exploded down his arm, and he vomited his breakfast on his baggy khaki pants.
“Mister! Quick!” shouted Shannon.
He looked up and slammed the door, just before a dog-thing careened into the sheet metal. Thorndike couldn’t catch his breath. He fished for his keys, dropped them onto the floor, and retrieved them. He slid the key home, cranked, and the Cadillac’s five hundred cubic inch mill roared to life.
A dog-thing leapt, snarling, to the hood of the car. It crept forward stiff-legged, stopping right in front of Thorndike. It snapped at the air and howled. A ferocious scream answered. Whatever it was, it was just up the path.
“Go, mister! Go!” urged Shannon.
Thorndike slammed the car down into drive and mashed the accelerator to the floor. Gravel flew behind them like grape-shot from a cannon, and the big car swept into a wide, looping turn. The dog-thing on the hood yelped and went flying.
Reg never let up on the gas, even after the dog-things quit shadowing them in the woods alongside the road. His skin had gone cold, clammy, and the pain in his chest intensified. He was driving one-handed, his left arm hurt too much. His breath came in ragged, tearing gasps.
He swept through town, ignoring stop signs and the furious horns of other drivers. Have to get them to Greshin, he thought, vision dimming. Have to keep them safe.
27
Matt jumped to the side as the big Cadillac slewed across the pavement and up over the sidewalk. He didn’t recognize the car, but whoever was driving was due a piece of his mind. And maybe his foot to their backside.
The car’s engine stopped screaming, but it didn’t stop. It rolled up across the lawn and bumped into the wall of Town Hall. There was a gray-haired man slumped against the driver’s door, and what Matt thought were two filthy little boys in the front seat next to him.
The driver’s face was gray and splotchy. His chest was heaving as he put the car in park. His eyes drifted closed.
Matt ran to the front door and stuck his head inside. “Angie! Roll the paramedics!” Without waiting for a reply, Matt turned and sprinted to the car. He grasped the handle, but the door was locked. He knocked on the window. The driver’s eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. “It’s Mr. Thorndike,” Matt called, but to whom, he had no idea.
The old man’s eyes cracked open and, like it was the most grueling physical task he’d ever undertaken, crawled his hand to the electric door locks and pressed the switch. The locks clunked, and Matt ripped the door open, catching Thorndike as he spilled out.
“Mr. Thorndike! You okay?”
Thorndike made a rude noise and opened his eyes. He looked at Matt and whispered something.
Matt leaned forward. “What was that?”
“Got them to safety. Up to you, now,” he murmured.
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Thorndike. I’ll keep these boys safe.”
“I’m a girl,” said one of the filthy lumps in the front seat. “My name’s Shannon Bertram.”
One of the two kids who went missing yesterday! Matt thought. “And is this Bob Gerber?”
“No, he’s dead.” The little girl’s voice was flat, lifeless. “Huh-huh… The bad man ate him up.”
Thorndike’s hand fluttered against Matt’s arm. He was staring up at Matt, eyes bright, intense. “What is it, Mr. Thorndike?”
“Woods.”
“The Thousand Acre Wood? What about it?”
“Told you. Yesterday.”
“Okay. Listen, Thorndike, don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got these kids now, and the paramedics are on the way. You relax. Try to rest yourself, pretty sure you’re having a heart attack.” Thorndike, who had taught English at the high school, gave Matt such a look of scorn that Matt blushed to the roots of his close-cropped hair. “Guess you figured that out already. Don’t worry, we’ll get you help.”
As if on cue, the ambulance squealed into the parking lot and skidded into the space next to the Cadillac. Two paramedics that Matt knew well jumped out and grabbed a slew of bags and boxes of equipment and ran over to Thorndike.
“How long?” one of them demanded.
“He’s been here about five minutes,” said Matt. “No idea how long before that the attack started.”
They took Thorndike out of Matt’s grasp and lay him flat on the sidewalk and did paramedic things. Matt turned back to the car after a few seconds. “Okay, you two. Slide on out of there. Who’s your friend, Shannon?”
“I don’t know him. He goes to the middle school.” She pushed the boy until he slid out of the driver’s side of the car. He stood, eyes downcast, hands hanging loosely at his side. “He was there when the other bad man brought me.”
“The other bad man? There are two?”
“Oh, yes. And a bad woman. And a bunch of bad dog-things.”
“Two men, a woman, and a bunch of dogs? Did one of the men drive a Buick Skylark?”
“I don’t know. I
’m nine.”
“Right you are. White top, black paint?”
Her eyes tracked to his. “Yes. The bad man that took me into the woods.”
“Gray,” muttered Matt.
“No, it was black.”
“Never mind, sweetheart. Did you recognize the other man?”
She shook her head. “He told me his name, though.” She cast her eyes around them, looking at shadows. “Herlequin,” she whispered.
“That’s one strange name, I bet that man gets teased a lot,” said Matt, watching the paramedics load Thorndike onto a gurney.
“He’s not a man,” whispered the boy. “He’s a gargoyle.”
Matt looked at him sharply. That voice was familiar. “Benny? Benny Cartwright? Is that you under all that dirt?” He squatted and looked the boy in the face, wiping at the filth that crusted the boy’s cheeks. “Christ, Benny, your parents will just explode when they see you! How did you get all the way back here from Cuba?” The boy just stood there, staring at the ground in front of him, but he was sure it was Benny.
“I’m from here,” said Shannon. “But the man—Herlequin—he made us run through the forest. He sicced his dog-things on us, and they chased and chased us. Maybe they chased him all the way here.”
“Not real…” murmured Benny.
“What’s not real, Benny?” asked Matt.
The boy’s gaze drifted up and seemed to dance around the parking lot, lingering on Matt’s shoes, his gun, and the ambulance. “Just another trick.”
Matt hugged the boy. “No, Benny. You’re free now. You’re home.” Didn’t Craig say Toby was like this when he turned up? “Taking Mr. Thorndike to Rochester?” he asked the paramedics over his shoulder.
“Yes, best cardiac unit around.”
“We better take these two, as well. You have room in the ambulance?”
“Nah, you better follow us up, Chief.”
“Ten-four,” he said and shepherded the kids over to his Fury. “Tell you what, Benny, if you want, we can run the siren all the way there.”
Benny didn’t respond.
28
“He survived, my love,” Brigitta whispered in his ear.
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