Allhallow's Eve: (Richard Laymon Horror Classic) (11 page)

With a roar of crashing timber, a portion of the roof collapsed. Embers erupted into the red sky.

‘Guess they cooked,’ Berney said. ‘Four of ’em. Two kids.’

‘Maybe they weren’t home.’

‘Both cars in the garage.’

‘Shit,’ Sam muttered.

‘Hasn’t been a good day, not a good day at all.’ Berney took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. ‘You come up with anything on the Dexter business?’

‘I’m still looking for Thelma.’

‘Well, stick with it. She’s as good a suspect as any, better than most.’

‘Yeah.’

Berney held up his glasses. He squinted at the lenses, and blew on them. ‘Damned ashes,’ he said.

Sam turned away to watch the fire. The two white jets of water thundering into it seemed to have no effect. Eventually, though, the flood would knock the flames down.

Too late to save the house.

Much too late to save the family.

As he watched, another section of roof crashed down. The heat grew more intense on his face, and he turned away.

A small crowd was gathered beside the road, some folks chatting, most gazing up at the fire. He recognized a few of them: Basil White, Joan Trask, Cameron Watts. Was Clara Hayes among them? She’d been a good friend of Dexter, and Sam wondered if she’d heard about his death.

Everyone must know, by now.

As he looked for Clara, his eyes moved past the fire-red face of a teenaged boy. A familiar face. He went back to it, and his heart lurched.

Eric!

He shot a glance at every face near the boy, but didn’t find Cynthia.

‘See you later,’ he told Berney.

‘Right.’

The boy’s eyes remained on the fire as Sam approached. He had the same, shiny eyes as his mother. The same delicate nose, and high cheekbones. Only the mouth looked alien to Sam – a long slit with almost no visible lips. Must be Scotty Harlan’s mouth.

‘Hi, Eric.’

The boy flinched. He looked at Sam, and took a step backwards, treading on a woman’s foot.

‘Ouch!’ she cried.

Eric lurched away from her.

‘Hell of a fire,’ Sam told him.

Eric frowned, looking confused.

‘Want a closer look?’

‘The policeman told us to stay back.’

Sam gestured for Eric to come forward.

‘You sure it’s okay?’

‘Sure.’

Eric stepped onto the lawn.

Turning away, Sam walked toward the hook-and-ladder. He stopped at its front. A moment later, Eric appeared beside him.

‘The view’s better from here.’

‘Yeah,’ Eric said, gaping at the blaze.

‘I guess the people got killed.’

Eric wrinkled his nose. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Gross.’

‘You didn’t know them, did you?’

‘I’ve seen ’em around. Joe, mostly. He was a jerk.’

‘Not anymore.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Is your mother here?’

He shook his head, glanced at Sam, and quickly looked back to the fire.

‘How’d you get here?’

‘Walked.’

‘Does your mother know?’

‘She’s not home. What’re they gonna do with the bodies?’

‘They’ll bring ’em out, once the fire’s cold. That won’t be for a long time, though. How about a ride home?’

‘No, that’s okay.’

‘Come on, Eric.’

He scowled up at Sam. ‘I don’t feel like it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘Are you mad because of last night?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Well, I can understand that. I’m sorry it happened, too. It was a hell of a way to meet. But can’t we forget about that, and start over?’

‘Why should we?’

‘I’d like to be friends.’

‘I don’t need a friend like you.’

‘Like me?’

‘All you care about is messing around with Mom.’

‘Eric, your mother and I …’

‘Now you want to kiss up to me and get me on your side so you don’t have to sneak around anymore behind my back. Well, screw you!’

‘Eric!’ Frowning, Sam reached for the boy’s shoulder.

Eric knocked his hand aside, whirled around, and ran for the road. Sam decided to let him go. He wouldn’t accomplish much by intimidating the kid. Better to work on him gradually, winning his trust a bit at a time.

He turned away. For a while, he watched the fire. Flames still reached out the windows. They burned inside the structure and clawed at the sky through the blazing skeleton of rafters.

Sam turned around, and scanned the crowd for Eric.

The boy was gone.

Eric ran past the last house on the road, and ducked behind a telephone pole. From there, he looked back at the distant group of people watching the fire. Nobody seemed to be coming, so he raced to the side of the house. Keeping close to the wall, he walked through the grass to the back yard. Light from a kitchen window lit the lawn below it.

The old woman, he thought, might be looking out. Could she see him if he crossed the dark part of the yard by the graveyard fence? Maybe. He might be safer, though, staying close to the wall and sneaking under the window.

Eyes on the back door, he rushed past the steps and crouched against the siding. Though the window was high enough to walk past, he dropped to the ground. The grass was cool and slippery on his hands. The dew quickly soaked through the knees of his jeans. As he crawled beneath the window, he held his breath.

She was at the window, glaring down – he knew she was. Any second, she would fling open the window and reach down for him, grab him by the neck, drag him into the house …

That’s dumb, he told himself. She couldn’t reach down this far, even if she tried.

As soon as he was past the window, he scurried to his feet and ran. He didn’t stop until he reached the corner of the house. Looking back, he saw only the lighted window and the deserted yard. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

Stupid to be so scared of an old lady, he thought. He could always outrun her.

Easing away from the wall, he studied the area ahead. A flowerbed marked the edge of the old woman’s property. He would have to jump that, then race across a wide space to the garage of the Sherwood house.

He looked around the corner, toward Oakhurst Road. Seeing no one, he stepped into the open. Headlights appeared. With a gasp, he leaped back and pressed himself to the back wall. He waited, then looked again. The car was gone. Nobody was in sight. He sprinted across the grass. Dead leaves crashed as his foot hit the flowerbed. He cringed at the noise, but kept running.

Still nobody by the road.

Still nobody behind him.

He dashed behind the garage. Safe there, he walked slowly through the weeds, catching his breath. He peered around the corner. The side of the house blocked his view of the road.

He’d made it!

With a sigh of relief, he walked from the garage to the back porch of the house. He silently climbed its steps. The screen door groaned as he pulled it open. No longer afraid of being heard, he grinned at the sound.

What a great place for a Halloween party!

The porch floor creaked under his sneakers. He twisted the doorknob, and pushed the door open. He stepped inside.

Nothing moved in the dark kitchen. He walked slowly through it, and pushed open the door to the dining room.

The room smelled strongly of paint.

He entered, and shut the door. His eyes searched darkness so intense that he blinked to be sure his eyes weren’t shut.

‘Hello?’ he whispered.

He waited, listening. The silence was so complete that he heard quiet ringing inside his head – a high-pitched hum as if his brain were a television with its volume off.

‘Hello?’ he whispered again. ‘It’s me, Eric.’

When no response came, he walked through the darkness with his arms outstretched, seeking a wall. With each step, he half expected to bark his shin or stumble. What if the floor suddenly ended, and he lowered his foot into nothingness!

Don’t be a dope, he told himself.

He’d been in here before. There was no furniture to trip over, no hole in the floor.

Feeling the black air, he continued walking slowly until his foot struck an object. He stumbled forward, stepping on something with his other foot, losing his balance completely and falling through the darkness. The floor came from nowhere, battering his hands and elbows and knees.

‘What are you doing here?’ The voice was a low whisper, scratchy and hardly audible. It came from the blackness ahead of Eric.

‘I wanted to see you,’ Eric said.

‘I told you to stay away.’

‘But the fire. The house next door. I was afraid you might want to call off the party.’

‘It won’t be called off. Did you make the invitations?’

Eric nodded.

‘Did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You sent them to all your enemies, everyone who has ever punched you, or laughed at you, or spit in your face?’

‘Well …’

‘Answer me.’

‘I mailed them to all the
kids
. What about grown-ups, though? There’s a guy at school, Mr Doons. He’s really mean to me. He made me do push-ups in piss. And Miss Major. I kind of got back at her, already, but she slapped me right in front of the whole class.’

‘Slapped you? Why?’

‘She said I was looking down the front of her dress.’ Eric heard soft, hissing laughter. ‘It was her fault, though. She kept bending over, and her dress was sort of loose, and she wasn’t even wearing a bra.’

‘Got a good look, did you?’

‘Yeah, but she slapped me.’

‘Go ahead and invite her.’

‘What about Mr Doons?’

‘Him too. Anybody you want, invite ’em. The more, the merrier.’

Eric grinned into the darkness. ‘We’ll really scare the hell out of them, won’t we?’

‘They’ll never give you grief again.’

‘I can’t wait.’

‘Won’t be long, now.’

‘Can you show me how you fixed the place up?’

‘Not now.’

‘Please?’

‘Never beg, kid.’

Eric nodded, blushing. ‘I won’t again. I promise. Is it real scary, though?’

‘Real scary.’

‘Whatever I tripped on, was that part of the decorations?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Boy, this is gonna be the best Halloween party ever. Maybe we can do it every year. You know, make it an annual thing.’

‘Sure.’

‘You won’t go away again, will you?’

‘I’m here to stay.’

‘Great! Hey, maybe you and Mom can get back together again. Wouldn’t that be neat? You could get married, and …’

‘She doesn’t want me.’

‘I bet she’d like you fine, once she got to know you.’

‘No.’

‘You could at least try, Dad. Ask her for a date, or something.’

‘You better get out of here. Make sure nobody sees you leave.’

When Sam drove home, he saw Cynthia’s car parked in front of his duplex. He pulled into the driveway, and hurried to his door. As he searched through his keys, the door swung open.

Cynthia smiled out at him. ‘May I help?’ she asked. She was wearing one of his big, flannel shirts. Her legs were bare.

Sam entered. He shut the door, and took her into his arms. ‘That helps,’ he said. ‘A lot.’ He pressed his mouth to her full, open lips. His hands moved down her back, stroked her buttocks through the soft flannel, slipped under the hanging shirt-tail and caressed her bare skin. He moved them upward, feeling the warm smoothness of her back. ‘I thought we weren’t going to see each other, tonight.’

‘I thought so, too,’ she said, pressing herself tightly against him.

‘What happened?’

‘I heard about Dexter on the news. I thought you might … want some company.’

‘Did you wait long?’

‘I came over about nine.’ She kissed the side of his neck. ‘You smell like smoke.’

‘I was at a fire.’

‘A fire?’ she asked, her lips tickling his neck.

He didn’t want to tell her about the fire, just now. He didn’t want to think about it, or about Eric or Dexter, about the Sleepy Hollow Inn where he nearly let himself abandon Cynthia for a smiling blonde with a badge on her breast. He wanted to forget it all, forget everything except the way she felt in his arms.

But he couldn’t.

‘A house burnt down, over on Oakhurst Road.’