The Cellar

“Stand closer to the fire.”

She seemed reluctant to step off the smooth nylon cover of the sleeping bag, but she did. She moved close to the dwindling fire.

“Put more wood on it, if you want.”

He watched her bend down, lift sticks from the pile, and toss them onto the fire. He watched the flames rise. He watched the fluttering orange glow they cast on her skin. He watched her crouch down close to the fire, giving him only a side view of her body.

He unlaced his hiking boots. Pivattas. Bob had good taste in camping gear. He pulled off the boots.

“Stand on the other side,” he said. “Facing me.”

That’s when she ran.

Roy slid up his cuff, pulled his knife. Flipping it, he caught the blade between his thumb and forefinger. He hurled the knife. It whipped end over end, its blade flashing firelight.

The girl almost reached the dark border of the clearing when the knife hit her. Roy heard the thud of its impact. He heard the girl’s startled gasp and saw her tumble forward.

Roy took his time pulling on his boots. He didn’t bother lacing or tying them. He simply tucked the loose lace ends under the tongues, and got to his feet.

Twigs and pine needles crushed under his soles as he walked toward the sprawled, white body of the girl.

CHAPTER ELEVEN 1.

A quiet knocking on the door woke Donna. Raising her face from the pillow, she saw that the window was wrong: off to the side instead of directly over the bed. Strange room. Still dark outside. Somebody knocking. Fear made an uneasy flutter in her belly.

Then she recognized the room, and remembered.

Jud. It must be Jud.

She rolled out of bed. Cold. No time, in the darkness, to find her robe. She stepped quickly to the door and opened it a crack.

Larry stood there in striped pajamas, hugging himself against the chilly wind.

“What is it?” she whispered, alarm knotting her stomach.

“Judge. He’s back. He’s been hurt.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Sandy’s bed, and decided not to wake the girl. Twisting the handle button, she locked the door. She stepped out, pulled the door shut, and made sure it was secure.

Following Larry across the parking area, she felt the cold breeze and the sway of her breasts inside her nightgown as if she were naked. It didn’t matter. Only Jud mattered. Besides, she could borrow something over there to put on.

“How bad is he?” she asked.

“The beast got him.”

“Oh my God!” She remembered the wax figures, shredded and bloody. But he couldn’t be like that. Not Jud. He’s hurt, but not dead. He’ll be fine.

Larry opened the door of Cabin 12. A lamp was on between the beds, but both beds were empty. One had obviously not been slept in. Donna surveyed the room. “Where is he?”

Larry shut the door and locked it.

“Larry?”

She saw how he looked down her body as if surprised and distracted by the way it showed through the nightgown.

“He isn’t here,” Donna said.

“No.”

“If you think you can…”

“What?” Larry asked, and looked up from her breasts. His eyes were vague.

“I’m leaving.”

“Wait. Why? I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I…I was just…”

“I know what you were just doing. You just thought you’d use Jud as a pretext to lure me over here so you could…”

“Oh heavens no. Good heavens.” He laughed nervously. “Judge asked me to get you.”

“Well, where is he?”

“Over here.”

She followed him across the room.

“Judge didn’t want to leave blood on the bed, you see.”

He opened the bathroom door. Donna saw a pile of clothes on the floor. Then she saw Jud sitting in the empty tub. Blood sheathed his back and stained the rear of his Jockey shorts. He finished taping a wide bandage onto his thigh.

“That takes care of that,” he said, and looked up at Donna.

She dropped to her knees, leaned over the side of the tub, and kissed him. She pushed a hand through his damp hair.

“You look awful,” she said.

“You should’ve seen me before I showered.”

“Do you always shower in your shorts?”

“I didn’t want to shock you.”

“I see.” She kissed him again, longer this time, taking pleasure in the warm spread of desire through her loins, and wishing Larry would go away.

“I wouldn’t spend all night smooching,” Larry said. “After all, the man is bleeding.”

“Would you like to bandage my shoulder?” Jud asked her.

“Sure.”

“Larry’s too squeamish.”

“Blood nauseates me,” Larry said, and left the bathroom.

When Donna squeezed a washcloth above the shoulder wounds, water spilled down, rinsing off blood. “The beast did that?”

“Something did,” he told her.

“They look like claw marks.”

“That’s how they feel, too.”

She patted them gently with the washcloth.

“Pour on some hydrogen chloride,” Jud said. “It’s probably by your knees.”

She let it spill over his cuts, fizzing and foaming. Then, with a large gauze pad from the first-aid kit on the toilet lid, she covered the wounds. “You sure come prepared,” she said, taping the pad in place.

“Mm-hmmm.”

“Anyplace else need fixing?”

“That should do it. Thank you.”

“Now let’s clean you up. Can you keep your leg dry, if we run water?”

“If it isn’t too deep.”

She plugged the drain and turned on the water. With his knee up, Jud kept his thigh bandage above the rising water level. Donna shut off the faucets, and began to scrub his back with a soapy washcloth.

“Did you go in the house?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Boy, that’s the height of something.”