Invaders From Mars (10 page)

“That’s Heather’s dad,” David said, his voice quavering a bit. “She sits next to me in class. I think he’s kinda . . . kinda weird, Dad.”

George ignored him and turned to Ellen. “Ed works for the phone company,” he said. “The switching division.” As if that explained everything.

“Since when are you working with the phone company?” she asked.

“We had a special meeting . . . the new hookup at the base.”

Something about that reply didn’t sound right. Ellen squinted at him curiously, but said nothing.

“Well,” George said, holding his arms a few inches from his sides, then letting them drop, smiling faintly, “I’m home now.”

David would have given anything to pull down the collar of Ed’s coat to see if there was a cut on his neck. He had little doubt that he would find one. He had that odd, sickly look about him . . .

Spots of light darted around David and his parents as the two policemen came back down the hill, flashlights in hand. David turned at the sound of their footsteps just in time to see Officer Kenney buttoning his collar clumsily with one hand and Chief Ward straightening his tie.

They’re hiding their necks!
David thought, wanting to scream, to run. He tugged on his mom’s arm, whispering breathlessly, “Mom.
Mom!”

She rested a hand on his head, but otherwise ignored him as the men approached.

“I see you’re back,” the chief said to Dad.

Dad nodded at them, just as he’d nodded to Ed, and they returned the gesture, as if they’d expected to see him!

Officer Kenney adjusted his hat, locking his eyes with David’s. “Your little lad’s got quite an imagination,” he said rather sternly.

“Yes,” Dad agreed, looking down at David. “I know.”

The look in his eyes made David want to shrivel up and blow away. He suddenly felt hot and stuffy under the scrutiny of his dad and the policemen, and he wondered what kind of thoughts were slithering behind their cold, predatory eyes. Couldn’t Mom see it? Was she blind to their behavior? Couldn’t she tell they were watching him like a hawk would watch a field mouse?

“Thanks for coming, Chief,” Mom said politely. “It looks like we found him ourselves.”

“Everything’s fine now,” Dad told them. “You can go.”

“Our pleasure,” Chief Ward said.

Officer Kenney turned to Mom and tilted his head. “Bye, ma’am.”

As they turned to leave, David thought he saw it, only for an instant, and not very clearly in the dark: a spot on the back of the chief’s neck, darkened and puffy. Before he could be sure, Dad was leading him by the hand back to the house with Mom at his side. David craned his head around to get another look.

Officer Kenney was gingerly touching his neck, leaning his head forward, rolling it this way and that.

Whatever it was, it had the police now. At least, it had these two policemen.

David felt invisible walls closing in around him.

“Your dinner’s been ready for nearly two hours,” Mom said as they went into the kitchen. “It’s warming in the oven.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Dad replied, “but I’m really not very hungry.”

“Okay, fine,” she muttered angrily, going to the oven to turn it off. “I keep it for two hours and you don’t want it.”

“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t seem to mean it. He stepped up behind her and touched her back. “You know, Mom, it sure is beautiful up there over the hill. Why don’t we take a walk up there after you finish the dishes?”

David couldn’t listen anymore; he couldn’t be in the same room with his dad. He left the kitchen and sat at the foot of the stairs, chewing on a knuckle. Their words were still clear, though.

“George, you’re acting very strange. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

“Overworked. Under a lot of pressure. Let’s do the dishes and go for that walk. I could use the exercise and . . . we can talk.”

No!
David’s mind screamed.
Don’t go with him! That’s what he wants! What it wants!

“Okay,” Mom said. “Just let me go to the bathroom first.”

David heard her footsteps in the hall and he dashed from the stairs to stop her.

“Mom!” he whispered sharply. “I gotta talk to you!”

“Honey, can it wait? I’ve got to go to—”

“No, Mom, it
can’t!”

She stopped and touched his forehead. “David, you’re sweating. Do you have a fever?”

“Mom, please . . . don’t go over the hill.
Please!”

“Why not, David? What’s wrong?”

He clutched her hand pleadingly. “Mom, something terrible happened to Dad up there. I don’t know what, but
something.
He got a scratch on his neck and now . . . now he’s not Dad anymore! And it got the chief and Officer Kenney, I know it did, just now, out there!” His throat began to feel thick and tears stung his eyes. His sweaty palms were sticky against his mom’s cool skin as he held her hand in both of his. “Mom, please don’t go over the hill,
please!”

“You feel okay, David?”

“No!
I’m scared! For you!”

She squatted down, face to face with him, and touched his cheek. “Look, honey, there’s nothing over that hill. The police even said so.”

“What’s wrong?”

David started at his dad’s voice. It had that deep, throaty sound it got when Dad caught him doing something wrong.

“It’s his nightmare,” Mom said, standing. “He still hasn’t gotten over it.”

Dad sucked his cheeks in thoughtfully as he studied David. “He’ll get over it.” He turned to Mom. “Come on, let’s get going.” He put his arm around her.

“Mom . . .” David whimpered helplessly.

“It’s late,” she said. “Go to bed, honey.” She disappeared in the bathroom and, once again, David was left alone with his dad.

Dad suddenly seemed taller than he ever had before. He held his arms a few inches from his sides, as if he might strike out at any moment.

David shrank away from him slowly.

“Go to bed—” Dad’s lips pulled back over his teeth in a sneer and his voice became mocking and malicious, “—
honey.”

At that moment, David realized he was a threat to whatever his dad had become, and the man was only biding his time until he could silence him, waiting for the right moment to take him over the hill . . . to others like him . . . to whatever David had seen go down there in the early hours of morning.

David shot up the stairs, ran to his room and slammed the door.

For a while, David thumbed through comic books and magazines, unable to read, just skimming the pictures. His guts were churning and his hands trembled slightly. He couldn’t imagine feeling more helpless.

From the kitchen, sounds of dishes clattering and pans banging together let David know that his mom was still in the house loading the dishwasher, still safe. Keeping his attention trained on the noise, he undressed and put on his pajamas.

The bed felt good; Mom had put on fresh sheets that day. But David knew he couldn’t sleep. He watched Jasper for a while, crawling slowly over his bark.

The kitchen was silent.

David listened hard but heard nothing. He got up and went to his door, opened it a crack, and listened. There was no one downstairs. He hurried to the window.

With an arm draped around her, his head leaning close to hers, Dad was escorting Mom up the trail, over the hill.

David opened the window and could hear, faintly, his mom’s laughter on the soft breeze. His heart stopped, his blood ran cold as they neared the top of Copper Hill. He opened his mouth to scream at her, to plead with her to come back, to get away from him; he wanted her to know that wasn’t really Dad, that it was someone
—something
—that only wanted to hurt her.

All that came from David’s mouth was a faint, withered sound that formed one word: “Mom . . .”

David put his eye to the telescope as his dad playfully kissed Mom’s cheek, making her laugh again. They stopped at the crest of the hill and Dad took her hand as he pointed toward the sand pit, apparently directing her attention to something. Then, as they started over the top, Dad turned . . . looked directly at David . . . and waved.

“Maaawwwm!”
David screamed, much louder this time, an anguished cry that tore itself from his chest painfully. He lifted his head above the telescope and watched through burning tears as they disappeared over the hill.

She wouldn’t be the same when she got back, he
knew
it. His parents were gone, both of them now, taken from him by . . . something. He folded his arms on the windowsill, leaned his head on them, and sobbed.

“Was that David?” Ellen asked, turning an ear toward the house. Just over the top of the hill, she thought she’d heard the boy’s voice.

“No,” George said. “Just a dog barking.”

He led her down to the embankment and they stood at the edge, hand in hand, looking out over the white pool of sand. It gleamed in the moonlight, speckled here and there with shadows created by the miniature sand dunes.

“I’m a little worried about David,” Ellen said.

“Don’t. He’ll be fine.”

“You always say that, George. What if he isn’t fine. He was worried all evening about you. He somehow tied your absence to his nightmare last night. I don’t remember seeing him so scared.”

“It’ll pass, Ellen. Believe me.” He sounded certain.

“Tell you the truth, babe, I’ve been a little worried about you, too.”

“Me?” He smirked at her, giving her a sidelong look.

“Yes. You haven’t really been yourself. Feeling okay?”

“Healthy as a bear.”

“Anything wrong at work?”

“Oh, you know . . . the usual.”

“Is that why you didn’t go today?” She paid close attention to his reaction. He didn’t look at her and she prompted, “Hmm?”

“I told you I had that meeting with Ed.”

“All day?”

“It took some preparation.”

She turned to him fully, still holding his hand, and said, “Honey, no one at the base had any idea where you were.”

“Not everyone knew about it,” he replied, reaching behind his neck and rubbing his fingers back and forth, rolling his head right and left.

“How’s the cut on your neck?”

He smiled briefly. “Fine.”

“Let me see it.”

“Really, it’s fine. C’mon, let’s go down onto the sand.” He tugged her toward the pit.

Pulling back, Ellen said, “No, I’d rather not.”

“How come?”

“Oh, I just don’t want to get sand in my shoes, track it into the house . . .”

He chuckled deeply. “You never used to worry about that.” He stepped forward and put his arms around her and touched his nose to hers. “Remember that night the first week we lived here? When we came down here and chased each other on the sand? And then . . . I caught you.” He chuckled again, but this time it seemed different. Ellen knew it was meant to sound playful, but it seemed cold . . . unfamiliar.

“I think I’d like to go back now,” she said, pulling away from him.

“Oh, come on. Just a little walk on the sand. C’mon.” He held her hand firmly and pulled, smiling all the while, a stiff smile, rather forced.

Mom, please don’t go over the hill, please!

The memory of David’s words was like an annoying gnat flying around her ear and, just as she would a gnat, Ellen brushed it away, thinking,
That boy’s imagination is starting to rub off on me.

“Okay,” she said and laughed. “For a while. I’d like to get to bed soon.”

They stumbled down the embankment and onto the soft sand and suddenly, George was lunging for her, growling, “Gonna getcha!”

Giggling like a girl, Ellen ran from him, her feet pushing weakly against the sand, kicking it up behind her. She ran halfway across the pit and spun around to surprise George.

He was gone.

“George?” she said. Then she called his name loudly, looking around. He was nowhere in sight.

An owl hooted, startling her.

A bat flew quickly and softly overhead.

“George, this isn’t funny. Where are you?”

She turned all the way around, scanning the pit for some sign of her husband. Nothing.

“All right,
fine,”
she muttered, starting for the embankment, feeling angry and foolish for having fallen for his trick. She heard something behind her and turned. She could see nothing.

It happened again. A soft, whispery sound.

“Geor—”

Everything began to spin and the world beneath her fell away, sucking her down with it like a riptide and her arms flew upward, her hair fluttered out around her head and she opened her mouth to scream, but it never came. Her last thought was of her son:

Dear God, he was right!

David wasn’t sure how long they were gone because he hadn’t looked at his clock. He’d been lying on his bed sobbing, trying to think but unable to hold onto any thoughts, as if they’d been made slippery by his tears.

The back door slammed . . .

Footsteps crossed the kitchen . . .

There was movement in the living room . . .

The hitching in David’s chest stopped and fear dried his tears quickly as he heard their voices on the stairs, coming closer:

“. . . late now . . .”

“. . . yes . . .”

“. . . in his room . . . ?”

They were outside the bedroom door. David’s eyes flew to the knob and he slapped a hand over his mouth when he realized he hadn’t locked it!

“Tomorrow,” Dad said quietly. “Midnight.”

“Yes, midnight,” Mom agreed. “Is he asleep?”

There was silence as they listened at the door.

“Probably.”

“Shouldn’t we take him tonight?”

The knob turned, the door began to open, and David disappeared beneath the covers, trembling, as he had that morning.

He recognized the heaviness of Dad’s footsteps walking into the room, heard a tinkly sound, like coins . . . his pennies?

The footsteps retreated, the door closed, and the voices faded down the hall.

“Tomorrow,” Dad said again. “Midnight.”

After he heard their door close, David sat up in his bed, pushing the covers away, and looked at his desk.

His penny collection was gone.

C H A P T E R
Seven