The Second Evil (10 page)

C
orky noisily tried to suck in a deep breath.

But the bony fingers dug farther into her throat, tightening their already steely grip. The room pulsed with noise. The clanking of the fluttering blinds competed with the frantic croaking of the frogs. The light brightened again, then dimmed.

Then stayed dim as the hand choked off the last of Corky's air.

She whirled around and tried to slam the hand against the wall. Then she reached up with both hands and grabbed the hand at the wrist. It felt so cold. Cold and damp, as if it had just risen from a wet grave.

The room spun. The dark ceiling appeared to lower on her.

Corky grabbed the wrist with both hands and tugged. The bony fingers dug deeper into her throat, squeezing tighter.

She reached for the fingers. Grabbed two in each hand.

And pulled with all her might.

The sickening sound of bones cracking gave Corky some hope. Suddenly she could breathe. She noisily sucked in air, exhaled, sucked in more.

The broken fingers grasped frantically for her, but their hold was weak. She grabbed the cold wrist, pulled the broken hand off, and heaved it across the room.

Then, with a cry of horror, of disbelief, of relief all mixed in one, Corky lurched for the doorknob again and frantically turned it. This time the door opened.

She found herself in the dark, silent corridor.

She slammed the lab door hard behind her.

Her heart pounded. The only sound now.

Her eyes were clouded by tears.

She pushed her hair back from her face and started to run.

“Chip,” she said out loud. “Chip!”

He had told her he'd be working late in the wood-shop. They had made plans to meet there after her exam. “Chip!”

Off-balance, the floor tilting ahead of her, Corky started to run down the long hallway, her footsteps echoing loudly. She was breathing noisily through her open mouth. “Chip!”

She rubbed her throbbing throat as she ran. The bony fingers were gone, but she could still feel them pressing against it, so cold and wet, until she couldn't breathe.

“Chip!”

The shop was downstairs at the back of the building.
She stumbled on the first step but thrust out both hands and caught herself on the railing.

Isn't anyone here? she wondered. The vast school building was so silent that she imagined she could hear her thoughts echoing in the hall.

Down the stairs and along a shorter hallway. The double doors to the shop came into view. The silence gave way to a high-pitched roar. A steady whine.

What
is
that noise? Corky wondered.

She pushed her way through the double doors, bumping them open with her body, and lunged into the shop.

“Chip! Where are you?” she cried, her voice revealing her terror. “Chip?”

The steady roar grew louder, closer.

Her eyes darted over the worktables, the pile of lumber against the side wall, the tall power drills, the safety goggles hanging on their pegs.

“Chip, where
are
you? Are you here?”

She made her way into the center of the big room, her sneakers sliding over the fragrant sawdust on the floor. She came to a halt at the dark puddle.

What is that?

She stared down at it. It took her a long time to realize she was staring at a puddle of blood.

Then she saw two shoes on the floor. Legs. Almost hidden behind a worktable.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way around the dark puddle to get a better view. She cried out when she saw Chip lying facedown in a larger puddle of blood. A lake of dark blood.

“Ohh.”

She grabbed the top of the worktable, leaned against it, forced herself not to drop down beside him.

“Chip?”

She could tell that he was dead.

Chip was dead. Sprawled there in his own blood.

She had to look away. She couldn't keep on staring at him.

She glanced up—and saw the power saw. And realized the steady whirring sound came from the power saw. The blade was spinning loudly.

Louder.

Even louder.

And then Corky's ear-piercing screams drowned out the roar of the whirring saw blade as she caught sight of Chip's severed hand. Chip's hand, cut off at the wrist, rested like a glove beside the blade.

C
orky didn't cry at Chip's funeral.

She was all cried out. She had cried until her eyes burned and her cheeks were red and swollen. And then, suddenly, her tears were gone, as if she'd used up her lifetime's supply. She was hollow now, drained of all emotion.

Except for the sadness.

The sadness remained. And behind it lurked the terror. The frightening memories. The terrifying scenes that she knew would remain forever in her mind.

The thoughts followed her everywhere she went, kept her wide awake at night. Something was wrong in the world. Something was there. In her life. Something evil, something inhuman. Something out of control.

After the funeral she walked by herself from the
small chapel, out into a gray, blustery day. A circle of swirling brown leaves danced over her shoes as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

Dead leaves.

Death. Everywhere.

Corky turned up the collar of her coat, more to hide her face than to protect herself from the gusting winds. She jammed her frozen hands deep into her coat pockets and started to walk.

“Hey, Corky!” Kimmy came jogging up to her, her black crimped hair bobbing, her cheeks bright red, her dark eyes watery and red rimmed. Without saying a word, Kimmy threw her arms around Corky's shoulders and hugged her, pressing her warm cheek against Corky's cold face.

After a few seconds Kimmy stepped back awkwardly, shaking her head. “It's so awful,” she whispered. She squeezed the arm of Corky's coat. “And you found him. You were the one who—” Her voice caught in her throat. “I'm so sorry, Corky.”

Corky lowered her eyes to the pavement. More brown leaves scrabbled over her shoes, tossed by the wind.

Ronnie and Heather appeared, their faces pale, their expressions grim. Kimmy hugged them both. They offered low-voiced greetings to Corky. Then the three girls headed off toward Kimmy's blue Camry, parked across the street.

“Call me,” Kimmy called to Corky. “Okay?” She didn't wait for a reply.

Corky watched them climb into Kimmy's car. She saw all three of them talking at once inside the car. As they talked, they kept stealing glances at Corky.

Corky turned away and started to walk. She had
gone several steps before she realized she wasn't alone.

“Hi, Corky,” Debra said.

Her cold blue eyes peered out at Corky from under the hood of the black cape she had taken to wearing. Debra always was pale and fragile, but today she appeared almost ghostlike.

“Come talk to me,” she said, her voice barely rising over the rush of the wind.

Corky shook her head. “I really don't feel like talking.” She started to walk again.

Debra hurried to keep up with her. The wind blew back her hood, revealing her short blond hair. “We
have
to talk, Corky. We have to,” she insisted.

“But, Debra—”

“Over there.” Debra grabbed Corky's arm and pointed toward a small diner across the street. “Just for a few minutes. We'll grab a hamburger or something to drink. I'll buy. Okay?”

Debra was pleading so hard that Corky felt she had no choice. “Okay,” she said, sighing. “Actually I haven't eaten today.”

A pleased smile crossed Debra's face as she grabbed Corky's arm and pulled her across the street.

A few minutes later they were seated in a tiny booth, their coats folded beside them. Debra was eating a bacon cheeseburger and french fries. Corky, realizing she wasn't as hungry as she thought, took a few spoonfuls from a bowl of vegetable soup.

“People say such dumb things at funerals,” Debra said, wiping ketchup off her chin with a napkin. “I heard someone tell Chip's mom that it was a really good funeral.” She shook her head. “Now what's
that
supposed to mean?”

Corky stared down at the soup. “I don't know. I think people feel so uncomfortable at funerals, they don't know what they're saying,” she told Debra.

“People said some pretty weird things to me at Bobbi's funeral.”

Bobbi's funeral.

Chip's funeral.

There had been so many funerals in her life recently.

She forced down a few more spoonfuls of soup. It didn't taste great, but the warm liquid was soothing on her throat.

“We have to talk about the evil spirit,” Debra said suddenly, lowering her voice even though they were the only customers in the diner.

Corky sighed. “Yeah. I know.” She stirred her soup, but knew she couldn't eat any more.

“You and I both know that the evil spirit killed Chip,” Debra said heatedly. “He didn't accidentally cut off his hand and stand there bleeding to death without calling for help or anything.”

“The doctors said he probably sawed off his hand and then went into shock,” Corky said.

“Do you believe that?” Debra demanded.

Corky hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”

“For one thing, Chip was a careful guy. He wouldn't stand there and slice off his entire hand.”

“I know,” Corky said, her voice catching in her throat.

“Also, do you know how hard it would be to slice your hand clean off? If you just nicked your wrist, you'd pull it away immediately. You wouldn't keep right on sawing!” she exclaimed.

“Debra, please.” Corky turned her eyes to the front of the diner. Through the window she could see that wet flakes of snow had started to fall.

“The evil is still alive, Corky,” Debra continued. “I know it, Kimmy knows it, and you know it. We can't just ignore it. We can't pretend it isn't there and hope it'll go away and everything will be nice again.”

“I know, I know,” Corky wailed. “I know better than anyone, Debra.”

Debra reached across the tabletop and squeezed Corky's hand. “Sorry. I just meant—”

“The evil revealed itself to me,” Corky told her. “Just before Chip—just before I found Chip.”

Debra lowered her cheeseburger to the plate. She stared at Corky as if trying to read her mind. “What do you mean?”

Corky took a deep breath and told her everything that had happened in the science lab, starting with the door slamming shut and the lights going out, ending with her desperate struggle with the skeleton's hand.

Debra listened in silence, resting her chin in her hands. Both girls ignored their food while Corky told her frightening story.

“I don't believe it,” Debra said softly. “I don't believe it.”

“There's more,” Corky said softly, raising her eyes to the window in front. The snow was turning to a bleak wet drizzle.

“Go on,” Debra urged. “Please.”

Corky told her about her encounters with Jon Daly and Sarah Beth Plummer. Then she told about driving past the Fear Street cemetery, about seeing Sarah Beth and Jon in the cemetery together.

“What were they doing?” Debra asked, removing her chin from her hands and sitting up straight.

“I don't know,” Corky told her. “It was so strange. I saw Sarah Beth perform a dance on Sarah Fear's grave.”

“You mean while Jon was watching?” Debra asked.

“Jon leaned on the gravestone and watched,” Corky said. “It was so creepy.”

“The evil spirit is definitely alive,” Debra said in a whisper.

“But where?” Corky asked. “Why didn't it stay down in the grave? Where is it?”

“1 think I know how to find it,” Debra said mysteriously.

“We've got razzmatazz! Pep, punch—and pizzazz! Hey, you—you've been had. Shadyside Tigers got razzmatazz! RAZZMATAZZ!”

As they repeated
razzmatazz,
the five cheerleaders performed flying splits. Then they landed on their feet and, with a whooping cheer, ran to the sidelines clapping.