Phantoms

Everyone jumped, startled by the lights' inconstancy. Tal put his hand on the butt of his holstered revolver. But the lights did not go out.

They listened to the cemeterial town. The only sound was the whisper of the wind-stirred trees, which was like the last long exhalation of breath before the grave, an extended dying sigh.

Jake is dead, Tal thought. Wargle is right for once. Jake is dead and maybe the rest of us are, too, only we don't know it yet.

To Frank Autry, Bryce said, “Frank, why'd you say 'it' instead of 'they' or something else?”

Frank glanced at Tal, seeking support, but Tal wasn't sure why he, himself, had said “it.” Frank cleared his throat. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked at Bryce. He shrugged. “Well, sir, I guess maybe I said 'it' because… well… a soldier, a human adversary, would have blown us away right there in the market when he had the opportunity, all of us at once, in the darkness.”

“So you think — what? — that this adversary isn't human?”

“Maybe it could be some kind of… animal.”

“Animal? Is that really what you think?”

Frank looked exceedingly uncomfortable. “No, sir.”

“What do you think?” Bryce asked.

“Hell, I don't know what to think,” Frank said in frustration. “I'm military-trained, as you know. A military man doesn't like to plunge blindly into any situation. He likes to plan his strategy carefully. But good, sound strategic planning depends on a reliable body of experience. What happened in comparable battles in other wars? What have other men done in similar circumstances? Did they succeed or fail? But this time there just aren't any comparable battles; there's no experience to draw upon. This is so strange, I'm going to go right on thinking of the enemy as a faceless, neutral 'it.”

Turning to Dr. Paige, Bryce said, “What about you? Why did you use the word 'it'?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe because Officer Autry used it.”

“But you were the one who advanced the theory about a mutant strain of rabies that could create a pack of homicidal maniacs. Are you ruling that out now?”

She frowned. “No. We can't rule out anything at this point. But, Sheriff, I never meant that that was the only possible theory.”

“Do you have any others?”

“No.”

Bryce looked at Tal, “What about you?”

Tal felt every bit as uncomfortable as Frank had looked.

“Well, I guess I used 'it' because I can't accept the homicidal maniac theory any more.”

Bryce's heavy eyelids lifted higher than usual. “Oh? Why not?”

“Because of what happened at the Candle glow Inn,” Tal said, “When we came downstairs and found that hand on the table in the lobby, holding the eyebrow pencil we'd been looking for… well… that just didn't seem like something a homicidal nut case would do. We've all been cops long enough to've dealt with our share of unbalanced people. Have any of you ever encountered one of those types who had a sense of humor? Even an ugly, twisted sense of humor? They're humorless people. They've lost the ability to laugh at anything, which is probably part of the reason they're crazy. So when I saw that hand on the lobby table it just didn't seem to fit. I agree with Frank; for now I'm going to think of our enemy as a faceless 'it.”

“Why won't any of you admit what you're feeling?” Lisa Paige said softly. She was fourteen, an adolescent, on her way to being a lovely young lady, but she gazed at each of them with the unselfconscious directness of a child. “Somehow, deep down inside where it really counts, we all know it wasn't people who did these things. It's something really awful — Jeez, just feel it out there — something strange and disgusting. Whatever it is, we all feel it. We're all scared of it. So we're all trying hard not to admit it's there.”

Only Bryce returned the girl's stare; he studied her thoughtfully. The others looked away from Lisa. They didn't want to meet one another's eyes, either.

We don't want to look inside ourselves, Tal thought, and that's exactly what the girl's telling us to do. We don't want to look inward and find primitive superstition. We're all civilized, reasonably well-educated adults, and adults aren't supposed to believe in the boogeyman.

“Lisa's right,” Bryce said, “The only way we're going to solve this one — maybe the only way we're going to avoid becoming victims ourselves — is to keep our minds open and let our imaginations have free rein.”

“I agree,” Dr. Paige said.

Gordy Brogan shook his head. “But what are we supposed to think, then? Anything? I mean, aren't there any limits? Are we supposed to start worrying about ghosts and ghouls and werewolves and… and vampires? There's got to be some things we can rule out.”

“Of course,” Bryce said patiently, “Gordy, no one's saying we're dealing with ghosts and werewolves. But we've got to realize that we're dealing with the unknown. That's all. The unknown.”

“I don't buy it,” Stu Wargle said sullenly, “The unknown, my ass. When it's all said and done, what we'll find is that it's the work of some pervert, some stinkin' scumbag pretty much like all the stinkin' scumbags we've dealt with before.”

Frank said, “Wargle, your kind of thinking is exactly what'll cause us to overlook important evidence. And it's also the kind of thinking that'll get us killed.”

“You just wait,” Wargle told them, “You'll find out I'm right.” He spat on the sidewalk, hooked his thumbs in his gun belt, and tried to give the impression that he was the only levelheaded man in the group.

Tal Whitman saw through the macho posturing; he saw terror in Wargle, too. Though he was one of the most insensitive men Tal had ever known, Stu was not unaware of the primitive response of which Lisa Paige had spoken. Whether he admitted it or not, he clearly felt the same bone-deep chill that shivered through all of them.

Frank Autry also saw that Wargle's imperturbability was a pose. In, a tone of exaggerated, insincere admiration, Frank said, “Stu, by your fine example, you fortify us. You inspire us. What would we do without you?”

“Without me,” Wargle said sourly, “you'd go right down the old toilet, Frank.”

With mock dismay, Frank looked around at Tal, Gordy, and Bryce. “Does that sound like a swelled head?”

“Sure does. But don't blame Stu. In his case,” Tal said, “a swelled head is just a result of Nature's frenzied efforts to fill a vacuum.”

It was a small joke, but the laugh it elicited was large. Although Stu enjoyed wielding the needle, he despised being on the pricking end of it; yet even he managed to dredge up a smile.

Tal knew they were not laughing at the joke as much as they were laughing at Death, laughing in its skeletal face.

But when the laughter faded, the night was still dark.

The town was still unnaturally silent.

Jake Johnson was still missing.

And it was still out there.

Dr. Paige turned to Bryce Hammond and said, “Are you ready to take a look at the Oxley house?”

Bryce shook his head. “Not right now. I don't think it's wise for us to do any more exploring until we get some reinforcements. I'm not going to lose another man. Not if I can help it.”

Tal saw anguish pass through Bryce's eyes at the mention of Jake.

He thought: Bryce, my friend, you always take too much of the responsibility when something goes wrong, just like you're always too quick to share the credit for successes that have been entirely yours.

“Let's go back to the substation,” Bryce said, “We've got to plan our moves carefully, and I've got calls to make.”

They returned along the route by which they had come. Stu Wargle, still determined to prove his fearlessness, insisted on being the rear guard this time, and he swaggered along behind them.

As they reached Skyline Road, a church bell tolled, startling them. It tolled again, slowly, again, slowly,