This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
TREAD SOFTLY
Copyright © 1987 by Richard Laymon
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
First printing: February 1987
A TOR Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc. 49 West 24 Street New York, N.Y. 10010
Cover art by Jill Bauman
ISBN: 0-812-52108-0 CAN. ED.: 0-812-52109-9
Printed in the United States of America
0987654321
Richard Laymon as Richard Kelly. Thread Softly
For Bob, my brother,
who trekked with me
the trails of our youth
Beware on your journey,
Tread softly with care.
Beware of the hag
In her dark mountain lair.
Speak only in whispers,
Don't wander alone.
Take heed of the shadows —
Watch out for the crone.
She waits and she wants you.
She knows you are there.
Don't wander alone,
Tread softly with care.
Cheryl heard it again — the soft, dry crunching sound that a foot might make in leaves. This time, it was very close.
She lay rigid in her sleeping bag, barely daring to breathe, gazing straight up at the dark slanting wall of the tent and telling herself to stay calm.
It's probably just an animal. Maybe a deer. A few days ago, camped in a meadow below the pass, they'd been awakened in the night by a deer wandering near their tent. Its hooves had crashed through the foliage, snapping branches and shaking the ground. Bambi the Elephant, Danny had called it.
This was different.
This was stealthy.
She heard it again, flinched, and dug her fingertips into her bare thighs.
Maybe something falling from a tree? Pinecones? They could make sounds like that, she supposed. Plenty of wind out there to shake them loose.
That's it. That has to be it. Otherwise, somebody is standing just outside the tent, and that can't be.
They'd seen nobody for two days. They'd reached Lower Mesquite Lake early in the afternoon. Except for this small patch of woods, the glacial lake was surrounded by barren rock. They'd hiked completely around it. They'd explored the woods. They'd seen nobody.
Not even when they hiked over a small ridge to Upper Mesquite.
Nobody.
Cheryl took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
Go to sleep, chicken-shit.
Cheryl consciously relaxed her legs and rump and back, settling down into the warmth, and turned her head to stretch her taut neck muscles. She felt like rolling over. She wanted to turn facedown and burrow deep, but she was afraid to move that much.
A monster under the bed. Just like when she was a kid and
I'm eighteen. I'm too old for this.
Slowly, she started to turn over. Her bare skin made whispery, sliding sounds against the nylon bag, almost loud enough to mask the other sound. She went stiff. She was on her side, facing Danny. The other sound came from behind her — a quiet hissing sigh, a sound such as fingernails might make scraping along the tent's wall.
She flung herself against Danny, shook him by the shoulders. Moaning, he raised his head. 'Huh? Wha — '
'Somebody's outside,' she gasped.
He pushed himself up on his elbows. 'Huh?'
'Outside. I heard him.'
'Who?'
'Shh.'
Neither of them moved.
'I don't hear anything,' he said in a groggy voice.
'I did. God, he's right outside the tent. He
'Probably just a branch.'
'Okay, okay, I'll go out 'n' have a look.'
'I'll go with you.'
'No point both of us freezing our asses. I'll go.' He rose to his hands and knees, still in the double sleeping bag, letting in the cold night air as he searched through the clothes and gear at the head of the tent. He pulled his flashlight out of his boot. 'Just be a minute,' he said.
Cheryl scooted away. Danny climbed from the bag and crawled to the foot of the tent. Kneeling there, naked, he pulled at the zipper of the mosquito netting.
Cheryl sat up. The cold wrapped around her. Shuddering, she hugged her breasts. 'Maybe you'd better not,' she whispered. 'Come on back.'
'Nah, it's all right.'
'Please?'
'I've gotta take a leak anyway,' he said, and started to crawl through the flaps. He was halfway out when he stopped. He uttered a low groan. One of his feet reached backward.
