Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) (59 page)

CHAPTER 9

The group stopped in unison at the sound. The clang echoed off the long hallway, making it hard for Cecilia to know where it came from.

“What was that?” Frannie whispered.

“Probably the spike guy,” Connor moaned.

Cecilia couldn’t blame him much. The floor beneath their feet was slick with Connor’s blood. Every step they took, Connor became weaker and weaker.

“Shh!” Michael whispered, as Frannie caught a sob in her throat. “We’re got to figure out which direction the sound is coming from.”

Cecilia held her breath as they waited. Then a creak came. From above them. Nausea rolled over her.
Not again.
But this noise sounded more like a footstep than the ceiling giving way like before. Sure enough, another footstep… then another. Someone was walking overhead.

“There must be an attic,” Michael whispered.

Another set of footsteps echoed down the hallway. That wasn’t just someone in the attic—there was someone else in the hall as well.

“We’re exposed out here,” Cecilia whispered back.

Michael tested the door nearest to him. The knob turned. “Hurry, inside.”

Cecilia had to practically carry Connor as they entered.

“Oh!” Frannie cried out, pointing to a crumpled figure in the corner.

It looked like a girl. She was in a dress, except her head was bald. And her fingernails had been ripped off.

“Is she dead?” Connor asked the question they were all thinking.

Michael carefully closed the door behind them and, step by step, approached the still figure. Cecilia couldn’t let him do it alone. She crept behind him as he knelt down. He felt for a pulse.

“She’s alive,” he breathed out. “Unconscious, but alive.”

Cecilia snuck in closer. The girl lay at an unnatural angle. Her left leg was twisted back and her arm was trapped under her. But there was something about her eyes and cheekbones that seemed familiar.

“Paula!” Frannie exclaimed above them.

Cecilia looked back down at the girl. It couldn’t be Paula, could it? Paula from PE? “But what happened to her hair? She has long, black hair.”

Michael scurried back. “Ugh. I think I found it.”

He was right. At his feet was a pile of dark, shorn hair. Who had done this to her? And why? Why do any of this? She bet Paula wished that she’d had a party at her house, DJ and all.

Connor hobbled up behind them. “Okay, so the spikes weren’t so bad.”

Cecilia helped Michael get Paula into a more comfortable position. The girl roused only a little, then fell back into her stupor.

“Was she drugged, like Frannie?” Cecilia asked.

“I don’t know, but her pulse is weak.”

They both knelt there. Clearly neither of them knew what to do. In the sparse light, Cecilia trembled. She could hear her own harsh breath. Tears sprang to Cecilia’s eyes. She didn’t want to be like Frannie, sobbing pitifully into her hands. She didn’t want to look weak, but who really was strong at a time like this?

Michael put his arm around her. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve figured it out,” Connor said, sliding down the wall. “I’m staying here.”

Cecilia frowned as Michael’s arm dropped from her shoulders. She already missed the warmth and support.

“We can’t. Not to reinforce Frannie’s hysteria,” Michael nodded to Frannie. “No offense, but the killer really could be coming back any minute.”

Connor rubbed the wounds on his wrists where he had been bound. “And he could also be around the next turn. Or the ceiling above us is filled with guts. Or a thousand different things. With a guy this f—ed up, we just don’t know.”

“But we’ve got to try,” Michael stated as he rose. “Quentin is still out there.”

“And for that, man, I am sorry, Michael. But dude, I just can’t go any farther.”

Frannie hugged herself, rocking back and forth. “Me, either.”

“Guys! What if that were you still out there, like Quentin? Alone and terrified, hoping someone was coming for you? Well?”

Cecilia stood as well, putting a hand out to Michael. “Come here.”

At first, he just glared at her hand, like it was treasonous offering. But she smiled, hopefully with reassurance. Tentatively he took her hand and she drew him away from the others. His breath came in puffs, he was so angry. Cecilia couldn’t blame him. She could only imagine how she would feel if Frannie were still missing.

“Michael.”

“Not you, too,” he said, holding her gaze.

“No, actually, I think we do need to be on the move… but back to the ballroom.” She hurried over to Michael. “They’ve
got
to listen to us now. With all this happening?”

He shook his head, though. “No. We find Quentin, and then head back.”

Cecilia put her other hand over his. “And let’s say we find Quentin in bad shape or worse. What are we going to do? We can’t even help Paula properly.” They both looked down at the unconscious girl. “This is bigger than we thought. We need help.”

He gripped her hand. “But Quentin.”

She groaned inwardly. How could she voice her fears to him? Especially with his eyes swimming in tears and his heart so heavy? She couldn’t. She couldn’t tell him she feared that his friend had already joined Helen. Her friend had told them nearly as much. And now, finding Connor and Paula? From the fragmented time line they had pieced together from Frannie, the killer had had Quentin and Helen twice the time. But she just couldn’t crush Michael in that way.

“The best way to help Quentin is to get help. Lots and lots of help.”

Michael took a deep breath in and closed his eyes, which seemed to steady his nerves. When he opened them again, he appeared stronger, more resolved. “All right, but you should stay here. If I don’t come back within a half an hour, you can try next.”

Cecilia liked the way he tried to protect her, but if he didn’t come back in half an hour, well… She doubted she would be in any condition to follow.

“Look, I’m normally the girl sitting in the back of the class hoping no one will call her name, but you can’t do this alone.”

“I can,” he tried to reassure her, but his voice trembled.

Cecilia put her hand out and cupped his face. “I know you could, but you don’t have to.”

He leaned into her palm. “I really don’t want to go out there alone, but I really don’t want you in danger.”

“I know, but I am…” Cecilia couldn’t finish the sentence. No matter how loath she was to suggest that Quentin was dead, she was even more reluctant to share her other concern. Actually, her other
fear
. “I think that… I think John may be behind this.”

Michael didn’t seem surprised. If anything, he seemed energized by the news. “All the more reason for you to stay here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You thought the same thing?”

“There are all kinds of rumors at school that he’s doping, and that the guy has got some serious mommy issues.” He looked down at Connor, Frannie, and Paula. “But as much as I hate the guy, it’s hard to imagine him doing this. All of this.”

A few days ago Cecilia would have agreed, but after today? She had never seen so much rage before. Seeing John’s face contorted and blotched red, Cecilia could imagine him doing this just a little bit.

“Which is why I can’t let you go alone,” Cecilia said, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

He leaned in. She could feel his breath upon her skin. His warmth mingled with hers. His lips hovered over hers.

“So are you two going, or what?” Connor asked.

Michael backed away, blushing. “Yeah. Yeah. We’re going.”

But as he turned back to their friends, he caught Cecilia’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Look, guys, we are going to have to take the flashlight.”

“But… but… that’s going to leave us in the dark,” Frannie said, looking ready to go all panicky again.

Connor pulled Frannie closer to him. “We can handle it. Just haul ass like you were stealing home base, man.”

“You know it,” Michael said, and then his voice became serious. “Frannie, I need you to buck up, girl, for just a minute and push that dresser in front of the door after we leave.”

Frannie, though, perked up, seeming to love the idea. Cecilia pulled Frannie into a hug. She wanted to stay hopeful, but this might be the last time they saw one another. What was the last thing she had said to Helen? That she was a hair spray addict? She didn’t want those to be her last words to Frannie.

“Francesca,” Cecilia started, but her friend hugged her all the closer.

“No. We are not going to have a
Titanic
moment here.” Frannie said. “You are going out and coming back. Got it?”

Cecilia held back tears. “Got it.”

She turned back to Michael, but Frannie grabbed her hand. “And if you find any chicken wings…”

“I’ll be sure to get ranch dressing,” Cecilia replied

Her friend gave a faint smile as Michael cracked the door open. He looked down both ways. “It looks clear.”

Taking his hand, they exited. No sooner was her foot past the threshold that Frannie slammed the door closed behind them, locked it, and from the rumbling was moving the dresser already.

“Guess it’s just you and me,” Michael commented, with a faint smile on his lips.

Cecilia wished she could answer, but an overwhelming urge to bang on the door and force Frannie to open it back up nearly overtook her.

But one foot after the other, they slowly they made their way back down the hall. It was easy to tell that they were on the right track as they followed the blood-smeared footprints of Connor. Michael swung the flashlight back and forth, sweeping the light in front of them. He would even turn suddenly behind them, flashing the light, checking for someone following them. Cecilia wished she could call him paranoid, but not after the night they’d had.

Finally, they made it to a junction in the halls. Suddenly, the floor seemed to sparkle, making their thin flashlight beam become a thousand prisms of light. They knelt. Glass covered the floor. He flashed the light ahead. The broken shards extended down the entire length, farther than the eye could see.

“There are nails in there, too.” Michael said, shining his light on the tiny metal nails. It would take us forever to try and pick our way back down the hall.”

“But … We were just here,” Cecilia said, still trying to accept the new reality.

“He must have been following us,” Michael said, his voice sounding as shaky as her body felt.

She didn’t want to voice her thoughts. “Why didn’t he just attack us, then?

“I don’t know,” Michael said as he stood up. “I think he might be herding us.” He swung his light down the unexplored passage. “Down there.”

Why did that hallway seem about ten thousand times scarier? The walls were the same dusty wood paneling. The sconces were still rusted. But what menace lay at the end of the hallway, where murky shadows played just beyond Michael’s light?

“We could stay here,” Michael suggested. “Go back to Frannie and the rest.”

A part of her really wanted to embrace that idea. The girl she was this morning would have jumped at the chance to huddle in the corner, hoping and wishing the fear to go away. The girl she was tonight? Well, she wasn’t brave by any means. However, the thought of sitting in the near-dark waiting for that hawk-masked man to jump from the shadows seemed the scarier option.

Well, at least a little scarier.

* * *

Paxton rushed after Ruth as they approached the backstage door. A roadie tried to block Ruth, but she flashed her badge. The guy wouldn’t budge, though. Paxton pulled back the edge of his very wet coat and indicated his gun.

Yeah, the guy moved for that.

“Smart choice,” Paxton said as they passed.

Rapidly, they made their way past a thousand struts and cords.

But another half dozen roadies wearing black eyeliner made a wall of stupid human flesh, blocking Ruth and Paxton from getting up onstage. Their options were limited. They only had two cuffs each. Which left two idiotic roadies to cause problems.

Ruth cocked her head. “I say we play a little chicken.”

Oh, how Paxton loved how his partner thought. He doubted any guy that used hair spray would actually stand strong.

“I second that.”

Without hesitating, Ruth and Paxton strode forward. The roadies tried to protect their demon-worshipping master, but, after all, they were roadies for a demon-worshipping master. Not the brightest or hardiest of roadies, as far as roadies went.

Paxton had to give them credit that they stood fast until Ruth was about a foot away, and then they broke rank. Actually they stumbled and scrambled out of rank. Paxton seriously doubted if the Stones’ roadies would have let them pass quite so easily.

Once past the “front lines,” Ruth led the way onto the stage. However, getting to Diana Dahmer was more difficult than she expected, as the agile singer jumped from speaker to speaker, belting out what passed for music at this soiree.

“Sir, I must ask you to get down!” Ruth screamed, but who could hear her over the fingernails-down-a-chalkboard sound coming out of the speakers?

Speakers.

Paxton was a youth once, with his fair share of delinquency. Rock ‘n’ roll was such a cooler act of rebellion. He ran over to the first amp and jerked out the wires connecting it to the microphone.

A loud
pop
interrupted Dahmer mid-chorus. Paxton charged over to the next speaker and pulled that one out as well.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dahmer yelled.

Up close, the singer truly looked scary. Not as in terrifying, but as in a “what in the hell were you thinking?” kind of way. Red contacts seemed to glow against the white makeup that painted his face. But the man beneath the makeup was gaunt and actually frail—like an underweight spider monkey.

But the guy had a set of lungs on him. He yelled again, “Do not mess with my equipment!”

Paxton ignored him and crossed the stage to the other speakers, pulling out each of their cords. The only sound filling the great ballroom now was the crowd’s booing.

Ruth got up in Dahmer’s face. “Police. You will exit the stage now, or be arrested for…”