The Sound of a Scream (11 page)
Read The Sound of a Scream Online
Authors: John Manning
It’s the alcohol
, she told herself. It had to be. People hallucinate on alcohol. She’d seen enough television shows to know that. Instead of a pink elephant, she’d seen a clown.
, she told herself. It had to be. People hallucinate on alcohol. She’d seen enough television shows to know that. Instead of a pink elephant, she’d seen a clown.
That had to be the explanation.
She pressed her fingers to her temple. Her head was splitting now. She had to find the strength to walk back to the bench. Surely Ashlee had returned with the coffees by now, and was no doubt looking for her.
If only she could make the music stop in her head ...
She took her fingers away from her temples.
The music, she realized, was not coming from her head.
It was coming from behind her.
From inside the Dumpster.
With a sudden gasp, Daphne pulled herself away, looking back at the foul-smelling receptacle in horror.
The music played on.
All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought it was all in fun... .
And then—on the note of “Pop!”—the clown burst up through the top of the Dumpster, its horrible blue mouth curled in an evil smile.
“Pop goes the weasel!” the thing croaked.
This time, being so close to it, Daphne could see that behind the clown’s hideous blue lips lurked a set of very yellow, pointed teeth.
It gnashed them at her.
Daphne screamed once; then everything went black.
TEN
She woke up in her bed at Witherswood.
Her head throbbed. Ashlee stood over her, applying a cold, wet cloth to Daphne’s forehead. Daphne could sense other people in her room, but her vision was too blurred to make them out.
“What ... what happened?” she managed to ask.
“It’s all my fault, sweetie,” Ashlee was saying. “I should never have bought you that second drink.”
“It is quite unacceptable that Christopher’s governess was out in the village getting drunk.” Even in her haze, Daphne recognized the voice of Abigail. Now the older woman loomed into her view, her stern, wrinkled face twisted in revulsion. “Isn’t it bad enough that we have the gossips in town wagging their tongues about the murder of that barmaid? Now they’re carrying on about the new governess. It is unacceptable!”
“Like I said, Abigail,” Ashlee growled, turning to her, “it was my fault. Don’t blame Daphne.”
Abigail sniffed. “Well, I’ve always known you were two of a kind.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Ashlee asked, aggressively taking a few steps toward Abigail. “I know you’ve never liked me. Why don’t you just come right out and tell me how you feel?”
“Now, now, ladies,” Ben suddenly interjected, and Daphne felt pleased that he was there, too. “This isn’t the time or place. Back to your corners.”
“Aw, come on, Ben, I was looking forward to a good cat fight.” It was Donovan’s voice, and now he, too, appeared in Daphne’s view. He looked down at her and winked. “Poor little governess. I’ll have to keep it in mind that you’re a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”
“Back off, Donovan,” Ashlee said, returning to Daphne’s side and turning the cold cloth over on her forehead. “Not every female appreciates your lechery, you know. Just ask Suzanne.”
Donovan laughed and moved away.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Ashlee whispered down to Daphne.
Ben came into view. “I guess this is what happens to convent girls who try to move into the real world a little too fast.” He smiled sympathetically down at Daphne. “Don’t worry, though. It will pass. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now, but it will.”
“My brother should be told of this,” Abigail was saying, from somewhere across the room.
“I swear, Abigail,” Ashlee said, spinning on her, “if you say anything of this to Pete ...”
“You’ll what?” the spinster spit back. “You have nothing to threaten me with.”
Daphne saw the cloud that passed over Ashlee’s eyes, and heard her mutter, under her breath, “That’s what you think.”
Apparently, however, Abigail didn’t hear, because she just went on about how she felt Mr. Witherspoon should be told about the behavior of their new governess—as well as that of his wife.
“Aunt Abigail,” Ben said, sounding reasonable. “Uncle Pete is not feeling well. This whole thing with the possible copycat killer ... it’s got him very upset. There’s no need to upset him further. The girls just went into town for a little fun. Daphne’s not used to drinking. I suspect, given how she’s feeling right now, she won’t be imbibing again very soon.”
Abigail said nothing in reply.
“I think this whole copycat-killer thing is bogus,” Donovan said. “I mean, we’re just basing it on Daphne saying she saw a clown at the inn... .”
A clown.
Suddenly it all came back to her.
Once again Daphne heard the terrible music. And saw the clown popping out of the Dumpster, gnashing its sharp teeth....
“It’s still out there!” she suddenly blurted, sitting up, the cloth falling from her face. “The clown! I saw it again!”
The others all looked at her, openmouthed.
“I did see it,” Daphne said. “It followed me. It was going to attack me. Then—then—I blacked out!”
She saw the looks those in the room gave her. Abigail folded her bony arms across her chest and pressed her lips together so tightly that they turned white. Donovan, leaning against the windowsill, smirked. Ben let out a long sigh. And Ashlee sat down beside her on the bed and took her hands into her own.
“Sweetie,” she said. “It was the alcohol. It made you see things.”
“No ...” Daphne’s head throbbed harder. “I’m sure it was real.... It jumped out of the Dumpster at me... .”
“Out of the Dumpster?” Donovan hooted. “That’s a good one!”
“Knock it off, Donovan,” Ben said. “Can’t you see she’s upset?”
“If you ask me, that girl is not right in the head, and not fit to be teaching Christopher,” Abigail snorted.
“Well, no one’s asking you, Aunt Abigail,” Ben said, sitting down alongside Ashlee on Daphne’s bed. “You sure you saw a clown?” he asked her. “Or could it have been the effects of the alcohol?”
“I ... I ... I saw it,” Daphne managed to say, falling back into her pillows and closing her eyes.
“She thought she saw a clown the very first day she got here, in Christopher’s room,” Abigail told them. “There was no clown. I was there.”
Ben was looking at Daphne. “At that point, you had no idea about our grandfather’s history of dressing as a clown, did you?”
“No,” Daphne said in a small voice.
Ashlee smiled. “But she had seen the clown at the inn. That’s what stayed in her mind.”
Ben was studying Daphne’s face. “Maybe it was just a hallucination,” he said, “but I think we ought to let the sheriff know what Daphne thinks she saw.”
“Oh, but Ben,” Ashlee said, “that will just bring him back up here, and get Pete all upset again.”
He sighed. “Maybe Daphne and I can go down to the sheriff instead, when she’s feeling better.”
Ashlee sighed, dropped Daphne’s hand, and stood up.
“Come on,” Ben said. “I can’t chalk up to coincidence Daphne seeing a clown, not knowing a thing about Grandfather’s history, and then Maggie gets murdered. Maybe what she saw today was just a lingering anxiety over all of that.” He turned his eyes back to Daphne. “But maybe not.”
“This is all just unacceptable,” Abigail said again and huffed out the door.
Donovan laughed. “I do like to see Aunt Abigail in the midst of one of her tizzies. She’s always so amusing.”
“I think we ought to let Daphne rest,” Ben said, standing. “When you feel up to it, maybe tomorrow morning, we can go down to the sheriff and make a report,” he said to Daphne. Turning to Ashlee, he continued, “And for now, we don’t have to get Uncle Pete upset.”
Ashlee smiled weakly at him.
“Come on, Donovan, let’s give Daphne some quiet time,” Ben said, gesturing to his cousin to head out of the room. “You know what a hangover feels like.”
“I do indeed,” he said, following Ben. He looked back at Daphne and winked. “But if you need a little comforting, babe, just knock three times on the wall.”
Daphne groaned.
After the men had left, Ashlee replaced the cloth on Daphne’s head. “I’m sorry again, sweetie. I should have known you weren’t used to alcohol.”
“It’s okay,” Daphne said. “You were just trying to make the day fun.”
“We’ll go slower next time.”
“Wait,” Daphne said, stopping Ashlee from leaving. “Tell me ... how did I get here? How did you find me?”
“I was looking for you. You weren’t on the bench. And then I heard you scream.” Ashlee made a face of concern. “I ran around the block and saw you lying in that gravel parking lot. I got to you as quick as I could. You were passed out cold.”
“And there was no one around me?”
“No one.”
Daphne sighed and closed her eyes.
“Sweetie, there was no clown. In fact, I remember distinctly. The top of the Dumpster was closed.”
“I don’t understand,” Daphne said, hot tears burning her eyes. “I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.”
“Just rest now, sweetie.” Ashlee turned once again to leave.
“Wait,” Daphne said. “One more thing.”
“What’s that, hon?”
“If I was passed out cold, how did you get me back to the car? We were parked quite a distance away... .”
Ashlee smiled. “Well, eventually I got you on your feet. You don’t remember walking?”
“No. All I remember is that ... that thing ... and its teeth... .” She grimaced, fighting back the terror. “And then I woke up here.”
“Just rest, sweetie,” Ashlee told her. “Don’t worry about anything. You’re safe now.”
The young mistress of Witherswood smiled kindly at her, then flicked the light switch and closed the door behind her as she left the room.
In the darkness, Daphne wondered,
Could I have imagined it all? Am I maybe starting to lose my mind?
Could I have imagined it all? Am I maybe starting to lose my mind?
She sat up in bed.
No. It was real.
And if the sheriff could find that man and those two kids—and the violinist, yes, the violinist!—they could confirm that there really was a clown, that Daphne wasn’t crazy.
The violinist would have seen me run away. She would have seen the clown following me!
The thought that she had witnesses reassured Daphne in a strange sort of way. She lay back against her pillows and closed her eyes. All she wanted was sleep.
She was safe here. Ashlee had said so.
Within moments, Daphne was asleep.
Her dream began with the sound of shovels, the stabbing of earth. A dark blue night. The moon as odd voyeur, glinting off the blades of the silver shovel in her hands. The eye of the sky was a hole into the heavens.
As before, Daphne couldn’t tell where the dream ended and real life began. She peeled away sweaty sheets from her body, placing her feet against the cold wooden floor, and got out of bed. She pulled on a pair of pants and then plunged headfirst into the blue of the night. She made her way across the estate to a cemetery, a place she had never been, but she knew right where to go and begin digging.
Embraced by the sweet, damp, blue fog skin, Daphne dug up the graves, all of them, pulling the children from their coffins. Whose children they were and what connecton they had to her, she had no idea, but she dug up many of them, all perfectly preserved, beautiful children in their coffins. One little girl she took in her hands and shook. The little eyelids fluttered, like moths, and opened. The girl looked up at her.
Daphne awoke in a start, trying to remember the dream and figure out what it meant. But it was gone by the time her eyes were fully open.
It was a Sunday, so that meant no schoolwork for Christopher. Daphne still felt a little achy when she awoke, but a hot shower reinvigorated her, and she hurried downstairs to grab coffee. She skillfully avoided seeing anyone, waiting until Abigail and Louella had finished their breakfast. Ashlee and Pete were nowhere to be found. That was just as well. Gripping her mug of piping-hot coffee, Daphne made a beeline up to Ben’s room, and told him she was ready to go talk to the sheriff. He nodded. “Then let’s go,” he said.
Although it was a Sunday, Sheriff Patterson agreed to meet them at his office. On the car ride into town, Ben looked over at Daphne and asked if maybe all this was too much for her, if she ever thought about going back to Boston.
“I’m not sure they’d take me back,” Daphne said. “There’s really no place for me there anymore. I’ve graduated from the affiliated teachers college, and I’m not continuing any studies through the auspices of Our Lady. I’m certainly not looking to become a nun.”
Ben smiled. “See what happens when you knock back two margaritas? You become all dedicated to the worldly life.”
Daphne managed a smile. “Being a nun was never my calling, even though I lived with the sisters all my life.” She looked out through the window toward the jagged cliffs they’d just come from, and she caught a glimpse of the dark shape of Witherswood on the edge. “Besides, Mother Angela says my destiny is here.”
“Lucky you,” Ben said, and laughed.
At the sheriff’s office, Daphne gave her story. Sheriff Patterson’s bushy mustache twitched a few times as he listened, but, to Daphne’s surprise, he wrote nothing down. When she was finished, he called one of his deputies over and asked him to go through the licenses of street performers.
“Anybody who sings, dances, plays an instrument, or otherwise entertains on the street has to have a performer’s license,” the sheriff explained. “I don’t recall any clown.”
“But he was there,” Daphne insisted, and repeated that either the man and the children or the violinist could vouch for her.
“No way to find the man and the kids,” the sheriff said. “At least not any sure way. They could have been tourists just passing through. But as for the violinist ...”
Sheriff Patterson lifted a piece of paper from the folder his deputy had just placed on his desk. “April Flynn,” he said. “She’s been out there playing Mozart since last May. I’ll give her a call. See what she saw.”
“Thank you,” Daphne said. “She had to have seen him. He was coming after me, trying to terrorize me. And he had long pointed sharp teeth.”
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