John Saul (25 page)

There had been a steady background of noise, too. The familiar rumble of cars from the highway, the occasional drone of planes coming in to land at the airport. Here, silence had come along with the darkness, for the temperature had dropped quickly that afternoon, and not even the insects were buzzing tonight.

The only sound she’d heard was the howl of what she hoped was a coyote, but which Joey had insisted was a wolf.

“Really?” Logan had asked. The three of them had been in the kitchen, where Alison was adding extra cheese to the frozen pizza her mother had left for their dinner. “What’s it doing?”

Joey’s eyes had narrowed to slits and his voice took on a mysterious tone. “Hunting,” he’d whispered in the silence that followed the wolf’s haunting cry. “It’s hungry, and it’s looking for something to eat. And if it doesn’t find anything, it’ll come down here.”

Logan had shivered with excitement, mixed with the thrill of fear. “It won’t hurt the horses, will it?”

Joey’s voice had dropped even further. “It won’t even go after them,” he said. “But if it’s already tasted human blood, it might come after us!”

“Stop it!” Alison had cried. “You’re scaring him!”

Joey, sitting at the table next to Logan, nudged the smaller boy. “Guess who’s really scared?” he’d asked.

“Alison.” Logan giggled. “Alison’s scared of everything!”

“I am not,” Alison shot back. But as the evening wore on, what had promised to be a great adventure when her mother told them she was leaving them alone in the house, was starting to turn into something else.

Twice already she’d had to resist the urge to call her mother at Olivia Sherbourne’s and beg her to come home. All that stopped her was the certainty that if she did, she’d never hear the end of it from Logan. Besides, except for the blackness of the night, and the utter quiet outside, nothing had happened.

Nothing at all, except that as the minutes ticked by, she kept getting the feeling that something wasn’t right.

She was becoming increasingly edgy. Something was outside, she thought, concealed in the night, watching the house.

Watching them.

Now she sat in the den with Logan, staring at the television screen, trying to concentrate on the movie her brother
had found on one of the satellite channels, but every few minutes she kept glancing at the window, where, though the curtains were drawn, a small gap still allowed her to see a narrow strip of the blackness outside.

A gap that would let anyone—an
ything
—that might be outside peer into the bright room.

At least once, she was certain, she’d seen a flash of movement just outside the window. It had only been visible from the corner of her eye, and when she’d turned to look straight at it, it was gone.

If it had been there at all.

There’s nothing there, she told herself. Then why was she so nervous?

“Where’s Joey?” she asked.

Logan, stretched out on the floor, his chin propped up on his hands as he stared at the television screen, spoke without looking at her. “I don’t know.”

Alison frowned. When he left the den a little while ago, she’d thought he was just going to the kitchen to get another piece of pizza.

But he hadn’t come back.

She was about to get up to go look for him when her eye was caught once more by what looked like a movement at the window, and suddenly she understood.

Joey was out there, trying to scare her!

Sitting still, giving no sign that she’d seen anything at all, she tried to figure out how to catch him at it. If she just got up and went to the window, he’d see her coming and disappear into the darkness. Then she had an idea. “I’m going to see if he went upstairs,” she said. She stood and started toward the door, but at the last second she veered off, moving quickly toward the wall in which the curtained window was set. As quietly and as swiftly as she could, she went to the curtain and reached for the cord. With a quick jerk, she pulled the curtain open, fully expecting to see Joey standing there, grinning in at her.

But all she saw was the blackness of the night and her own reflection staring at her from the shiny glass.

“What are you doing?” Logan asked, finally turning away from the television to look at her.

Alison frowned uncertainly. “I-I thought I saw something.”

“You’re crazy.” Logan groaned, rolling his eyes before going back to the movie once again.

Alison stared out into the blackness once more.
Had
she seen something at the window? Finally, she left the den, going through every room in search of Joey. But she already knew he’d gone outside.

The one thing her mother had made them promise not to do. “Remember, I want all of you
inside
the house, all evening. Agreed?” And all of them, including Joey, had agreed. What if he’d broken his promise? Should she call her mother down at Olivia Sherbourne’s and tell on him? Or should she just go out herself, find him, and make him come back? But she knew she’d never work up the nerve to go out into the terrifying blackness beyond the house.

Coming to the top of the stairs, she saw light spilling from the crack under Joey’s door. She paused uncertainly. Could he have left it on, just to fool her? Scowling, she went to the closed door and knocked. Storm whimpered eagerly in response, his claws scratching at the inside of the door. When there was no answer from Joey, though, she opened the door and peeked in. Storm reared up to lick her face, and Alison gave him a scratch before pushing him aside.

Then she saw Joey.

He was sitting on his bed, his back propped up against the headboard, his face pale, his eyes wide open. For a long time he stared at her and said nothing. At last he spoke, in a cold, flat voice. “I hate her,” he said, his words falling from his lips like chips of ice. “She’s spying on me, and I hate her.”

Bill Sikes moved silently through the darkness outside the house, his senses sharpened, his well-toned muscles carrying him with a lightness and sure step that belied his years. He’d been outside for almost an hour now, just checking on things, like Mrs. Carpenter had asked him to. Not bothering the kids, not even going up to the back door to ask them if they were okay. Just checking around.

The horses were quiet in the barn, and though the night was cold and the light had faded faster than usual beneath the heavy cloud cover, the air was still, the valley peaceful.

He was less than a hundred feet from the barn when he heard one of the horses whinny loudly. The sound was followed by the sharp report of a hoof slamming against one of the wooden walls. Quickening his step, he hurried down to the barn. Inside the cavernous building, he turned on his flashlight.

All three of the horses were shuffling nervously in their stalls, and Bill Sikes spoke to them soothingly, talking steadily as he carefully searched the stable, the tack room and the storage areas, even mounting to the hayloft, where he found nothing but an owl, who hooted softly, then swept out into the night on silent wings.

When he’d finally gotten the horses calmed down, he headed back outside, making sure the barn door was securely latched behind him. He made a circuit of the house, moving silently, staying far enough away from the large log structure that he wouldn’t be seen, but close enough that he could easily see in the windows.

All the lights had been turned on, but the rooms were empty, except for the den, where the little boy sprawled on the floor, watching television. Perfectly normal. Nothing wrong.

He’d started back toward his own cabin when it hit him. The certainty that lurking somewhere in the darkness, moving as silently as was he himself, there was another presence. He could feel it, as surely as he could feel the ground beneath his feet.

Feel it hunting him even as he now began hunting it.

He was near the back of the house, making his way slowly toward the stand of trees flanking the creek, when suddenly the quiet of the night was shattered.

A scream rang out, sharp and piercing.

As quickly as it began, it ended, cut off just as it reached its peak.

Bill Sikes froze. Waiting. Listening. But there was no other sound.

He started running toward the back door of the house.

* * *

Alison stood rooted at the door to Joey’s room, waiting for him to speak again, but he said nothing. He lay perfectly still on the bed, staring at her, his face ashen. “W-Who?” Alison finally asked as the silence threatened to overwhelm her. The sound of her own voice breaking her paralysis, she took a step inside. “Who’s spying on you, Joey?”

“Aunt MaryAnne,” Joey replied after a long silence that made Alison wonder if he’d even heard her.

“Mom?” Alison asked, perplexed. “She wouldn’t spy on you. She’s not even here. She’s—”

Joey spoke again, his voice harsh now. “She was at school today. She was talking to Mrs. Wickman. She was talking about me!”

Alison’s first instinct was to back out of the room, go back downstairs, and call her mother. But what would she say? That Joey was acting weird? And what would happen if her mother came home and Joey was just as normal as he’d been a couple of hours ago, when her mother had left? But she had to do something! She stepped farther into the room and closed the door. “What do you mean, she was talking to Mrs. Wickman about you?”

“I saw her,” Joey whispered, his eyes still fixed on Alison. But they were no longer the friendly eyes she’d grown used to. Now they had narrowed to slits, taking on a look that almost frightened her.

“S-Saw her when?” Alison stammered.

“Today. I saw her coming out of Mrs. Wickman’s office, and I know why she was there.”

His words made no sense to Alison. How could he have known why her mother might have been at the school? And if what he was saying were true, and he was as angry as he seemed, why hadn’t he said anything earlier? After school, on the way home on the bus, he hadn’t been any different from his usual self, and all afternoon he hadn’t acted as if anything was wrong. “Joey, did something happen? How come you’re mad all of a sudden?”

His hands clenched in his lap, his knuckles turning white. “Why shouldn’t I be mad?” he demanded. “After what she did—”

“How do you know she did anything?” Alison broke in. “Maybe she wasn’t talking to Mrs. Wickman about you at all. Maybe she wanted to talk to her about Logan, or me.”

Joey glared at Alison, every nerve in his body shrieking with the horrible feeling that had come over him half an hour ago. At first he’d tried to ignore it, tried to concentrate on the movie they’d been watching, but it just kept getting worse.

He’d kept looking toward the window, feeling something outside, something that was calling to him. He wanted to go out there, out into the night, out where he’d be free of the confines of the house.

But he’d promised Aunt MaryAnne he’d stay inside, and he didn’t want to break his promise. Finally he’d retreated up to his room and lain down on the bed, praying for the awful feeling to pass.

But the terrible feeling grew, a raw tingling that jangled his nerves and made him want to jump out of his skin. And then he’d begun having terrible thoughts.

Thoughts about his aunt. He’d known why she went to see Mrs. Wickman that day. She wanted to find out what was wrong with him. He’d been mad at her when he first saw her, but then he’d gotten over it, and by the time he came home, he’d almost forgotten about it. But ever since he’d come into his room, in the grip of the strange thing that happened to his nerves sometimes, his anger toward her had been building again. Now, as he stared at Alison, he felt a new fury boiling up inside him. A fury toward her. What was she doing here? Why didn’t she just go away and leave him alone? “I wish you’d go away,” he shouted. “I wish you’d all just go away! I hate all of you!”

Suddenly, he leaped off the bed, hurling himself toward Alison, his hands reaching out for her throat. Instinctively, Alison raised her arms against his attack, a scream rising in her.

A scream that was abruptly cut off as she lost her balance, stumbling backward into the wall. As she struggled to regain her footing, her knee came up, catching Joey’s groin as he lurched toward her. Groaning and clutching at his crotch, Joey stumbled backward, and Alison seized the opportunity
to dart out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. She raced down the stairs, coming to the bottom just as there was a loud banging at the kitchen door. She stood still for a second, confused, then Logan came running in from the den.

“What happened?” the boy demanded. Seeing his sister crying, he looked past her up the stairs. “Where’s Joey?” he asked. “Did you have a fight with him?”

Sobbing, her mind still reeling from Joey’s attack, Alison staggered across the kitchen, forgetting her promise not to open the door for anybody, in her relief that someone—maybe even her mother—had arrived to help her. She jerked open the door, then gasped at the sight of a man in a worn jacket, his dark cap pulled down almost over his eyes, a shotgun clutched in his hands.

“It’s okay,” Bill Sikes told her, seeing the panic ignite in her eyes. “It’s just me.” Stepping into the kitchen, Sikes leaned his gun against the wall next to the door, taking in the sight of the sobbing girl, knowing instantly that it was her shrill scream he had heard less than a minute ago. Though she was obviously terrified, it didn’t look as if she was hurt. “What is it, Alison?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

Alison shook her head helplessly, struggling to speak through her sobs. Finally she managed to choke the words out. “J-Joey …” she gasped. “Upstairs … he—he was acting—I don’t know—it’s like he went crazy!”

“Call your mom,” Bill Sikes told her. “Call her and tell her to come home. I’ll go see what’s goin’ on with Joey.” As Alison stumbled toward the phone, Sikes brushed past Logan and stamped up the stairs. He twisted the knob of Joey’s door and pushed inside, having no idea what to expect.

What he found was an empty room.

Both Joey and Storm were gone. The bedroom window stood wide open.

Crossing the room in three quick strides, Sikes pulled his flashlight from the pocket of his jacket and switched it on. Casting the beam from side to side, he played it over the porch roof, just a couple of feet below the window, then
searched the area around the house. As he swept the light out into the field that lay between the house and the woods, he suddenly saw Joey, caught in the beam like an insect on a pin. Running at full speed, Storm gamboling ahead of him, Joey was already halfway across the field, heading straight for the forest.